Along the coastal trail the families look daunted. To the right are scrub trees and brambles with steep seldom-used cuttings leading downward to the sea. Ahead a smooth-worn dirt trail climbs a dry-looking razorback. To the left, more trails, running into scruff-covered ridges. The hikers all look confused.
There are wild chickens, big and fat and inert. Far from running, they're passive, herding placidly, while among them young kittens stalk. Those kittens are far too small to hunt adult chickens! But no! At one end of the group a kitten claws a chicken's jugular, sinking teeth into its neck, wrestling it down unresisting, as though it were content to be killed by something so incapable. A happy little cat, you think to yourself; it has a mouthful of chicken dinner.