Duskfire Glacier stir fry

She can’t decide if she likes the taste of the yolk, her whiskers pulled back as she continues to lap at its innards. It’s not sweet like milk and it’s not chewy like the regurgitate they sometimes get. She can’t necessarily eat it unless she eats the shell and that is a whole other thing in itself. Movement from the corner of her eyes catch her attention and she pivots her rear around the egg to look up as the woman takes her other egg—how dare!—and she pauses mid-lap, mouth agape. When the woman cracks her egg, her head shoots straight up. Yolk and membrane line her mouth as it snaps together, looking wholly offended the woman cracked her egg!