Page 4 of Wild Claim

Acceptance.

That word had stung worse than the brambles I’d just crashed through. Even as a man, I’d been shit at it. The world had kept spinning, leaving me in the dust. Buddies had moved on with their new wives, the town had swallowed up more forest, and there I was, stuck in my ways like a stubborn mule. So, I’d run off to the woods, thinking I could escape it all.

The forest swayed gently in the wind, and I closed my eyes, letting the motion lull me to sleep. I couldn’t keep running forever.

Something had to give.

Either I broke the curse, or it would break me.

Chapter Three

MINA

The world could wait;today was mine. I stepped into the yard with my rake, where piles of red and gold leaves waited like heaps of treasure. For a fleeting moment, I was a child again, tempted to dive headfirst into their crunchy embrace.

Humming a tune, I gave in to a small flourish, spinning the rake like a baton. Just as I bent to rake more leaves, a cacophony of squawks and gobbles shattered the serene morning. I looked up, just in time to see a turkey plummet from the ridge above,somersaulting through branches andcrashinginto the leaves near my feet.

I dropped the rake and rushed over, my heart quickening with a mix of concern and curiosity. The turkey was a sorry sight, its feathers matted and drooping. With my elbows on my knees, I crouched down and studied the creature. It looked utterly disheveled, one leg held up at a pitiable angle. Its eyes had the glassy sheen of shock, its beak slightly ajar.

“Oh, you poor little thing!” Thoughts of popped into my head. How many of its kind were already in the deep freezer at the Corner Market?

I reached out my hand cautiously.

Just before my fingers could brush his feathers, the turkey puffed up. His beady eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw defiance in their black depths. I froze.

He held the pose, challenging me, and I almost laughed. Was he daring me to come closer?

“Hey, I won’t hurt you, promise,” I said, inching forward with what I hoped was a cheerful smile.

The turkey let out an indignant gobble, his feathers fluffing in irritation. He shuffled backward, his good leg working overtime to create distance. I couldn’t resist smiling. He had a lot of fight in him, I’ll give him that, but I wouldn’t give up so easily.

“Come with me. You won’t last long out here with a sprained leg,” I said, though I knew he couldn’t understand. “Let me help you. I’ve got a nice warm farmhouse and barn, plenty of grain. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

The turkey regarded me with what seemed like a mix of suspicion and contemplation.

I named the turkey Thomas, and he tried a graceful limp across the yard. But I was right behind him, chasing after him. No matter where he turned, I followed, unfazed, like a herding dog with a flock of sheep.

“Come on, let me help you.”

Thomas was unamused. He squawked and flapped his wings, hoping to get out of my reach.

I burst into laughter. The whole scenario was ridiculous. A grown woman chasing a wounded turkey around her yard as if it were some slapstick comedy routine. But beneath the humor, I was genuinely concerned for him. Why was he in the forest and what kind of trouble was he in?

Thomas swerved wildly toward the massive oak, hoping its thick trunk could shield him from me. Seeing his move coming, I cut him off, crouching low with my hands on my knees.

“Please, just let me look at your leg,” I said, trying to sound serious but unable to wipe the smile from my face. Thomas paused, considering his options. His little turkey brain must have been working overtime to come up with a new strategy.

He chose the classic one, run straight for the fence line. I let him waddle a few feet, not wanting to stress him more than necessary, but ready to pounce if he got too close to the road.

“You’re going to hurt yourself more if you keep this up!” He didn’t listen, of course, but I felt better having said it.

Right as he was about to escape, I lunged, my arms outstretched in a playful imitation of airplane wings.

At the last possible second, Thomas turned to face me, planting his good leg firmly and flaring his own wings wide. He let out a furious gobble that echoed off the trees, a sound so full of bravado that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Was he trying to intimidate me? Poor thing.

I stopped short, studying him. His stance, his eyes... There was a ridiculous amount of pride in this turkey, an almost human arrogance.

“Back off,” his posture seemed to say. “This is your last warning.”

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