The world outside the shell is muffled — warmth, the rush of water, and then something else. A voice. A girl in a muddy dress crouches at the riverbank, staring at an egg nearly as large as her torso. Her dark hair is half-undone, her hands are scraped, and she looks like someone who has been running. She should be frightened. Instead, she reaches out and touches the shell — carefully, like it might break, or like it might be the only good thing she's found all day. Inside, you feel it.