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12-11-2012, 01:30 AM
In the hours of the setting sun, as a soft chill began to settle and a breeze pressed it into the trees with a sigh, the egg protected so carefully by Midas began to shiver.
It was not a reaction to the coming night, but a stirring from within that began to rock the egg back and forth, back and forth. Small noises of shuffling and peeping could be heard from within, accentuated by a rhythmic tapping.
The bird was chipping away at the shell, its beak a flurry of determination against its cradle that had since become a prison.
With a great heave of the egg after minutes of rolling and twitching, the chick's beak finally burst free. A triumphant screech trumpeted from its throat, fledged wings slapping against the remaining shell. Another toss and turn and the chick was on its side, fumbling with the splinters of shell still clinging to its wet body. Trying to steady itself on lanky feet, the chick began to holler, its stomach furiously hungry.
