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This egg was found tucked inside a ball of crumpled paper, rolled neatly into a corner. Whoever left it there clearly meant to come back for it. Nobody ever did.
The Iligh spends its days rolling up the stories nobody wanted. Abandoned drafts, unsent letters, torn-out pages, wishes crumpled and thrown away... it gathers them all into a great paper ball and pushes it wherever it goes. Ask an Iligh why and it will only shrug its little legs and keep rolling. It has never read a single word. It can't read at all.
Scholars find this tragic, but the Iligh does not. It doesn't need to read a story to know the story mattered. Someone wrote it and someone gave up on it and that is enough.
Somewhere in every Iligh's ball is a page you threw away yourself. It's still there. It was never garbage to them.