You look up and shout for help.

To your surprise, a face appears. Wide eyes peer down at you from behind orange-tinted glasses, and long dreadlocked hair explodes from under a pith helmet, hanging around a thin, bony face. The eyes glare at you.

‘In a bit of a pickle, I see.’ The voice is sharp and brusque, not at all friendly. ‘Myfanwy Adeline Thelma Binglington-Smithe, cryptozoologist, at your service.’

Crypto-what?

‘Cryptozoologist,’ snaps Myfanwy. ‘I study animals that conventional science has yet to acknowledge. And I search for evidence, proof of existence, so that my name will go down in history and be on the lips of every school-aged child.’

You doubt that any schoolkid would willingly remember a name like Myfanwy Ad-something Whatsit Who-Cares.

‘I have a rope that I shall use to rescue you,’ calls Myfanwy. ‘But first I require you to look around and tell me if there’s anything down there with you. Then, and only then, will I lower the rope.’

What?

‘You heard me,’ insists Myfanwy. ‘No search, no rescue. Once you have reported on what is in the pit, I shall lower the rope.’

Seriously? you think.

Now, do you tell this crazy crypto zoologist about the eggs you found?

To tell Myfanwy about the eggs, go here.

To keep the eggs a secret, go here.