- "Mother, what's a chicken?"
One Angry Shot mulled over the question for a moment. It was an easy answer -- a game bird certain kin liked to eat, if they could catch them. But they were skittish prey, fleeing quickly into the underbrush, clucking wildly and likely scaring off any other animals nearby the unlucky kin would never be able to catch. Not that Fury knew from experience.
"A foal called me that," the young Totoma added, remembering the rather nasty tone of it, how he had left her to play somewhere else. She got to the heart of the matter rather quickly, quieter: "Is that my name now?"
Part of Fury wanted to snort in amusement at that. A larger part of her was, of course, angry. She kept herself even in spite of that.
"A chicken is a bird that is a very good mother," the doe explained. It wasn't technically a lie, though she knew what the other foal had likely meant by it. This lamb, of the three Fury had taken in, was a quiet and observant one -- she would earn herself a far better name for it.
The lamb seemed placated by the answer, her little tail giving a curious flick.
"Oh! What do they do to be such good mothers?"
"They have many children, and never lose track of a single one."
If someone like Fury could be considered a chicken, then the Totoma wouldn't have minded it as a name after all.