A giant, straw-lined nest filled with dragon eggs. At least a half-dozen glistening in the bright morning sun. A bounty he could only dream of.
Oswick bent down and grabbed the nearest egg, cradling it in his small, hungry hands. The shell was perfectly intact. The texture, smooth. The color, the faintest of greens.
He gently placed one into his burlap sack. As he considered how to transport the rest of his fortune, the once clear blue sky grew unexpectedly dark.
Oswick wasn’t expecting clouds today.
Until he realized these weren’t clouds, but shadows.
Until he realized, Mother was home.
The Weekday One Hundred 