True

The Owl chick perched on the balsam, querulously leafing through a Narnia book, notching the bark at mentions of her kind. The fluttering pages made the only sound in the yard.

     Sure, everyone had heard rumours of a long-ago Chicken, who’d gone on a job and never returned. But tonight Raven, flying by an Eraserhead screening at the Crescent Drive-In, had confirmed them. “It was Chicken! Head cut off. Feathers plucked. Aliens, stuff coming out her you-know,” he croaked.

     Dove looked uneasily at Swan. She had plucked most of the pinfeathers from her breast and shivered in the autumn breeze.

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The sequel to this story is Dove, Alone.