Read Online The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly by Sun-mi Hwang - Free Book Online Page A

the slope. The writhing weasel clawed at Sprout’s belly. Only when they hit a rock midslope did they become untangled. Sprout began to lose consciousness. “Run away, Baby,” she coughed out. A moment later she opened her eyes. She couldn’t see or move. Something was in her mouth. When she spat it out she realized it was a piece of flesh. The weasel’s flesh. “Baby! Baby!” Sprout looked around. It was too quiet. Had the weasel gotten him? Was Greentop already dead? Tears sprang to her eyes. If Greentop was no longer, it would be harder to bear than her aching wounds. That awful beast!
He should have taken me. Baby is too young to go. . . .
Sprout closed her eyes. She was drained of energy, like the time she had been tossed into the Hole of Death.
    â€œMom, get up!”
    Sprout felt a breeze overhead. She blinked. Greentop was hovering in the air, flapping his wings. He was struggling to stay aloft, but he was definitely flying. “My goodness! What happened to your wings?”
    â€œIsn’t it amazing? I just needed to get away, and then I floated up. I can fly!” Greentop shouted with elation. Sprout couldn’t speak. She just smiled. It was a miracle, the third she’d witnessed since leaving the coop and hatching Baby. This was the cherry on top! “Mom, let me see. Are you in pain?” Greentop spread his wings and embraced her. Sprout’s throat closed up in gratitude. She set her beak firmly to hold back her tears, but that day it was impossible.
    A s summer waned, a dry wind began to blow. The sun’s strong rays streamed from above, and the reed flowers began to wilt. This was a lonely time for Sprout. Greentop, caught up in the joys of flying, spent entire days at the reservoir. Sprout would walk along the reed fields or go up the slope to watch him swim and fly. The weasel didn’t show himself. Perhaps he was back to peering into the chicken coops for chicks or hunting chickens on the brink of expiration in the Hole of Death, as he should have done all along. It was silly to salivate over Greentop. How could he think snatching a flying wild duck from the sky would be as easy as nabbing a fledgling in the yard?
    Greentop loved flying. Not only did he stop worrying about the weasel, but he could also go from one end of the reservoir to the other in an instant. And he could coast above the reed fields to pick out a good sleeping place. His world expanded, from the ground and water to the sky. While Sprout envied Greentop, she missed him. He was her baby, but he was also a wild duck.
We chickens gave up on our wings. How is it that we are proud only of the fact that we are members of the comb? Combs are useless against hunters.
    Greentop was lonely like his mother. His mother was a hen, and yet he couldn’t cluck. The barnyard ducks looked down on him. They refused to come near him or even acknowledge him. At the very least Sprout and Greentop’s nights were nice—two lonely beings away from their kind, falling asleep pressed together. Sprout ate the fish Greentop brought every night and thought about the mallard, especially when her baby’s sleek feathers glistened in the moonlight.
    â€œBaby,” she said one night, “even when you’re sleeping, always keep your ears open. The hunter comes under cover of night. He will come at some point. He never gives up.”
    â€œDon’t worry about me. I’m worried about you, Mom. You can’t fly or swim.”
    â€œI’m fine. He isn’t interested in me. I’m so lean he sees nothing appetizing about me,” Sprout joked, touched that Greentop was concerned about her.
    Greentop was silent for a moment. “Mom, I’ve been thinking,” he said with difficulty. He was quiet again for a while. Sprout grew nervous. “How about we go back to the barn? I don’t like being by myself all the time.”
    Sprout’s heart sank. This was