Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Clutching of Teonath and Sruth's Eggs"

Your location's current time: 11:06 on day 1, month 2, Turn 54, of the Tenth Pass. It is a winter morning.

Teonath> In the galleries, L'ian is sitting by himself at the moment, near the front of the gallery seating. He's not paying attention to the sand at the moment though. He is currently engrossed in a hide lying on his lap.

Teonath> In the galleries, Suraiya, after being outside, huddles further in her blanket. "As close as possible. It's warm /here/, at least!" Thank Faranth, too. Her shivers stop and she's beaming once again. She drops a few benches, looking for the warmest spot.

Teonath> The lurking sense of -something- that happens to flicker through the Reachian residents today culminates early, the winter morning pierced by a well-pitched, if soft bugle that manages to extend out towards those who are milling through the bowl. This is followed by the soft rush of brilliant wingsails that send Teonath from her ledge through the aerial entrance into the sands, landing with contrived ease onto the pale grains. Once there, instinct takes over, as well as a maternal fidget that has the gold brushing at sand mounds to make them just so.

High Reaches Weyr Hatching Grounds

In the galleries, Tahiri smiles, heading towards one of the benches close to the front. "Just try not to think about it and the cold won't bother you so much."

In the galleries, Sria wanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

In the galleries, Suraiya blinks over at the arriving queen, waggling a finger in the direction of the sands and a polite dip of her head. Not that anyone there would see her among the gathering crowds. Though her attention was still captured by her companion. "'M not thinking 'bout it. But that's kinda hard when it comes creeping up at ya an' ya start shivering." She twitches at the though, dropping to a bench near the front. The more warmth the better.

In the galleries, Sria doesn't linger long in the galleries, though she does send a smile L'ian's way - whether or not his attention's held by that hide - as she spots him in the growing crowd. There's a wave for everyone else before she takes in a quick view of the sands, and heads down.

Sria comes down a short flight of steps from the galleries.

Sria has arrived.

In the galleries, Tahiri flops down beside her, gazing out onto the Sands with more than a little curiosity. "You'll be ok." he remarks. "Tis alright here, I think."

From an entrance to the side of the sands, a fairly dusty looking Satiet emerges, her clipped steps containing a sense of urgency that makes them even more focused if that were possible. At the fringes, she stands a bit, eyeing the sands with a sort of dubious blue look and then places her booted feet onto the heat with a triumphant little smirk. No blistering sandals this time. A stylus rests forgotten behind her ear, and a smudge of charcoal dots her nose -- but it all matters little now as her pale gaze flies Teonath-ward, resting on the lumpy portions of the gold's abdomen. "Figures," she remarks shortly, and then gaps the distance with longer strides, tucking her clipboard underneath an arm.

In the galleries, L'ian looks up and smiles as Suraiya joins him on the first bench. He then brings his attention to the sands and the arriving gold for a moment as he folds the hide he was reading and puts it in his pocket. He nods at Tahiri as he joins them. He does catch Sria's smile just enough to catch it, but not fast enough to return it with his own before she's gone.

Teonath shifts her weight once uncomfortably to the side and swivels the sinuous curve of her neck to stare in a moment of orange speckled blue-green at her loam hued mate. The trace bits of anger give way after the continued study, and presumable communication, to a calmer blue, the gold pitching a low and controlled snarl towards Sruth, tensing immediately in the wake of the sound. Triple lids fly upward in surprise, wide-eyed in the draconic equivalent of owlishness, before a shudder ripples the golden hide and with little other fanfare the first small egg appears, looking oddly tattered along the edges and burnt in coloring, but well-loved for sure as a prehensile tail curves sand around it protectively.

In the galleries, B'rakis strolls up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

Well-Loved Childhood Companion Egg

A nappy klah brown dully coats this egg, as though it had been rolled through a hand-ground mill, exposed to all sorts of calamities, and finally left as forgotten in a corner. Squat and plain, the egg boasts little of note except a texture gradiated enough to almost be visible, which only serves to make it look all the more dirty, and there's a misshapen nub on one side, bearing indents strangely akin to teeth marks. Tatters and scars in its surface are etched in as though a toddler with a charcoal marker had snuck onto the sands and drawn on a lopsided face but overlooked an eye entirely.

In the galleries, Lisle comes to the galleries at a trot, a very careful trot, since she's got a mug of something steaming in her hand. A touch out of breath, with pale cheeks flush from the cold, she comes to a halt just inside the cavern and starts looking around expectantly. Face, face, face, face... but not the face she's looking for. Plenty of other's though. She lifts her mug to some nearby folks with a grin for greeting.

