That means they must be two different species!
A sudden shadow flitting overhead made me glance up.
"Weston!" I called. "Hurry, they're hatching!"
He hurried down. He spread his wings and carefully landed on the opposite side of the nest. As if in response to its father's presence, the smaller egg rolled towards Weston, who let out a shrill, happy noise.
"So much energy for a little one," he said.
"But this one hasn't moved at all yet," I mumbled in concern, stroking the bigger egg.
Weston didn't sound worried. "Give it time. Hatching is hard work. It can be days before the whole clutch hatches."
"Days?" I cried. "This one's only been hatching for ten minutes and I'm beyond stressed!"
Weston stretched out his wing, brushing it against my arm reassuringly. "Calm down, my love. This is how eggs work. Just be patient."
I sighed, trying to internalize my mate's advice. "Okay. If you say so."
In an attempt to focus my energy on something else, I glanced down at the wriggling egg. The pip was already bigger, and as I watched it, a long crack appeared in the shell. My eyes widened. Was one of the babies going to come out before the other even pipped?
"It's hatching!" I cried, laughing.
Weston's feathers puffed out with pride. He leaned his beak closer to the egg but didn't touch it.
"Should we help it out?" I asked.
"No," Weston said. "Not unless the egg is truly struggling."
"Well, what constitutes a real struggle?"
"If they pip and become stuck for whatever reason, or it's been a day since they pipped and no progress has been made."
My heart fell. All of this was so foreign to me. I wanted to help my babies so badly but if this was how all bird shifters hatched, I knew I shouldn't have interfered unless it was really necessary.
The crack in the shell grew until it was a jagged ring around the circumference of the whole shell. My heart raced. Weston, too, was staring at the egg in excitement.
Then the big egg against my chest wiggled.
I yelped. "It moved!"
"I told you," Weston said cheerfully.
My gaze flitted back and forth between the two eggs. I wasn't sure which one I was more enthused about--the one that was nearly out, and the one that had just begun its hatching journey.
As the bigger egg squirmed, the smaller one punched another hole through the shell. The ring around the egg was a clean cut now, resembling a cartoon egg. I watched with bated breath.
The baby thrust the top half of the shell clean off with such gusto that it topped over the edge of the nest, disappearing below. Weston and I exchanged shocked expressions--not just because of the baby's strength, but because of what it looked like.
The infant appeared to be human, but that didn't make any sense. Wouldn't the offspring of two egg-laying shifters appear in an animal form?
"Nishiki," Weston murmured, his eyes going wider than I'd ever seen them. "Look."
I followed his gaze to our baby's arms. Wet, downy feathers covered it from chest to the tips of its fingers.
"What are those?" I asked. "They look like..."
"Feathers," Weston finished.
