“If that’s an egg, I’m a gargoyle.”
“Well you’d better climb up on the roof then, because it is.”
“It’s the size of my torso and made of copper. Look at the tarnish marks from where the water’s dripped on it.”
“So? It’s still an egg.”
“Fine, it’s a pretend egg.
“Why would someone create a pretend egg?”
“Some sort of shrine decoration obviously.”
“You think this is a shrine?”
“It’s a huge, ornate building in the middle of a remote clearing, halfway up a mountain. Of course it’s a shrine. I just want to know where the attendants are, and how they manage to get supplies up here without leaving any tracks.”
“Maybe they fly.”
“Of course, yes, that’s what they do. They fly up and down the mountain on the back of whatever comes out of that so-called egg, and no one ever notices.”
“It’s not a so-called egg, it’s MY egg, and you never noticed…”
The DNA of Stories 