Hank was invaluable, even after they got home. Had he been left alone, Richard might have returned the two injured hens to the coop with the others, however, the first thing Hank said was that they should be kept alone. Perhaps that made sense. It would be easier to monitor their wounds and apply the antiseptic cream and insecticide to keep maggots at bay if they were in their own small hut. It would also keep the wounds cleaner, without the other chickens rubbing against them and risking infections or re-opening the wounds.

"What? No, that's not it. Chickens can be nasty little fuckers, especially when they see weakness. You put these two back in the coop and they'll be pecked and plucked, maybe even killed!" Hank huffed fondly at the aghast look on Richard's face. He'd never thought chickens were so ruthless. After such an attack, he'd thought they might all come together to comfort and heal their injured family members. "Think about it! It's survival of the fittest out there. The weak would slow down the entire flock and become a burden, so it's easier to weaken and leave them behind for the predators." That was fine in the wild, but these were farm hens! They'd never seen the wild in their lives!

"But that's so cut-throat!" Looking at the two quietly hooting hens, Richard found it hard to believe they could do such a thing. They always looked so plump and happy hopping around the coop. Besides Nines and Gavin, he couldn't recall a single time there had been a fight.

"That it is, but they're animals. They don't see things the same way we do. It's like with the fox that broke into your coop. You'd think one chicken would be enough, that he'd take it and leave, but if you hadn't come along, he would have slaughtered the lot. Why?" Hank paused and waited to see if Richard knew, but he looked utterly mystified. Hank was right. The fox could have taken one chicken and had a hearty meal. All he could think was that maybe there were other foxes to feed. "It's their nature. That fox couldn't eat all the chickens at once, but if he killed them, he'd be able to come back for more later." That didn't really make sense to Richard. Surely, even in the wild, the dead birds wouldn't simply be left untouched. Other predators and scavengers would surely come along, or carrion birds and other decomposers. Would the meat even be safe to eat after a day or two? Wouldn't it taste bad? Did foxes even have a sense of taste?

"So, what should I do with these two?" The house might be an option, but chickens were quite dirty, and he didn't relish the smell of chicken shit being all over his living room. Hank took the carrier from him, and Richard followed as he crossed the yard towards their neighbouring pens.

"You can keep them in my old pen. They shouldn't be fully separated from the flock, just divided enough that they can't be bullied. Chickens are social animals, so you don't want them getting lonely. With similar injuries, these two might be able to stay together without issue, so we'll keep an eye on them to make sure there's no fighting." Richard watched nervously as Hank climbed over the fence and headed into his old coop. If not for Connor's appearance, Richard might have joined him. It seemed Hank noticed as he shooed Connor away and sent him zipping across the yard with a whistle. Once they were both safely in the pen, Hank opened the carrier door and watched the two hens cautiously step out. They were still rattled and nervous, as they would be for the next few days, and didn't seem keen on straying too far from the carrier.

"Will they be alright out in the open like this?" It seemed a little cruel, keeping them out in the open pen while the rest of the flock was cosy in the coop. It would also get a little cooler at night, and he hated to think of them shivering in the cold.

"Oh, no! Being out like this is just for exercise. I have some old crates in the barn they can use as a temporary shelter." Richard nodded his thanks and settled on his knees by the hens as they cautiously pecked the damp earth. They were good natured and somewhat needy as they settled by his knees, accepting whatever gentle pets he gave with gentle coos. It didn't take long for Hank to return carrying a large wooden crate, with Connor panting at his heels. As he put the large box down, Richard could already see he'd filled it with a generous layer of straw.

They put the hens inside and Richard remained at the edge to watch. The box was large, about the size of a children's toy box. There was more than enough space for both chickens to sit in their own nest of straw, and they seemed happy enough as they looked across at each other, clucking and cooing. Hank joined him, standing slightly behind with his hands on his hips and assessing them. They were still shaken up from the earlier attack, which might limit their aggression for the first day or so. It might also be that these two hens were happy enough being together with similar injuries and they wouldn't fight at all. It really depended on their usual temperaments. Richard certainly didn't seem like he expected trouble, and even Hank couldn't remember seeing the hens fighting before.

"I'll bring along the lid and another crate for Nines. Do you have small bowls for food and water? Once we put those in, we can put on the lid and let them rest for a bit." And that's what they did. Richard made sure the box and coop were both stocked with food and water for the night before closing them up. The healthy hens were just as quiet as they had been earlier, content to sit in their nests and huddle together in the dark. That's how they remained, even the next day. In the morning, Richard headed out to the horses as usual, having spent the night curled up in Hank's arms, and when he arrived at the coop, it was as quiet as the day before.

