When the spring rolls in, he rolls out. Of Silver Cove, that is. And only for today, he has thirty chicks to come home to. He uses his thin talons to occasionally paw at the dirt patches of the meadow in search of seeds. Or rocks, he isn’t picky. Either will fill his belly just fine despite what Starhen says.
When the dirt proves to be as barren as his beloved wife isn’t, he moves on to new things to peck and pick at. The tall meadow grasses are fine but flavorless, for the most part. Pollophie gives a few clucks and cranes his neck in search of his star-speckled lady. “Ba-gokgok?” he asks before clipping another bite of grass with his beak. He is distracted by a grumbling before their conversation can carry on further, though.
“Oh what the hell was that?” he whispers in a nervous hiss. The wide-eyed rooster struts up to the strange waves of grass that form the horse radish’s mane. He tilts his head this way and that so his comb fidgets from side to side. Then, so quick his love wouldn’t have time to persuade him otherwise, he takes an exploratory peck of the radish’s foliage. Interesting! He quickly gobbles a few more bites like the birdbrain he is.
@[Starsin]