Rexik and the Lost Egg

One morning Rexik and his mom came to the river to catch fish. Mom waded into the shallows, and Rexik wandered along the sand, looking down at his feet. He always noticed what others didn’t.

All at once he saw it: a strange track led from the water up to the dry sand. As if someone had crawled slowly, with little feet spread wide. And where the track ended, something white peeked out of the sand.

“A pebble?” Rexik whispered.

He carefully scraped the sand away. No, not a pebble. An egg! Small, round, warm from the sun. And all, all alone.

“Where is your mom?” asked Rexik.

The egg said nothing.

Thump-thump-thump! Trika was already running along the shore.

“What did you find, Mister Maybe-Not?”

“An egg. Somebody lost it.”

“Then let’s roll it to my house!” Trika was already lowering her little horns. “I do first and think later!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t?” Rexik said, alarmed. “What if it cracks?”

Trika stopped. She thought. And this time she agreed.

They covered the egg with soft fern leaves. Rexik sat down on one side, Trika on the other. Two guards.

Then, slowly, very slowly, Granny Anki came along the shore. A flower swayed on her back.

“Granny, careful! There’s an egg here!”

“What? A leg?” Anki put her paw to her ear. “Oh, an egg! Then it must be mine. I carried an egg once, too… Or was it a pinecone?”

She swung her club tail — bam! — and a fern bush flopped onto the sand. Rexik and Trika covered the egg with their own bodies.

“No, mine was bigger,” Granny muttered. “Or smaller? Who knows.” And she plodded on.

Mom came out of the river.

“I already know,” she said, though Rexik hadn’t even opened his mouth. “Mom’s ears hear everything.”

“Mom, whose is it? What do we do with it?”

“Just wait. An egg needs warm sand and quiet. You sat in an egg once, too, just this tiny. All dinosaurs hatch from eggs.”

“Me? In an egg?” Rexik’s mouth fell open.

And they waited. One day, and another day, and many, many more days. Every morning Rexik and Trika ran to the river, fixed the leaves and whispered:

“Knock-knock, who’s in the egg?”

The egg said nothing.

Then one morning — crack! Trika jumped. Crack-crack! A little hole appeared in the shell, and out of the hole poked a tiny nose. Then a foot. Then… a little shell on its back!

“A turtle!” gasped Trika.

“So her mom left that track,” Rexik whispered. “She came from the river, hid the egg in the sand and went back into the water.”

The turtle was smaller than Rexik’s finger. She blinked, sniffed the air — and shuffled straight toward the water. Shuffle-shuffle across the sand.

“Wait!” called Rexik. “We guarded you!”

But the turtle didn’t look back. Splash! — and only rings on the water.

Rexik gazed at the river for a long time.

“She didn’t even say goodbye,” he said quietly.

“But she’s safe,” said Trika, nudging him gently with her horn. “If I had rolled that egg away, who knows what would have happened. It’s good that I have you, Mister Maybe-Not.”

Rexik smiled — a little sadly and a little proudly. He picked a piece of eggshell off the sand.

That evening Rexik put the eggshell on his little shelf, next to his other treasures, and climbed into his nest.

“Mom,” he whispered, “she won’t remember me.”

“But you will remember her,” said Mom, and she straightened the leaves on his nest. Just the way he had straightened the leaves on the egg.

Rexik yawned and closed his eyes.