The Eagle and the Hen

The Eagle and the Hen

Long ago, when the sky was closer and the clouds danced freely with the treetops, the animals lived as one family. There was no hunting, no fear. Just community. Among them were the eagle, Akroma, and the hen, Afia.

They had grown up together.

As chicks, they pecked at the same seeds. As fledglings, they played tag in the wind. Akroma, with her fierce eyes and powerful wings, often lifted Afia up during play so she could see the world from the sky. And though Afia could never fly as high, she was quick-witted, gentle-hearted, and a friend to all.

They were inseparable.

One day, as the animals rested beneath a great baobab tree, news arrived that shook their peaceful world.

“The humans are coming,” whispered the wind. “With traps. With fire. With hunger.”

The animals held a meeting. The elders—elephant, leopard, owl—spoke in solemn tones.

“They will take us, cage us, kill us,” said the leopard.

“We must prepare,” added the owl.

“Or escape,” the eagle declared.

But not all had wings. Not all could run.

So, it was decided: each animal must protect themselves, but if one had the chance to help another, they would.

That promise was sacred.

⸻

A Time of Flames

The humans came. Just as the wind had said.

With spears and baskets and sharp sticks. They set traps. They burned bushes. They laid bait.

The forest no longer sang.

Akroma and Afia, now older, still visited each other. Akroma had grown into a mighty eagle—feathers sharp as blades, talons like iron. Afia was a plump hen, waddling and clucking, but wise in her way.

One day, while hunting high above, Akroma spotted something: a trap—large and cleverly hidden. And in its center, grains. Fresh, golden, irresistible.

She swooped lower—and saw her friend Afia walking nearby, pecking.

“Afia!” she cried, landing hard beside her.

Afia jumped. “Akroma, you scared the feathers off me!”

“Don’t go there,” the eagle warned. “It’s a trap.”

Afia looked. “I didn’t see it.”

“They’ve buried the net under the leaves. It will snap shut when you step in.”

Afia blinked. “Thank you.”

Akroma stepped back, ready to leave.

But Afia hesitated.

“Wait… can you help me?” she asked. “Can you carry me away, just for a while? To a place above the trees, where the humans won’t reach?”

Akroma flinched.

“What you ask,” she said slowly, “is hard. I have to stay light to fly. I carry only prey. You’re my friend… but it would weigh me down.”

Afia looked away. “I understand.”

Akroma looked at her once more, then leapt into the sky.

Afia stood still, watching her friend disappear into the clouds.

⸻

A Promise Broken

That evening, the humans came. Afia ran—but not fast enough.

The trap snapped.

Feathers flew.

She screamed—but no one came.

When she awoke, she was in a wooden coop, crammed with other hens, her wings clipped, her dreams crushed.

For days, she waited—hoping Akroma would come. But the sky remained silent.

Eventually, she escaped. Clever as ever, she dug under the coop at night, her body thin, her heart harder than before.

She returned to the forest. But she never looked up again.

⸻

A Sky Divided

Years passed. The forest healed. The humans moved on.

But something had changed.

One morning, as the animals gathered to share stories, Akroma landed nearby. She was older now, her feathers more bronze than gold.

She greeted the others, but Afia did not respond.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Akroma said.

Afia nodded once. “I’ve been grounded.”

Akroma shifted uneasily. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

“You warned me,” Afia said flatly. “That was enough, wasn’t it?”

Akroma stepped forward. “Afia, I wanted to help—I just…”

“You chose not to,” Afia interrupted. “And that’s okay. But choices have memories. Mine remembers being left behind.”

The eagle’s beak tightened. “So that’s it?”

Afia looked up, eyes filled with something deeper than sadness—acceptance.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s it.”

Akroma opened her wings, but the wind did not carry her the same way.

She flew away, but not with the freedom she once knew.

⸻

The Legacy of Two Friends

From that day forward, eagles and hens never trusted each other again.

They may live under the same sky, but one flies alone.

And the other never forgets.

Children are still told the story of Akroma and Afia when they ask why eagles hunt chicks, and why hens scatter at shadows from above.

“It was not always this way,” the elders say. “But a friendship broke when a wing refused to lift what mattered most.”

By Muhammad Younas