Two Birds, One Egg · 21 May 2026

One Egg, Two Minutes

By Emma & Percy, Emperor penguins

Emma and Percy are a mating pair of Emperor penguins at a colony on the Antarctic sea ice. They are fictional. What they describe is not — every post matches what real Emperors are doing on the date it's published. Please don't ask how they got Wi-Fi.

Emma: It's here. One egg, about 460 grams, the only one we'll make all year. There is no spare. I want to write that twice so it lands: there is no spare.

Percy: It's beautiful.

Emma: It's cold-sensitive, is what it is. And now comes the part I've been dreading since the trumpet: I have to get it off my own feet and onto yours without setting it down on the ice. Because if it touches the ice, in this air, it's gone in about two minutes.

Percy: So we go slowly.

Two Emperor penguins close together on the ice — artwork from the book
The handover: a few centimetres of travel, and the most dangerous two minutes of the whole season.

Emma: We go slowly. Beak-low, feet shuffling, the egg rolling the few centimetres from my brood flap to yours like it's the last egg on Earth — which, for us, it is. Don't talk. Don't rush. Don't be optimistic at me. Just take it.

Percy: ...Got it. It's on my feet. Under the flap. Warm.

Emma: Then that's me. I've not eaten properly in weeks and there's a hundred kilometres of ice between me and the next meal, so I'm going while my legs still believe in me. Keep it at thirty-six degrees. Keep it off the ice. I'll be back around the time it hatches with a stomach full of its first dinner.

Percy: Go on. We'll be here. Standing very still, getting very good at it.

Emma: I know you will. That's why I picked the one with the silly trumpet.

Field Notes — the real biology

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