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Eat the chicken
Not one to look a gift chicken in the beak, you seize the bird and consume it in the traditional manner. It is, by all accounts, delicious.
As finish placing the last remaining bone on the bone pile you hear heavy footsteps and clinking metal coming toward you. You abandon your little campsite and hide behind some nearby trees to get a view of your new visitors.
It's a squad of man-sized chickens, covered in chicken-armor with long steel chicken-blades strapped to their feet.
"Look here," says the lead rooster. One of his soldiers moves up to your hastily abandoned camp and pecks at it.
"Some fool cooked and ate one of the King's Fowl," concludes the soldier. The others shift warily on their feet, clearly incensed by this outrageous act.
"The fire still smolders," says the leader, "The miscreant must not have gone far. Fan out and search the area."
Two of the chicken warriors begin heading toward your hiding spot. This does not look good for Homestar Runner. Or for you.