The Little Elf and The Swordschicken

Once upon a time, Etwas the Elf was running through the forests of green grass, under the canopies of clover and around the stems of tall flowers when she saw in front of her a chicken with epaulets on its shoulders and an epée in its hands.  "Ba-buck-ba-buck-chook-chook-chook!  En garde!" the rooster cried as it lunged at the much smaller elf.

"Howdy, Mr. Rooster!" the elf greeted as she duck a slash of the blade.

The chicken lunged again, plunging his blade forward towards the elf who ducked and rolled in the mud. The rooster waved the blade over and brought it down like an axe yelling "Le victoire, c'est a moi! Taktaktak."  Before the blow could land, Etwas was on her feet and somersaulted over the poultry, springing to her feet, a clump of tailfeathers in her triumphant hand.

"To you," Etwas shouted, "Victory.  For me, I'll do with a tailfeather pillow for my butterfly to sleep on." She laughed.  The rooster sneered.  And leapt forward flapping its wings to take air and achieve the advantage of aviation.  But a rooster can't fly and hold a sword at the same time and the foil fell and stuck in the dirt at Etwas' feet.  When the chicken came down, Etwas was upon it in an instant, the blade glittered in the sunlight in the expert hands of the elf.

"You meesed, ma Elf! Buckbuckbuck!" the rooster said, it's voice full of sarcasm and screech.

"Au contraire, Pard!" Etwas laughed and held up the blade which had the rooster's epaulets, a tiny "E" carved into each.

"Sacre bleu!" said the chicken "Caw chunk chunk chunk!"

And ever since then, the Elves have a saying "the hands that fill the pillow must also hold a blade."