Lost Bird

Even in their childhood Hen had never really "roughed it" per se. Hen wasn't unfamiliar with hard work, but looking after flocks of noisy chickens was a bit different from what they'd been doing lately. Camping hadn't really ever been their thing, but this was a lot like extreme camping. They couldn't really remember exactly how they'd gotten to this place. They just knew that they were here and it sucked pretty bad.

They had reached the edge of what appeared to be a desert. It was just as blisteringly hot as the skimpy-woods type area they'd mysteriously showed up in. How long had it been again? They weren't sure, but it wasn't very long. They hadn't eaten in a few days, but had risked a tiny stream they'd found. Water was important, after all, and nothing seemed amiss.

Well, except the weather. It was probably going to storm. Like, storm in a catastrophic way. Hen didn't really know anything about storm safety in deserts. Things could end pretty badly for them if they weren't careful. They weren't keen on dying from some bizarre desert storm condition far from their home.

Dark clouds bubbled far overhead. They forced themself to stop watching, to look for some kind of shelter. They settled for an odd looking boulder around fifty feet away, and started to head towards it.