The egg sat, still and serene, for an indeterminable amount of time; so long had it sat there that this part of Wonderland had accepted it as a fixture of the scenery. For all the sleeping trees knew, it had always been there, a tiny blue egg that took no action but absorbing the warmth of the sun and swaying gently in the stronger gusts of breeze. Nothing ever rose to claim it; in fact, the grass and flowers that grew near it seemed to bend away from it, to give it space. They formed something of a semi-ovular dome, a second eggshell, though of much softer plants, that gave it an excellent view of the meadow, the edge of which it currently sat upon. It was also very easy to see.

–

“What have we here?”

A tall Roserade stood over the egg, now, looking down upon it with a bemused grin. Under one arm, he held a wicker basket, filled to brimming with flowers with all manners of blossom shapes, sizes, and colors. He had actually intended to return home, to the more civilized areas of the Clubs territory, but the array of flowers that grew in a thicket around his find had caught his attention and drawn him to the spot. Never had he seen such colorful flowers, and his mind went immediately to the egg – they seemed to be absorbing the energy that it gave off, an aura of vitality that Philip (for this was the Roserade's name) could feel even from several paces away.

“Such pretty flowers you give rise to...” Philip murmured, shifting to readjust the basket on his shoulder. “I wonder if you wouldn't like to come home with me?”

Philip laughed, then, realizing the absurdity of speaking to the egg. Still, the flowers were far too pretty to ignore. After a moment of contemplation over where exactly a child would fit into his life, he decided he'd figure the finer details out as he needed them. Gently, he stooped and placed the egg amongst the flowers he'd collected, carefully readjusting the stems so that none of them broke under the respectable weight of the egg. After taking a few flowers more from the thicket, which was already starting to look less lively with the loss of its inhabitant, Philip turned and sauntered off, one of the finest milliners in all of Wonderland now laden with not just flowers he would preserve and fashion into decorations for hats, but also with a child. The contrast between the two things, taken with such frivolity, was stark enough to elicit another giggle from Philip as he moved.

Most stories fold serenity in with action, meting them out in equal portions throughout. Bigsby's story, however... Never would a dull moment come to Bigsby from this point on, as if he'd used up all his peace in the uncountable hours of silence before he even knew what they were.