"Do you think I should leave it open?" Richard asked as he crouched by the door of the coop. He didn't like to think he was trapping them inside, but he also didn't want them to be scared of predators coming in. Hopping over the fence, Hank joined him in looking at the hens. They certainly didn't look restless. He wouldn't be surprised if they remained huddled in their nests all day. Some were even nursing the eggs that had been salvaged. Hank wasn't sure they'd hatch after being left in the hay, but those that weren't broken had been returned to the nests just in case.

"I'd keep it closed for now. We can check in again this afternoon when Nines comes home and see if they're more active." With that decided, Richard left more food and water and shut the door. The hens in the crate seemed just as content as they huddled together, still sleepy as they rested their heads on their puffed up breasts. Richard worked quietly, refilling the food and water bowl and closing the lid. He was eager for Nines' return and checked the second large crate to make sure it was ready. There was a generous layer of straw, a water bowl, and a bowl of feed. A wooden lid could then close over the top, just like the other crate. It looked pretty cosy for a makeshift recovery coop.

Hank insisted on driving him to pick Nines up, knowing he'd be distracted. Richard chewed his thumbnail the whole way there and was still antsy as they waited for Luther to bring Nines out. Hank swore Richard almost cried as he appeared, a clearly disgruntled ball of black feathers with a bright blue cast around his wing, and a sling crisscrossing his body to keep the broken wing trapped in place. His free wing was already trying to flap free of Luther's grasp as he stepped out, and he almost fell as Luther passed him over to Richard's less experienced hands. Curiously enough, Nines settled down once he was bundled against Richard's chest, bobbing his head and crowing mournfully as sympathetic fingers stroked his comb.

"How are you doing, Nines? Feeling sorry for yourself, hm?" Hank tried not to smile too much as he watched Richard coddling Nines, talking to him softly like he was a baby. He didn't bounce him, wary of hurting his wing, but he did slowly twist from side to side, gently rocking him. Whether it helped or not, Hank wasn't sure, but Nines didn't complain. Luther had no reservations about showing his amusement, huffing fondly as he ran a finger down Nines' neck and waved them towards the plastic chairs in the waiting room.

"He's on the mend already. Please, take a seat and I'll talk you through the care regime." It was all quite simple, and nothing Hank hadn't done before. The wing would remain bound for four weeks, at which time Nines was to be brought back for x-rays and possibly cast removal. Like the two hens, he was to apply the antiseptic and insecticide spray to keep the wounds clean. The punctures had been flushed, and were already starting to heal. Letting the air get to them would help speed things along, but they should watch out for infections. His injured leg had been bound and should remain that way for three days. The cut was fine, but the joint had been lightly sprained and needed the support to heal. He should have space to walk around, but be kept separate from the other chickens. As Hank had already warned, the chickens were likely to attack the weak and injured.

"Will he be alright with the two injured hens?"

"Perhaps, though even injured chickens have been known to attack each other. I would advise you to keep them close but separate, or that you supervise the group until you're confident they're settled." That seemed reasonable. Luther also provided some vitamin supplements to speed up the healing process and perk the chickens up after their recent ordeal. Hank took the medication and empty carrier since Richard seemed set on holding Nines in his arms all the way back, and Nines didn't object to the idea. He seemed downright dozy as he settled on Richard's lap and rested his small head in the crook of his arm. Richard stroked his back the whole way, keeping his free wing flush against his stomach lest he start flapping.

"We should check the barn when we get back and find out how that fox got in." Richard nodded from the corner of his eye, taking on a horribly guilty expression as he stroked Nines' feathers. "Don't look like that! I already told you it's not your fault. Though, there are things you can do to stop it from happening again..." Hank could feel Richard looking at him as they hit the dirt road up to the farm. His arm tightened slightly, and the gentle stroking stopped so that he could hold Nines steady as the truck trundled through the mud. Nines clucked almost indignantly as he raised his head, jostled from his peaceful slumber.

"Like what? I already fox-proofed the pen, and I checked it right after the storm!" The pen should be safe. He'd hammered everything down, all the mesh panels were locked together, and the roof of the pen was hooked in place as well. In the event a fox got into the pen, the coop itself was also fox proof. All the doors were shut tight that day with the hens inside.

"I wasn't thinking about that. I meant you could get some...protection." Hank was hesitant to come out and say it. He already knew Richard wasn't a fan of dogs. But if he could introduce him to Sumo and get him used to it, and build him up to Connor, then maybe he could get a yard dog of his own. A good dog was a sure way to see off foxes, and it wouldn't bother the horses at all, once it was properly introduced. The barn cats were a concern, but they were usually quick anyway. He'd never known Connor or Sixty to attack his barn cats, probably because they were so small.

"I have guns, but I'd have to be right there to stop it."

