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This was a losing entry in last Friday’s fiction contest at One Minute Writer..Cool site – check it out.

Roger Fox consulted his watch by the light of the waxing moon. It was nearly time for the rendezvous. His brothers – Travis, Peter, and Zamphir – would be approaching from the other three directions. Roger girded up his loins and prepared for the battle.

The odds were against the Fox brothers. The fort was defended by eighty five members of the enemy platoon. For this reason, the attack had been planned for 1:17 AM – a time at which few creatures within the enemy camp would be stirring.

Roger’s ear picked up a sound wafting through the air. It was the musical whistle of his brother Zamphir. The time had come. The battle had been joined.

Roger raced quickly and stealthily toward the west flank of the fortress. A sentry was on duty, as had been predicted by the advanced scouting party. Roger attacked quickly, leaving the bloody corpse on the ground. He heard sounds of struggle to his left, right, and straight ahead. His brothers were dispatching the other sentries with similar ease. None of the sentries had raised the alarm. The camp was oblivious that the imminent attack.

Roger burst through a window, sending glass flying in all directions. Travis, Peter, and Zamphir came flying in from the other three directions and landed near him in the middle of the fortress. The enemy began to awake, aware that something was very wrong in their protected environment.

The Fox brothers quickly attacked and scored kills on enemy soldiers. Within minutes, seventeen of the enemy lay dead on the floor. At that point, the battle became much more difficult. Feathers began to fly, obscuring the vision of the Fox brothers. The hens began to fix back, scratching gashes into the Foxes with their sharp claws and drawing blood with their beaks. The battle had begun in earnest.

Roger and his brothers fought back with their weapons of choice – their razor sharp teeth. This was turning into a battle to the death – kill or be killed. Roger jumped onto the back of one hen and sank his teeth into its juicy neck. He ripped a chunk of flesh from the hen and consumed the meat as the hen dropped to the floor.

Fifteen minutes later, the bloodbath was complete. A handful of the hens had climbed out the small windows and had flown, haltingly, away from the battle in the henhouse. Those hens formed themselves into a circle to provide common defense.

The Fox brothers would not be seeking any further conflict on this night, however. The four Foxes had killed seventy four members of the hated hen clan. Each of the brothers had suffered significant wounds at the hands of their enemies, and the group would retreat to their den in recuperate and ready themselves for the next attack.

Kosmo is the founder of The Soap Boxers and writes on a variety of topics, including the Fiction Friday original short stories. You can purchase some of Kosmo's work at the company store. Like Kosmo's writing? You can leave a tip.

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