- [[neolithic peoples had antimicrobial bedding]] - [How do Birds Lay Eggs](https://be.chewy.com/how-do-birds-lay-eggs/) - [Anatomy: Cloaca or Vent](https://www.birdsoutsidemywindow.org/2010/04/16/anatomy-cloaca-or-vent/) A lot of my microfiction (and some of my longer works) is written in response to prompts. _Sedge_ takes this a step further than normal, though, because the prompt was actually a line from a research paper. Back in March, when this newsletter reached its first 1,000 subscribers, I celebrated by inviting fans to send over something they thought would inspire me, and promised to write a story about whatever they wanted. _Sedge_ is of my favorite stories to have come from that, process. The original prompt came from [Andrea Anderson](https://twitter.com/EleanorKonik/status/1509684537420357644) on Twitter: > “At ~77,000 years ago, people constructed plant bedding from sedges and other monocotyledons topped with aromatic leaves containing insecticidal and larvicidal chemicals.” — [Middle Stone Age bedding construction and settlement patterns at Sibudu, South Africa](https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/22158814/) It was a particularly good prompt because it allowed me to synthesize the information with some facts I knew about ancient beds; over two years ago, one of the early editions of the Iceberg focused on beds. I touched on how 200,000 years ago, people mixed campfire ash with sedge leaves and aromatic grasses to create bug-repellent bedding in Africa. Both articles refer to the same general region, but it was useful for me to resurface the details, because it sparked a connection and now I finally had a way to use it: for the winged, lactating egglayers storyline involving the species I call "Eheuians" because they come from Eheu Isle. They were developed long after I wrote the _Beds_ edition in February of 2021. Neolithic beds made from plants with antimicrobial bedding fits well with this storyline, because most of the stories are set in the very early days of the species and therefore feature Neolithic technology. And there's something about "beds made out of plants" that makes me think of nests, which is perfect for a species of lactating egglayers — although at some point I want to introduce [ancient egg incubator technology](https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/egypt-egg-ovens) to the storyline. I'm particularly happy about this story because it gives me an opportunity to show that there are always changes that need to be adjusted to when starting a family in a new location — and that some of the sacrifices that come from fleeing your home aren't obvious. Kala has to put up with mites in her nest because Kortein Mountain doesn't have antimicrobial sedges for bedding — something she would have taken completely for granted back on the island where she was raised. That said, one of the other reasons I'm enjoying the winged, lactating egglayers storyline, though, is because I get so many chances to learn about obscure animal biology. Before I wrote _Sedge,_ I didn't know a ton about the process of egg laying, in birds or otherwise. In some ways it's pretty similar to how human reproduction works; chickens ovulate regardless of whether they've actually mated. That said, chickens don't menstruate, the eggs just come right out. My big question was — out of where? Unlike humans, birds only have one opening — where it's known as a "vent" or "cloaca." As far as I can tell, [the terms are interchangeable](https://www.birdsoutsidemywindow.org/2010/04/16/anatomy-cloaca-or-vent/). I went with "cloaca" for the purposes of this story because it's less ambiguous than vent; I tend to think of air ducts, not pee-holes, when I hear it. When a male bird fertilizes a female, it apparently happens through a process known as a "cloacal kiss." The two birds briefly let their cloacas touch, and that's about all that happens as far as I can tell. Digging into this was useful in other ways, though; it turns out that birds, like humans, can run into problems if their egg is turned the wrong way or too big. Since a critical aspect of Eheuian society is that there are significantly more males than females, learning about bird reproductive processes and challenges helped me come up with potential reasons for this. Birds pass eggs out of their cloacas to the outside of their bodies through the vent opening. To pass an egg the normal way, without getting stuck, the narrower end of the egg has to be facing the vent. The logic is similar to why human babies come out head first. But while we would call a human baby pointed the wrong way a "breech birth," birds who are having problems laying their egg are called "egg-bound." There are [more positions for a human baby to be in](https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/21848-breech-baby), and it only happens about 4% of the time in humans. In chickens, it's [most common in smaller breeds of chickens](https://www.chickenwhisperermagazine.com/nutrition/egg-bound-chickens-how-to-identify-and-prevent-this-emergency-condition), like bantams. Small size is only one of the potential causes of an egg-bound chicken, though. Another is age, since first-time layers tend to have more problems (which is also similar to humans — [teenagers are significantly more likely to die during childbirth](https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/12264602/)), along with really frequent layers. The third, though, is narratively useful: chickens deficient in protein and calcium are more prone to becoming egg-bound. Non-surgical interventions for this mostly involve palpitation, but if the egg breaks because of someone rubbing the abdomen, infection becomes really likely. Generally speaking, though, once a hen becomes egg-bound, even with modern medicine euthanasia is often the best one can hope for, because the surgeries are difficult and risky, and once a hen becomes egg-bound, she's likely to become egg-bound again. Not least of which because, unlike humans who can just avoid getting pregnant again, hens will lay eggs regardless of whether they've been fertilized.