She rises at dusk to the wine-hued dawn,
before the sun breaks its yolk across the sky.

With a cracked shell, she shields her heart from the lurking shadows,
hiding her weakness.

Her feathered lungs fill with the smell of fear around her.
She thrusts her sharp beak forward.

Hungry for the hunt, she waits, commanding attention from crest to claws, willing jealous eyes to gaze.

It begins. Roosters battle in a velvet crash of burgundy and midnight teal, vying for her favor.