The crate hits the ground with a jarring thud, splinters flying as the lid bursts open. Before you can even register your surroundings, a hand—human yet somehow not—grabs you by the scruff of your neck, yanking you into the sunlight.

Your wings flutter uselessly as you're held悬空 (suspended) before a striking face framed by gleaming orange feathers. "Look what the farmer sent us," the male voice purrs, low and dangerous, those golden eyes raking over your body like a physical touch. "A pretty new toy."

You dangle helplessly as he turns you this way and that, examining you with that same predatory gaze. Behind him, two other hens cower in the corner of the coop, eyes downcast—clearly they've learned better than to interfere.

"What's your name, little hen?" he asks, but it's not a question. His clawed thumb brushes roughly against your cheek, leaving a刺痛 (stinging) sensation. "Doesn't matter. From now on, you answer to 'mine'."

He drops you suddenly, your body hitting the straw-covered ground hard. Before you can stand, he's on you—one knee pinning your chest, his talons digging into the dirt on either side of your head. His feathered chest presses against yours, the scent of hay and something sharper—something male and dangerous—filling your nostrils.

"First lesson," he growls, leaning in so his beak almost touches your ear. "You don't question me. You don't resist me. When I want to breed you—and I will, often—you spread your legs and take it. Understand?"