Jacob stood in the barn mouth and watched Edna leave the hen house. Her lips were pressed tight, which meant more eggs had been taken. He looked up at the ridge top and guessed eight o’clock. In Sylva it’d be full morning now, but here light was still splotchy and dew damped his brogans. “This cove’s so damn dark a man about has to break light with a crowbar,” his daddy used to say. Edna nodded at the egg pail in her hand. “Nothing under the bantam,” Edna said. “That’s four days in a row.” “Maybe that old rooster ain’t…