Growing impatient, Egg fell from the nest, rolling downhill until it came to a rest in a patch of soft grass.
Mother shrieked as she saw Egg roll, fluttering after Egg as branches and vines slapped against her face. “My egg!” she cried. “My egg!”
Father heard Mother and quickly ran from the lawn where he had been snacking, following Mother’s voice.
“Mother! Mother! What happened?” Father came upon Mother, the white speckled skin of Egg resting on a bed of old pine needles.
“He rolled right out of the nest!” She screamed.
Father gasped. “But why?” Father then noticed the disturbed Earth around him, the small forest of sweet smelling shoots growing in a precise pattern of rows.
Mother and Father looked to Egg, it’s crown still fastened upon it’s head. “You found a garden, Egg.”
Egg said nothing, sitting there with pride.
“But, Egg, you are too young to claim your first kingdom!”
Egg stood stubbornly on the spot.
Father fluffed his wings in thought before leaning close to Mother. “Mother, shall we allow him to become the King of his own garden?” he whispered discreetly.
Mother’s eyes were filled with apprehension, but what could she do? She did not posses the use of opposable thumbs, she could not possibly push egg back up the hill to the nest. Egg’s future was already made. “I don’t think we have a choice!” she murmured in a harsh, shaky tone.
Father looked back to Egg. “Then the Kingdom of Garden is yours, Egg.”
Egg remained silent and proud.
“King of the Garden,” father whispered to himself. “I’m so proud.”
Mother and Father left Egg to fend for himself, walking back up the hill where they were greeted with a cold, empty nest.