Harris gave him a playful shove. “So can I, you loser.”

Archer’s mouth dropped open. “I’m the one who catches them at night.”

“Not without my help,” Harris shot back.

“Whoever catches her first then,” Sikari said, standing up. He had no better way to choose between them and it may as well be arbitrary. If the twins were that much alike, either would do. He raised his right hand. “When I say ‘Go.’”

Archer and Harris planted their feet in the dirt and bent their knees slightly, a perfect footballer’s stance. The chickens reacted instantly, sensing something afoot. Princess Ida flapped her wings, signaling to the Women’s Chorus, and Peep-Bo and Pitti-Sing clucked loudly, rousing from their dirt baths and scampering around.

“Ready, steady, go!” Sikari said, bringing his hand down.

“On it!” Archer cried, taking off, but Princess Ida ran full tilt toward the chicken coop, with Harris sprinting after them both. The clever hen veered to the left before she reached the little door to the coop, which sent Archer crashing into the wall, and Harris gave chase, bolting after Princess Ida, his legs churning and his arms pinwheeling comically. The speedy hen dodged this way and that, half-running and half-flying from the boys, squawking loudly in alarm and protest, refusing to be caught.

“Go, Ida, go!” Sikari heard himself shout, lost for a moment in the spirit of the contest. It charmed him to see these two strapping young men laughing and running, prime specimens in the fullness of their youth and promise, their golden hair blazing in the sunlight, and Sikari found himself wishing he had been a real parent to them.

“BAWKKK! BAWWKK!” Princess Ida screamed, as the two boys chased her toward Sikari, and he stepped back so they wouldn’t barrel into him. The twins ran neck-and-neck next to each other, their faces alive with the thrill of the battle, and just as Sikari was about to shout again, he noticed Archer’s expression darken as if a storm cloud were passing over his features. In one unexpected movement, Archer raised his right arm and whipped it backwards into Harris’s neck.

“No!” Sikari heard himself cry, and the sound was drowned out by a sickening guttural noise that emanated from Harris’s throat. The boy’s eyes widened in shock, his hands flew reflexively to his crushed Adam’s apple, and bright red blood spurted in an arc from his gaping mouth.