Freya rode for a while at full speed before she slowed down. It wasn’t that she was going anywhere, in particular, she just needed to get away. Her back and her legs ached from going for so long, but she kept going.

Chicken and mouse were one, and after what the brothers had said, she needed to clear her head.

It wasn’t what they’d said as much as how they’d said it. The assumptions were thick like a winter overcoat, and she wasn’t ready for it.

The stories told about the pressure to marry, find a mate, and do whatever it is that adults did. Freya blushed. She’d understood pressure, pushing herself to the limit with her ability this week. It felt like magic, being able to help in some small way. She didn’t even know if she cared about either Muk or Da Seung at the moment, but her brother? He was out there.

She imagined him dancing with his sword, ever the defender of his people. No cat could stand against him.

“Do you ever think that sometimes, people are keeping you from the truth?” She asked her companion.

The chicken paused along the river, as they looked out to see the Riverfolk common area. An island with little shops on it, and a giant ship docked out. There was no way to get to the island except by water, Freya thought intentionally. Both of the mighty races of the Riverfolk- the otters and beavers, were regular swimmers, but she was not.

They two shared a glance.

“How are you on flying, anyway? Could you fly with me on you?” Freya patted the feathers on the giant beast.

She pulsed her feelings through the bond, and the chicken pulsed back a feeling, perhaps one of hope? She couldn’t be certain. It had been a good long while, and she was still sorting out the difference in feelings between her own and the chickens. She wasn’t in a rush after all. She could bond the same chicken, or if River ever got around to it, she could figure out how to permanently bond.

“How about swimming?” Freya mused as the chicken took a sip.

Truth be told, she wasn’t dressed to swim, but as the weather had picked up, it wasn’t as chilly as it had been. She hoped that the chickens could float like some of the ducks she saw going down the stream.

Each of thee ducks was about the size of a chicken, and two mallards passed her, their glorious plumage reminding her that it was the society season. Even the ducks were dressed for it.

Freya wished for a moment that she could just float down through like with the ducks.

“Do you want to try for a swim? I don’t think it will be too bad if these clothes get wet.”

The chicken nodded.

“Let’s go see how the other half lives then,” she said.

The chicken thankfully floated, and the forded the gap easily. She wondered why they hadn’t made a permanent bridge before, as most of the Rivefolk lived in the shantytown east of Yellowrock. It wasn’t like it would be hard. They just probably didn’t want too many people coming in and out. Perhaps it was like a clubhouse in that regard.

String music carried over the water to her ears and she perked up.

“Oh, when I was a wee pup, my brother and I had a little clubhouse,” she told the chicken, “Perhaps this is like that. I think that there’s only a thousand or so of these Otters and Beavers around anyway.”

They reached the docks and Freya dismounted, onto a fresh, dry island. Every inch of the company torn was covered in the wood of some sort. They really could have built a bridge. A large warehouse was next to the Riverfolk Company store and the music was coming from deeper in.

“Come on, big friend,” she said.

The chicken followed her between the two large buildings to a large open area, where beavers and otters danced in pairs.

“Ah!”

The music got to her and she started tapping her paws along to the beat. It was some shanty, and a soulful voice crooned about a lost love of… well it was either a ship he was describing or … Freya blanched.

The chicken chittered.

A few ravens in the crowd danced together and for a brief second, Freya had to think if she recognized any of them. They smelled familiar to her, but she couldn’t place them.

“Abigail would love this,” she said to the chicken.

A few of the beavers around her crowded around her to see the beast.

“Oh miss! Is this one of the tamed chickens? I’ve heard of this,” one said.

“Oh, yes it is, she is a perfect dear,” Freya found herself saying.

A tiny otter in a sailor costume his mother must have put him in waddled up, wide-eyed.

“Can I feed the chicken?”

Freya smiled widely. She knelt to get on the otter's level.

‘As long as you don’t feed it your friends, and,” she looked up, “She agrees.”

Freya grabbed some seed from her saddlebag and gave it to the otter, then mimed how to do it. The chicken, ever watchful did not take her eyes off the hands that would feed her. Well, perhaps more like the seed that it would eat, as it nearly pecked the seeds off the otter's hands before it was ready.

The otter fed the chicken, taking slow deliberate care to feed it one seed at a time.

Freya felt the irritation at the slow feeding over the bond and smiled for the first time since she’d stormed off from her date with the cobblers.

Chicken Freya was enough of a chaperone. Or at least it felt like she was enough of a chaperone at that time. Or no, she felt like an irritated hungry beast that wanted nothing more than for the child to feed it promptly. Or that wasn’t her, but her friend through the bond.

“You can feed it more than one seed at a time,” Freya said, gently trying to nudge the child in the right direction with her words.

“Pardon me miss, but seeing as how you’ve trekked all the way over here,” a familiar voice said, “but would you care for a dance?”

Freya turned to see one of her Grandpaw's oldest friends.

“Stone!”