The feathers on the chicken's neck had already fallen off, and the sensation of grabbing it, how should I put it?
Well, it felt like grabbing a tattered piece of cotton, and the surface of the chicken skin also had some granules that made one feel nauseous from deep within.
The headless rooster was much lighter than you'd imagined, holding it in your hand you could barely feel anything, akin to a shabby plush toy filled with black-hearted cotton, light and fluffy in your grip.
Although it was headless, it felt itself being picked up and quickly began to resist by flapping its wings and thrashing with its sharp claws.
However, those claws, only two or three inches long, could hardly pose any threat to you, but as they thrashed about, the granules on the chicken skin would chafe against your palm, making you feel particularly disgusted.
Soon, the futile struggling of the headless rooster came to a halt.
This cessation left you and the others behind you somewhat astonished.
