Three French Hens - translated

How, you might ask, am I going to get three French hens into Glorantha? I'm not. "France" is not a Gloranthan concept. But one of my computer science lecturers used to say that any problem can be solved by adding sufficient levels of indirection, so.... my French is, quite frankly (ha! pun unintended, but I like it) lousy, but let's give it a go. (Fortunately I have a younger sister whose French is considerably better). My apologies to Chaucer and La Fontaine...

and by request, here's a quick translation.

Once upon a time, there were three little hens called Griselde, Marie, and Pertelote. Every day, they foraged in the fields, and every night, they slept in a henhouse. They hoped that that henhouse would keep them safe from the fox. Yes, there was a fox. His name was Russell, because he had red fur. He was very cunning, and very hungry, and he liked the taste of chicken.

One dark and stormy night, they heard a crash above them. A great tree had falled on to the henhouse, and had made a hole in the roof, just big enough for a fox to get in. A little later, just as they had feared, a pair of glowing green eyes appeared next to them.

"You look very tasty," said Russell. "I think I shall eat you for dinner."

"Ah, no!" cried Griselde. "Please, have pity on a helpless chicken and don't eat me!"

But the fox ignored her cries. He seized her by the neck, and disappeared into the night.

The next evening, as the two chickens were sitting on their perch, the hole in the roof darkened for a moment, and the green glowing eyes appeared next to them again. "You look very tasty," said Russell to Marie. "I think I shall eat you for dinner."

"Oh no you won't!" said Marie. "You won't eat any of us!" And she kicked, and pecked, and clawed at his face. But the fox was much bigger and much stronger than she was. He seized her by the neck, and disappeared into the night.

The next evening, as Pertelote sat alone on her perch, the hole in the roof darkened for a moment, and the green glowing eyes appeared next to her again. "You look very tasty," said Russell. "I think I shall eat you for dinner."

"There's nothing I can do to stop you," answered Pertelote. "At least my death will not be in vain, since I will go to feed such a great hero." And the fox seized her by the neck, and disappeared into the night.

As Pertelote bounced along on the fox's back, through the woods, she said to him, "Before I die, would you tell me some stories of your exploits? I'm sure that such a great raider, who can take a chicken every single night, must have many stories to tell."

"Of course!" said Russell proudly. I've done many things much harder than this. I've taken fat geese, and once I even stole a swan."

But as soon as he opened his mouth to boast, he let go of Pertelote's neck, and she quickly flew up to the top of a tall tree.

"Come back!" said Russell. "I haven't finished my boast yet!"

"No way!" said Pertelote. "I don't want to be eaten, thank you. My good sir, you really should learn that all flattery depends on the one listening to it. That lesson is well worth the loss of one chicken, isn't it?"

The fox, ashamed and confused, slunk away, swearing that in future he would refrain from boasting until the raid was over.