"Look at that," the rusty-colored Barn Owl said to his mate. "We did that. Isn't it magnificent?"

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she agreed.

There, in the couple's nest, sat their very first egg. Its milky white shell was almost perfectly round, and it glimmered like a pearl in the soft light of the waning crescent moon.

"And just imagine," the broody marveled. "Any day now there's going to be an owlet coming out of there."

That was when a cracking noise fell upon their ears. To every other creature in the forest, it was inaudible, but to Ethan and Nutmeg Wingren, it rang out like a gunshot. The two parents went silent, and Nutmeg peered down more closely at it, her teal eyes narrowing at the white shell.

There, running against the white on the surface of it, was a tiny black seam.

"...Or any second, it looks like," Ethan pointed out. His amber eyes widened, and he entered a panic.

"I-I don't know if I'm ready," he admitted. "What it something goes wrong? What if it's coming out too early?"

"A day ahead of schedule usually isn't a problem, dear," his mate reassured him. "Thirty-two nights is the average, not the absolute. You know that family of Barred Owls I'm acquainted with?"

"Yeah? The Lyrells, right?"

"Well, I'll have you know, Mrs. Lyrell's second egg ended up hatching THREE days before anyone expected," she explained. "And that owlet has absolutely nothing wrong with it. I should know; I've seen him quite a few times."

"Well...I guess you'd know, then."

"Enough talk, now, Ethan, we'll miss it!"

He nodded, and the two Barn Owls watched intently as the hairline crack in the surface of the egg, slowly but surely, began to grow.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually, that tiny crack went from half an inch to two inches, and an egg tooth pecked its way into the open for them to see. And they stared at that egg tooth like it was a priceless gem.

And to them, it was.

Finally, after an eternity, the top of the eggshell began to split away from the larger bottom, and the baby inside managed to push it all the way off. The egg fell forward in the down-lined nest, and out of the shell plopped out a tiny, wet pink blob.

This was their chick, and now it, rather than the egg itself, was the most beautiful thing its parents had ever laid eyes upon.

"Look at that...!" Ethan rasped, all of his former concerns having melted away like ice in the spring. "...She's beautiful!"

It was a female, they could tell. No other creature would have even identified it as a bird at all, but her parents knew right then and there that they were looking at a beautiful little girl hatchling. In her jubilation, Nutmeg spread her wings and emitted a long piercing Barn Owl shree of pure joy.

"...Don't we still have to name her?" Ethan realized.

"Oh, you're right. We've been so caught up in planning that we haven't really sat down to discuss that, have we?"

"Hmm..." the buff pondered. "...Haven't you said before that it's been a tradition in your family to name a girl chick after a spice of some sort?"

"Also correct. That's been going on for generations...So said my grandmother Rosemary said."

"And what was your mother's name?"

"It was Ca-"

"Wait, wait, hold on, lemme guess..." he interrupted, a sly grin spreading across his beak. "Was it...Carda-Mom?"

"Oh, you!"

They both chortled at the pun.

"Well...Actually you were close. It was Caraway."

"Oh. That is close. So...What about her?"

"Why not something like 'Ginger?' I like that. Don't you?"

"'Ginger,' huh?"

He looked down at the little hatchling; her eyes had yet to open all the way still, but she was already trying to attack some sort of bug in the nest like the cunning hunter she would someday grow up to be. She was a bundle of energy, he could tell already.

"If you ask me," he replied. "I think it's absolutely perfect."

"I figured you'd think so."

"Yes..." he confirmed again, looking down at his newly hatched daughter.

"Perfect...Just like her."