"That's not quite what I had in mind. I meant, you know, a guard...Maybe a dog." As expected, Richard stiffened at the very thought. "They're not as much work as you think! In fact, if you get a big dog, like Sixty, he'll even feed himself! And they're loyal. They'll protect the horses, the chickens, you, the house. All you have to do is introduce him to the people who come over regularly, and you'll be all set." Richard didn't answer, but his face said it all. He was petrified by the idea. Hank could only guess he'd had an unpleasant experience with dogs at some point. That fear had to come from somewhere.

"I-isn't there another animal?"

"Like what?" He had him there. He already had cats, but they'd never stand up to something as large as a fox, and they couldn't be trained to actively chase them away either. Every other animal he could think of was a prey animal, so the fox would likely attack them as well. "How about I introduce you to Sumo? He's a soppy animal these days and wouldn't hurt a fly!" Richard was less than enthused. In fact, he looked like he was going to be sick, though that could be down to the swaying of the truck as they bounced along.

"I-I don't think that's..."

"I'll be with you the whole time, and if he gets too excited, I'll send him away." Hank huffed fondly as he stopped the truck by the stables and Richard hopped out without answering. Unwilling to let him evade the topic, Hank followed him down to the coop, where he'd stopped by the fence. Connor was already there, tongue lolling as he sat panting by the pen. "I'll even keep him on a leash if that makes you feel better." Nothing made him feel better. The very thought of putting his hand, his foot, or any other piece of his body near those teeth made him feel sick. Shooing Connor away, Hank helped Richard over the fence and ushered him into the pen.

As soon as Nines was on the ground, he stretched out his free wing and pattered a circle around the mesh, crowing almost questioningly. It didn't take long for a distant caw to respond, and as Richard squinted across Hank's yard, he could see Gavin flapping and hopping in his own coop. He huffed fondly as he took the lid off the crate. Really? You've barely been home a minute and you're already thinking about that? Nines was reluctant as Richard picked him up, kicking his feet indignantly as he was set inside the crate. After taking in his new surroundings and noting the water and feed, he seemed to settle down. This was probably quite a day for him...It wasn't every day he got a car ride. Not to mention the operation and having his wing strapped.

"You rest up, alright?" Richard was almost reluctant to leave as Nines butted his fingers, beak barely brushing his fingertips. After one fox attack, he couldn't help worrying about another. It was silly. He'd checked the pen, Connor was running around Hank's yard, and the fox that had actually attacked his chickens was gone. The scent of dogs and fresh fox blood should be enough to scare off any others for now. Hank seemed to pick up on what he was thinking as he appeared at his shoulder and stroked his back.

"Come on. Nines and the others will need some peace after what happened. Connor will be in the yard to keep an eye out." Richard pushed to his feet with a sigh, wincing at the ache in his knees. Judging by the firm hand on his arm, he assumed Allen was rubbing off on Hank with his nannying ways. He was wearing an almost suspicious frown, a hint of worry in his pale blue eyes. Richard scoffed softly, gently pulling his arm free.

"Just a little stiff," he excused, smirking and stepping closer to rest a hand on Hank's chest. "I've spent a lot of time on my knees lately." Judging by the heat in Hank's eyes, he guessed he was thinking about the other night, too. Richard bit his lip, trying hard not to laugh as he thought back to the feeling of dry hay burning his knees. The redness had faded now, but the day after his skin had been scraped and rosy from the rough pounding that scooted his body across the bales. Burly hands came to rest on his hips, pulling him closer until their bodies touched. There was something almost hungry in Hank's expression, a sight that made Richard's chest flutter in anticipation.

"We'll have to be more careful in the future...Wouldn't want your knees to give out." Richard swallowed at the thickness in Hank's voice, teasing promises hidden just below the surface. Despite the teasing, he knew Hank was right. After more than twenty years in the saddle, his knees, hips, and back were at a higher risk of injury and long-term issues. He'd retired at the right time to head them off, but riding was still part of his everyday life. Although he didn't go as hard as he used to, he still pounded the track for training purposes. Richard remained still as Hank leaned down, eyes fluttering as warm breath ghosted across his lips. Connor's loud bark made him flinch and draw back with a gasp, the hand on Hank's chest tightening to fist his shirt. "Or your heart, for that matter," Hank chuckled as he straightened up.

"I-I should make a start on the barn." If he got out fast enough, maybe Hank wouldn't remember what he'd said about introducing him to his dogs. But before he could walk more than two steps, firm hands had latched onto his hips and dragged him back. It would be a lie to say he didn't stir with interest as Hank's pelvis bumped his lower back. Looking up, he could see Connor panting and padding circles by the pen door, waiting for them to come out. It seemed he was trapped either way.

"I'll come with you. It'll be a lot to clean up on your own, and we need to find out how that fox got in." He was certainly right about that. With the chickens now back in their coop, it didn't really matter, but it definitely needed to be sorted before the next storm came. Foxes didn't stay gone for long. The death of one merely meant their territory was now free for another to move into.