In the galleries, "Ya think they'd mind if I sleep 'ere?" Suraiya drops the blanket, reveling in the warm caverns. /So/ good. Her blue eyes catch the sight of a nearby bronzerider, and she gives her best smile and wave in L'ian's way. "'Lo!" She greets, mostly to everyone that is seated around her. "So, how many ya think she'll lay?" This is directed Tahiri's way.

In the galleries, Rachiel strides up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

In the galleries, L'ian waves back to Suraiya and is watching the sands again in time to catch the hatching of the first egg. He watches the process curiously, though he doesn't attempt a comment on the look of it.

In the galleries, Tahiri shakes his head, smileing. "I don't think they'd like that too much, no." he offers a little wave to the rider and the room in general, the turns back to Suraiya with a shrug. "No idea."

In the galleries, Sarisia has made sure to find a perch in the very back, away from all the noise and her sister. She had already placed her bets and now it was time to sit back and watch. Her icy blue eyes lazily scanned the scene as it unfolded, arms crossed infront of her chest and her face held in almost a frown.

In the galleries, Griere strides up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

Sria stays close to the gallery wall for the moment, her eyes skipping from Teonath, to Sruth, and then to the other rider on the sands with her. She a thumb into the opposite palm, and lets out a slow breath as the first egg is clutched. Her eyes move between brown and gold once more before she glances up to empty ledges, and then back to the galleries.

In the galleries, B'rakis climbs up the stone beaches, offering a cheerful, "Ista's duties to High Reaches and her queens," as he head to the middle section there and turning to get a look at the gold and brown dragon. "How many has she laid so far? Just one?" He cranes his neck, trying to determine if either dragon is obstructing view of other eggs.

Along the way, with the clipboard somehow managing to stay lodged somewhere between her arms or legs, Satiet sheds the winter sweater over her shoulders and flings it to the side. "Freaking Ista in here. Set up our own bar, umbrella drinks and all and have people fetch snow for us." Not noticing Sria's arrival (deliberately perhaps?), much of the muttering is to herself as the ice-bred weyrwoman attempts to get more comfortable. The brown dragon, however, does garner a sharper look.

The long stretch of silence between Teonath's low snarl and Sruth's equally contained echo, encouraging the sentiment rather than challenging it, match the preparation for first and second clutched eggs; wheaten hide ripples and muscles stretch, instinct playing its due part as the parents promptly tend to the now-revealed cloud shrouded egg -- the gold creating a cage of ivory talons around it to scoot sand closer and then relinquishing care to her mate as she moves to a patch of vast sand to rest.

Stormy Summers Egg

A foggy cloak of blue haze envelops this egg, blanketing bottom to top in a thick, heavy dew. Sunlit shades of green peek through the mist in crinkled bunches, the colors fading together with a soft glow near each adjustment, watercolor paints swirling in a mostly-clear mixture. Darker navy pools near the egg's base and stretches across the shell in oblong circles, littered with bits of brownish yellow and the occasional fleck of silver.

In the galleries, L'ian nods at B'rakis. "Just the one. High Reaches duties to Ista, as well. I'm curious about how many there will be, though not curious enough to do any betting on it." He turns back as the next egg is laid. "I like that one, especially the blue part."

In the galleries, Suraiya frowns briefly at the first egg, having missed it being clutched by now seeing it there sitting in the sands. "Oh..." Is all she gives it. "How 'bout nine? Nine sounds like a good number." Not that she's betting. The next egg, she sees, and smiles. "That's... nicer."

In the galleries, Tahiri shrugs again. "I suppose. And indeed, that one is quite lovely. Interesting variety of colors."

In the galleries, In the galleries, several kitchen assistants weave their way through to place food on a growing refreshment's table, pitchers of iced klah not typically seen in this area joining the regular steaming ones. The bright chatter of young folk reaches up clearly, their various jibes back and forth and banter that leads to betting garnering more than a few grins from the older, and perhaps wiser.

In the galleries, Griere trails B'rakis into the galleries, hugging her thin riding leathers tight about her, shoulders hunching up to squeeze a fluffy pink scarf around her neck. She probably should be smiling and making greetings, but instead she's just shivering and looking around.

In the galleries, "Miserable cold, isn't it?" a kindly sort of grey-haired woman catches sight of obvious foreigners, skirting watery green eyes over the Istan riders attire. "Ah, doll, you should be warming up at any moment now. Blistering heat in here."

Sria keeps her gaze on Sruth, then Teonath, though a word overheard here and there from the spectators prompts a small, pressed-lips smile. Straightening after the clutchparents' exchange, she remarks, loud enough for Satiet's ears, "These dragons are going to have lovely tempers." She even seems to mean it, now taking a moment to tie her hair higher off her neck.

