"Yeah," Pearl said, suddenly leaping past him onto the egg and looking fiercely protective, ruffling her feathers. "Get something to carry this with. I'm not letting this mother's sacrifice going to waste."
“Oh, ok.” Clam said. He gave his sister a weird look, as if she had suddenly turned into a pizza. Except in that case he would’ve gave her a hungry look.
Anyway.
Clam flapped off to the small pile of cloth and plastic. He picked through it, finding the cleanest one to bring back.
“Clam, what are you doing?”
“Pearl’s found an egg!”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of eggs here.”
“No, I mean-”
“A scrambled egg?!” Another pigeon interrupted eagerly.
“No! An actual egg! Something that pops out of a nesty hen-”
“Clam, do you know where eggs come from?”
“Of course I-” Clam sputtered indignantly.
“Clam doesn’t know where eggs come from!”
“That’s not the point!” Once again, he had been interrupted, and he was starting to feel like a math teacher. “And I
do know where eggs come from!”
Clam flapped away before he could hear anything else.
“Wait, Clam! What sort of egg?!” The original pigeon called after him, but he didn’t hear the inquiry.