I was sitting in the hatching room, trying to get my mind off the way it smelled of chamomile in here.

I can’t stand chamomile. I know, it’s supposedly relaxing, and that’s what my teacher says.

I’d rather be on a horse and trekking through my forest route by now; the dusk was visible outside of the window, and I had to sit and babysit the eggs whilst Mother Hannah was gone.

I was sitting back in my rocking chair when a cracking noise made my head perk up.

“Oh, no,” I breathed, looking at one of the incubation vitrines.

An egg can’t hatch right now! I don’t know what to do!

My mind reeled, and I was debating internally whether I should get up and run for home, get up and run for Mother Hannah, or just stay put.

My brain, as always, made me do the last thing and worst on the list – sit!

The egg split in half, and out slithered a perfectly formed little Hippogriff baby.

My breath hitched in my throat.

It cocked its head at me, and parted its beak.

“Mama?”

Oh, I’m screwed.