It’s cold; very, very, very cold — so cold.
The cold is almost refridgerative; it seeps down past its shell and into its very yolk.
Today the egg has stolen away from Khumas freezing snow-nest and stolen away into the meadow. Don’t ask me how it got from Icicle Isle to here in the meadow, because I don’t know. Maybe it floated all the way down through the ocean to the river like a boat. How will it get home? I’m not sure either but that’s neither here nor there.
(Insert paragraph with poorly written metaphors involving human things that do not relate to ponies. This part is in italics because it’s beautiful.)
So, why does the egg come? It is tired of being so sheltered, mainly because mom is always sitting on it, and today it is out to eggsplore and further eggducate itself.
And so, and so, and so, it scrambles up a little slope leading into the meadow. How? Om-e-let you figure that one out. Once it reaches the peak of the gentle incline it somehow manages to know that a pair of horses are just beyond in the meadow down the slope in front if it. They look (or don’t look, because eggs don’t have eyes as far as I can tell) like good friends. It rolls down the hill hoping it will stop but it doesn’t have brakes so maybe it won’t.
It does - phew! But, when the egg arrives it is certainly very scrambled.
Regardless, it is out looking for friends and not one to be eggnored, it rolls right into this thread and stops parallel to Satty’s side, shell-to-skin, gently rocking back and forth at his side like:
“Eggscuse me.”
Did you get the yolk?
THE EGG
hello i am an egg
@[Satire]
@[Ilma]