Alexâs Journal - The Cow & Corset
Another evening at The Cow & Corset, and I admit I was hoping to see him again. The tavern felt lively tonight--fresh straw rustled softly beneath patrons' feet, mingling with the enticing aroma of roast pork drifting from the kitchen. The bard was playing "Down By the Reeds," his lute striking an occasional off-key chord that made the melody strangely endearing.
As soon as I entered, my eyes searched the bustling tavern, my heart quickening when I spotted him entertaining a small crowd in the center of the room.
Voices peppered him with ridiculous nicknames. Curious, I pushed closer, feeling my cheeks already flushing warmly as I recognized his easy, playful manner.
"'Chicken Chaser'? Do you chase chickens?" A burly man hollered, sloshing ale from his mug as he laughed.
A woman leaned forward, smirking wickedly: "There's something about the name 'Chicken Chaser'--makes you sound like a cock."
Another voice from the back chimed in, "Chicken Chaser?! What a stupid name!"
Before anyone could say more, he responded brilliantly, breaking into a wild, spinning dance--legs kicking high, arms folded across his chest, then reaching for the sky repeatedly as he twirled.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The burly man stuck out his foot in an attempt to trip him. Still, without misstepping, he smoothly spun past, kicked an imaginary chicken into the rafters, and then punctuated his performance with a thunderous fart aimed precisely at his hecklers.
The tavern erupted into laughter, and I couldn't help but join in despite my embarrassment. The ridiculousness of it all was irresistible.
That's when he did something that surprised everyone. With a grand flourish, he reached into his pack.
He heroically held aloft the severed head of the infamous bandit Thag, its grim features unmistakable.
I caught his gaze at that moment. My breath faltered under his mischievous look, and my heart beat faster than expected. Before I could compose myself, he singled me out from the crowd, bowing extravagantly and flashing that ridiculous, charming grin. My blush deepened fiercely, and I could only smile in response, unable to look away even as embarrassment surged.
Encouraged by my shyness, he continued his antics, performing his absurd chicken dance just for me--spinning round and round until I laughed openly.
Eventually, after the Hero departed, the laughter faded, replaced by the familiar rhythm of mugs clinking, quiet conversations resuming, and the bard shifting gently into a slower ballad.
As I walked home beneath the gentle glow of the street lamps, my pulse still raced, a lingering smile stubbornly refusing to fade.
Chicken Chaser, Hero of Bower Lake--whatever the name truly meant--more than just chickens were chased away tonight; he'd chased away my sadness, too.
And for the first time in ages, I believed happiness might still be possible.