Jack knelt with them, thinking. At last, he sent his daughters to the barn for a heavy black canvas. Together, they draped it carefully over the eggs, weighing the corners with stones. Jack warned them to be gentle—too much pressure and the mystery inside could be lost forever.
The girls tended the eggs with devotion, refusing to leave their side. Only the promise of a special dessert convinced them to return indoors.
Yet not everyone was comforted. Bonnie lingered at the field’s edge, her arms folded, her eyes clouded with doubt.
“What if these belong to something dangerous?” she whispered. “Snakes? Or worse?”
Jack tried to reassure her, but his words only deepened her unease. The eggs were unlike anything she had ever seen, and her farmer’s instincts told her nothing good could come of them.
That night, she tossed in restless sleep. The air around the farm seemed charged with something unseen, like the calm before a storm.
At dawn, Jack jolted awake to the sound of chatter outside. He rushed to the window, and his temper flared.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouted.