Where Eaglet was ... was cozy. It was dark and damp and warm.

When Eaglet moved, he touched slippery smoothness. Sometimes, he felt movement above ... a jostling ... a gentle rocking. He heard whirring ... quiet murmurs. What could it be? Where could it be? Would he ever go there? He cuddled in dark, warm softness. He didn't want to go anywhere. Not now. Not ever. Where he was ... was cozy.

But one day, where Eaglet was ... was too small.

His wings pressed against hard roundness. His beak clicked. Click-click. Click-click-click.

Faster and faster he pecked.

He decided to discover what lay beyond that familiar smoothness! For where Eaglet was ... was too small.

Where Eaglet was ... was safe. The nest was deep and sturdy. Rough twigs made it strong; down made it soft and cuddly. His mother's and father's wings kept him warm.

Sometimes, their wings whirred; they lifted off the nest, taking warmth with them. Then, Eaglet learned, there would soon be food.

He opened his beak wide for wriggling insects, or soft, mushy grubs, or small, firm fragments of fish. He would stay here forever. Forever. Where he was ... was warm and safe.