At first only a silouette in the blizzard raging outside, the stranger could now be seen from the tavern window. People were suprised. There weren't many men that dared to travel in the blizzrad. As got closer, peiple inside finally saw what could explain such a feat. It was a chicken. As it got closer and closer it became clearer. It really was a chicken. It entered the inn and silence fell. Everybody was looking at the chicken. The innkeeper spoke first.
“What do ye want, chicken? Are ye lost?” the inkeeper drawled. The chicken looked at him and squinted. He ruffled his feathers, and slowly approached the bar, his leather books clinking on the floor. Everyone was silent, and all eyes were on the peculiar poultry who had just braved the raging blizzard. His large hat was freckled with white snow. He reached the bar, pulled a metal cup out of the pocket of his big red poncho, and slammed it down in front of the innkeeper. He spoke. “Fill my cup, man. Cluck. I’m here on business. Clook. One of these here rascals is in trouble.”
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