Chapter 64

　　Memory

　　He woke to the sounds of violence, and yet did not know them for what they were, the grunt of men wielding weapon, the screams of their victim, the smash of bone and eggshell, were muted, the sharp edges taken from the action, softening it.

　　The porcelain of his shell showed daylight through its porous surface – the permeability designed to acclimate the hatchling’s eyes to the world, it showed instead in silhouette the depravity of man, the rise of sword overhead before the killing blow, as if they were shadow puppets.

　　The shell shattered, cracking throughout the hard outer shell, but not piercing the inner membrane.

　　For a time, there was peace and stillness, the heat of sun, the cold of night. But eventually he felt the jolt of birth, his body arcing under it, his shoulders and wings pressing against membrane and the shattered shell, swelling it, and then bursting forth as the membrane ruptured.