Well, not hens so much as ravens. Sort of. In Ellen Booraem’s Texting the Underworld, they’re just called The Birds:
There they were, the three Birds perched on a roost thirty feet away. They were huge, almost as tall as Conor, plump and glossy, with cruelly curved bills. The bird on the left had a purple bill, the one on the right was white-billed. On the center perch was a bird with a golden bill, which glistened in the faint electric light. […]
“Allow me to introduce you,” the Lady said. “This fellow on the left with the purple bill is Crakk, who sings the dead back to life. On the right is kindly white-billed Graw, whose song lulls the living into the sleep of death. And this beauty with the golden bill—ah, she is the one you want to please. She is Kawla, who conveys the power over life and death.” The Lady bowed to Kawla, who inclined her head majestically.
“Uh, hullo,” Conor said. “Pleased to meet you.”
Crakk opened and shut his bill with a snap, then made a noise like a rusty hinge. The Birds eyed Conor expectantly.