The Golden egg

The sun hung low over the village of Eldermoor, casting a golden haze across the rolling hills. Clara Hensley stood at her kitchen window, hands dusted with flour from the morning's bread-making, watching the light dance on the wooden sill. It was a morning like any other-until she saw it. An egg. Not one of hers, not from the coop out back where her hens clucked softly. This egg was larger, its shell a deep, earthy brown, and it sat precariously on the sill as if placed there by an unseen hand. Clara frowned, wiping her hands on her apron, and leaned closer.