Chicken Legs

Here's the first bit of an as yet unwritten story I found in my notebook while looking for my notes on White Foxes:

After so many centuries in a mobile home, Baba Yaga was tired of broken crockery.

It was inconvenient, she thought, to live in a house perched on chicken legs, however scary the neighbours might find it. Not that neighbours ever lasted long.

I wish I knew how the rest of the story went.