Alphdir couldn’t fathom what had disturbed the chicken. All seemed quiet, as dusk crept upon them, as it monotonously had for the last month, yet the chicken ran around in circles, clucking as if she expected Alphdir to do something.What he could do, bound as he was, he couldn’t think, although it occurred to him that the chicken might not quite grasp the finer points of human warfare, and could perhaps be excused for not understanding that the two men in the barn were captives.
“What has you riled up there, mellon?” he asked her. The chicken clucked disapprovingly. Friend might be stretching it he realised, and made a placating gesture with his hands. “Ah, I did not mean to pry into your business, my avian mellon.”
Carenmael rolled his eyes. The brave Dunlending had gone from sulky to downright grouchy over the last few days. At first Alphdir had been concerned about infection in his friend’s leg injury, but it seemed this was merely the man’s response to boredom. Not that Alphdir had room to judge, he realised. He was the one talking to a chicken.
But he shrugged and switched to Dunlendish, “Perhaps if you were a better conversationalist, I would not need to make small talk with the poultry.”
Carenmael glared at the chicken, “I’d say the hospitality of our hosts leaves something to be desired.”
“Ah, but blame not her, for she is forced to share her meagre space with such as we! You and the chicken are the most unfortunate, in being forced to keep company with the only Duvodiad in the camp.”
Carenmael shrugged, “Eh, for some reason I put up with you before being shoved in here. Now the goat, I could do without her.”
The ranger wrinkled his nose, “The only one who smells worse than we do.”
Now Alphdir had gotten Carenmael talking at least, but as the man started into a litany of complaints he thought ruefully that maybe he should have left things as they were.
“I just love sitting in the damp with goats eating my hair and screaming in my ear. My hair was finally starting to grow out too.”
The goat currently looked quite placid, apparently rather worn out from spending the last hour headbutting the wall. Carenmael’s hair was safe for the moment. “Ah, even she can tell that your shaggy mane needs a haircut.” Alphdir glanced at Carenmael with a raised eyebrow but the man simply scoffed.
“And when was the last time you got a trim? Your wedding?”
How had the insufferable man known that! Alphdir racked his brain, but could not remember even a trim in the last year and a half. Yes, that would indeed have been right before his wedding.
But something broke into his musings on hair cuts. Just as well, it would not do to dwell too long on thoughts of his wife or home, here, so far away from them. The chicken had stopped running around in aimless circles, or clucking disapprovingly at Alphdir, and seemed interested in something outside their small shelter.
