A short story to mark St Dwynwen’s day, the 25th of January. With chickens.<br><br>Marc returns home from London to his isolated Welsh cottage for good, having found his ex boyfriend shagging someone else in their bed. Who’s the thin, freezing cold man with the bruised face he finds in his barn? Will the tenuous connection between them grow, or fade away?

Playing Chicken

“Are you hurt?” Marc asked, despite the evidence in front of him.


The dog looked up at him again and back at Marc. It wasn’t snarling any longer. In fact, it looked as if it was rolling its eyes.


“Mal,” the man said. “I’m Mal. This is Anghared,” he gestured to the dog, who looked up at him again at the sound of her name. 


Marc rubbed his hands over his face. “Look,” he said. “Are you a mad axe murderer or anything? Because I’m really cold and I’m really hungry and what I’d like to do is get my logs, light my fire, put on underwear, and have a cup of tea and some porridge. Would you like to come into the house, and get warm and have some breakfast?” He paused. “I could fix that cut over your eye, if you want. I’m a nurse.”


Mal looked at him and then down at Anghared and back up again. Marc could see his eyes were huge, even in the dimness of the barn.


Chapter 3