Page 6 of Wild Claim

When I returned, Thomas had closed his eyes, but I could tell he wasn’t asleep. His beak occasionally tapped against his chest, his head bobbing. I sipped my tea and let the silence of the house wash over me.

My mind drifted back to the last time the house was packed. Six years have passed since then. We had a party that over half the town attended. The house burst at the seams with the joyful chaos of laughter, shouting, clattering dishes, and multiple conversations.

Now it was just me.

I sat in the armchair by the fire. Reaching for the stack of books on the side table, I chose one with a cracked leather spine. It was a collection of folktales, something Grandma had brought back from one of her trips. I opened it to the first story and traced my fingers over the yellow pages, the words swimming before my eyes.

“Hey, Thomas,” I said, and he opened one eye slowly. “Do you like stories? Maybe only the ones where the turkey survives, right?”

I flipped the book around to show him the illustration. It depicted a countryside scene, with a quaint farmhouse and rolling hills. A mother hen and her chicks pecked at the ground in the foreground, with a proud rooster standing watch.

“This one is about a rooster who thought he was a prince,” I said, reading aloud.

The sound of my voice surprised me. It filled the room with a soft, lyrical cadence and mingled with the crackle of the fire. Thomas didn’t move, but I imagined he was listening.

The tale was a simple one, full of rustic charm and old-world morals, and by the time I finished, I felt a pang of nostalgia for a past I’d never even lived. I closed the book and leaned back in the chair.

The old clock on the mantel chimed, marking nine o’clock. I rarely drifted off before ten these days, but I was exhausted.

Reaching for Grandma’s old quilt draped over the armchair, I pulled it up over myself. The wool, soft and fragrant, carried a subtle hint of lavender from sachets stored in the linen closet. It was a whisper of her that never truly left this house. Even though I told myself I didn’t mind living alone out here on the farm, moments like these reminded me how much I missed hearing her voice.

I looked over at Thomas.

“Goodnight.” Maybe with Thomas here, the silence wouldn’t feel so vast.

Chapter Four

RORY

Whoever invented pet carriersdeserved to be roasted.

The wheels clattered against the uneven pavement, each bump a fresh insult to my already battered body. My feathers were in a perpetual state of ruffle, both literally and figuratively, as Mina rolled me into the heart of the bustling farmers’ market. A wall of noise hit me. People yakking, mutts yapping, and brats wailing. If I wasn’t cooped up in this rolling prison, I’d make a break for the nearest exit.

Through the mesh of the carrier, I watched her. Mina paused at a stall laden with gourds, exchanging a sunny greeting with the vendor. His face lit up as if someone had switched on Christmas early. Mina had this way about her, like instant sunshine. It set my beak on edge. How the hell could anyone be so damncheerfulall the time? Still, I couldn’t help but notice the way she smiled when she spoke to others.

“Oh, there you are,” a voice trilled from behind us. “How are you, dear?”

Mina paid for a small pumpkin and loaded it into her tote. She turned toward the source of the voice, but her smile faltered slightly. “Hi, Gladys. I’m well, thank you.”

Even as a turkey, my stomach turned at the sound of Gladys. I knew her type. The kind of woman who wore pearls to a farmers’ market, and her hair was a helmet of blonde curls. Through the mesh, I saw Mina’s posture stiffen slightly.

“Are you?” Gladys’s voice dripped with snobbery. “So, I see you’re back to being all alone now? It’s just that the holidays can be so hard for single people. I worry about you. A woman your age, still without a partner... It must be so difficult.”

Mina’s smile froze. The silence stretched a beat too long. Even trapped in this bird cage, I could feel the tension building up like crazy. Unable to speak, move, or act, I could only watch. It’s a special torture. And I knew all about anguish. This curse was nothing if not a masterclass in suffering.

“I appreciate your concern,” Mina finally said. “But I’m perfectly alright.”

Gladys gave a smug look that could curdle milk. “Of course you are, dear. You’re such a strong, independent woman.” She let the words hang in the air. “Oh, is that a new pet?” Her eyes flicked to the carrier, and my giblets tightened with dread.

“This is Thomas. I’m keeping him safe until his wing mends. You know how I am with rescue animals.”

“Ah yes,” Gladys said, peering closer. I could almost feel her putrid breath through the mesh. “A turkey. How festive. Does he come with stuffing?”

If I could roll my eyes, they’d be doing Olympic-level gymnastics right now. Gladys embodied everything I disliked about nosy, judgmental people. Each word out of her mouth dripped with thinly veiled malice. If she comes any closer, I’ll peck her head.

“He’s only here to keep me company,” Mina said. “I would never, ever eat a pet.”

“No, I suppose not. Though I can’t imagine a turkey makes for very affectionate company. Isn’t Thanksgiving just around the corner?” Gladys raised an eyebrow, the implication as clear as a pane of glass.

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