A few months later...
The forest lay silent under a quilt of white. Even the brook behind the tent had slowed to a sluggish whisper, its surface sheathed in cloudy ice. I had grown used to this kind of hush over the long winters, until tonight.
A sound, so faint I thought it was a trick of the wind, broke through the stillness. A gentle tap, like the soft click of a pebble against glass. I froze where I stood, halfway through stirring the small pot of pine-needle tea. My eyes flicked toward the makeshift blanket nest by the hearth. The egg, my constant companion these last four months, gleamed faintly in the firelight. The pale speckles on its shell seemed to catch the orange glow, as though some hidden constellation had shifted inside.
Another tap. Clearer now. A shiver skittered up my spine. I set the spoon down and knelt beside the nest. The egg rested on its bed of moss and dried fern fronds surrounded by multiple blankets, just as I had left it, but the air felt different now, warmer somehow, a subtle hum threading through the silence.
Then I heard it again, a small scritch, faint but steady. I drew in a breath and held it. The tiny sound came from within the egg itself. "Easy now," I whispered, unsure if I was speaking to the little life inside or to calm my own racing heart. My breath fogged in the chill, curling like smoke around the egg's smooth curve.
A hairline crack shimmered across the shell, so delicate I might have imagined it. The fire popped behind me, throwing a shower of sparks upward like a blessing. The egg trembled. Not much, just a subtle quiver that I felt more than saw with my own eyes. My fingers hovered over it, unwilling to touch lest I disturb the fragile miracle.
Outside, a lone owl gave a low, mournful call. The sound settled over the forest like a promise. I swallowed the tight knot in my throat. All the long months of tending, of guarding this lone survivor through the remainder of autumn's decay and the relentless cold of winter, had led to this moment.
Another tap, firmer now, and the faint crack widened, tracing a pale silver lightning bolt across the speckled surface. My heart pounded. "Welcome, little one," I whispered into the stillness, my voice trembling with a mixture of awe and fear. The egg shivered again, as if answering.
The tiny crack spread outward like a spiderweb, each new fissure tracing a pale vein of light across the mottled shell. A thin chirp, half squeak, half whistle, rose from inside. I sucked in a sharp breath. "You're almost there," I murmured. The words came out shaky, a prayer more than encouragement.
The egg gave a sudden jolt, startling me backward. A shard of shell the size of my thumbnail popped free and rolled onto the blankets. Warm air, damp and faintly metallic, escaped through the opening and curled in a wisp of steam against the cold.
I leaned close, the fire's glow reflecting in the wet interior. A sliver of movement flashed, something slick and glistening, the barest tip of a beak, or was it a snout? Tiny claws scraped at the edge with surprising strength. Another chirp, louder now, sounded. Then a series of sharp taps, each one ringing like the beat of a tiny drum. The shell split clean across the crown.
"Come on, little one," I whispered, hardly aware of the tears prickling my eyes. The creature inside pushed once, twice, then with a sudden heave, the top half of the shell lifted and tipped aside. A damp, shimmering head emerged, crowned with a faint down of blue grey fluff. Two eyes blinked open, the green color of storm washed sea glass, wide and unsteady as if the world were too bright.
My breath caught. The hatchling let out a trembling croak and wriggled free, tumbling awkwardly onto the moss and blankets. Its limbs, spindly yet sinewed, splayed like awkward twigs. Tiny claws flexed, already sharp enough to snag the bedding.
I reached out a tentative hand. "Easy... it's all right." The little land crocodile lifted its head, nostrils flaring. For a heartbeat we simply regarded one another - its sea emerald gaze bright and unblinking, my own reflection trembling in those newborn eyes.
It chirped again, soft this time, questioning. Without thinking, I slid both palms beneath its slick body. Warmth pulsed through its skin, a delicate heartbeat fluttering against my fingers. It smelled faintly of wet earth and iron. "You're safe," I said, the words no more than a hush. "I've got you."
The hatchling nuzzled into the crook of my arm, tiny talons catching lightly in the fabric of my sleeve. The fire crackled and sighed, wrapping us in a cocoon of amber light as the winter night pressed closely around the makeshift house.
For the first time in months, the silence of the forest felt full, not empty. Something alive and fragile now beat in time with the winter wind.