The girl asks a good question, honestly. Xingchen isn't familiar with 'hawk bats' either, and none of the bats he's familiar with lay eggs.

"Chicken eggs are more than satisfactory," he reassures, thoughtlessly reaching down with his free hand to begin to pry fingers into the corners of the goat's mouth to beg his sleeve's freedom (a habit he has long since learned, after assisting many a farmer in their plights). And 'more than satisfactory' isn't an exaggeration: Chicken eggs were honestly a delicacy for the last three years of his life, even rarer than meat (if wild game counts, at least), since they had neither chickens nor money. A-Qing took a bit to warm up to trying her hand at cooking them, issuing the very valid complaint that without her sight, she had no way to know if she just cracked a baby chicken into a pan until it was already burnt. (Xue Yang, under his guise of mischievous benevolence, chimed in that A-Qing just didn't want to have to do the cooking.)

In the meantime, Gosalyn seems to be charging to his valiant rescue, and Xingchen's smile spreads to a grin. "I suppose we can't fault him for wanting to try new tastes," he says, collecting his sleeve away from the goat now. "I'd offer a better snack, but I fear I've only just made enough for the three of us."