In the galleries, Josilina strolls up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

In the galleries, L'ian doesn't seem be effected by the cold outside, but perhaps familiarity breeds comfort. He still smiles at Griere with an understanding look. "She's right. Though..." He grabs one of the mugs of steaming klah and holds it out. "This might speed up the process."

In the galleries, Lisle plops down near some people she doesn't know, narrowly avoiding a nasty spill of that warm beverage. "Nine? That'd be a big small. I know it's an interval and all but... I think she looks too fat for nine." It must be Suraiya that she's sat near and whose conversation she's butting in on.

In the galleries, B'rakis glances back over his shoulder, and grins at Griere. "Isn't this cold weather wonderful?" he asks in a happy tone as he gestures toward the bowl and the cold weather outside. "Is she.. hey there's another one.. A good start then. I'm not brave enough to wager on how many eggs total, but I'd guess somewhere between 15 and 20 eggs. That's normal for an interval clutch I believe.." He graciously thanks one of the kitchen assistants as she places a warm mug of klah in his hands. "I need about 3 or 5 spoons of sweetner too.."

Satiet keeps her distance from the parents, pale eyes aglitter with unvoiced, and otherwise unbetrayed emotions before Sria interrupts, and the slight goldrider just stares a moment at the brownrider. It's that look of seeing without really comprehending, and until a sharp shake of her head, she's dumbly silent. Then, she allows acerbically, "If you say so. I'm told some of the lower caverns have a running bet on who'll scare the candidates first at the hatching. Sruth, or the first hatched." The jacket is soon joined by a scarf, and even the fur-trimmed boots are given the eye. Cooler legs, or blistered feet - the choices.

In the galleries, "The next egg should be bright and... colorful." Suraiya is not much for words when it comes to the eggs. Her face is already back to its original color, and she's leaning forward in the bench. Her blue eyes turn away from the sands for a moment, blinking at Lisle. "But nine is a great number to have. Not too long and not much strain on the queen. Nine." She bobs her head. "Or thirteen."

The brief respite seems to be all that'll be allowed by instinct, as a thin warble of inscrutable emotion escapes those pressed lips, and a dark look of accusation flies from the gold's overly large eyes towards Sruth. But it's difficult to remain frustrated in light of the comforting sight of a silver mackerel curvature from behind golden haunches. Sruth's own gaze is steady and level as he maintains his distance by tending the other two eggs laid, and then moving forward to stroke his moonlit loam neck to that of wheat-filigreed gold in silent rapport.

In the galleries, Josilina comes up the stairs into the galleries, cheeks pink from the cold outside. "Nice in here." She mutters to herself, tugging her gloves off and stuffing them in her pockets. "Two so far?" She asks of no one in particular, nodding to the visitors as they're spotted with a cheerful, "Reaches duties."

Resonating Contentment Egg

The storm and silver of a mackerel sky greet you warmly as you arrive upon the domain of this semi-sphere. These shades fuzz the surface, a susurration of silky promise a relief to weary thoughts as to pet the tabby-stripes of this egg. From apex to curved base, around its curved lengths bands of grey, charcoal, sorrel and cream navigate in succession. These are vague colors, faded colors, old and familiar colors -- just the hint of which shadow and brush the shell, wriggle along the leathery surface with sleepy delight. Whiskers of ivory tickle the pinnacle as half-caught glimpses of white, those thin lines as faint as the contented rumbling-purr of a very large, very happy, very tired familiar friend, recalled from the depths of the mind's eye.

In the galleries, Tahiri gazes down at the queen thoughtfuly, tilting his head. "If I were going to wager, I'd have to say it'll be somewere between 13 and 15. Nine is a good number, but," he nods at Lisle, "She does look a bit too big for that."

In the galleries, Griere gives a very ready nod towards the grey-haired woman. "It goes right to the bone," she agrees. She gives B'rakis a rather withering look, "I prefer a blast of heat when I come out of between, not another blast of cold." She spares a nod of curls and a polite smile for L'ian, but there's another egg deposited on the sands and her attention and her attention drifts. "Is that egg actually fuzzy or is it the light?" she wonders.

Sria rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, and mutters something about understimation. Satiet's look is regarded calmly, and she eventually replies, "Is there? Well. I'd imagine that entirely depends on the dragon that hatches first. And Sruth has all of the time leading up to the hatching to scare them, besides." Quite as if scaring the candidates would be the -last- thing possible for her brown. Eyeing the parents again, she shakes her head a little, some small amusement lighting her expression.

In the galleries, Lisle snaps her fingers and points to Suraiya then. "Thirteen. That sounds good. Still not a strain. I mean, golds have clutched upwards of thirty, haven't they? Not for a while now, though." She pauses to sip from her cup. "D'you have marks on the number?"

In the galleries, L'ian puts his riding jacket back on. But before he goes, he says to nobody in particular, "Sixteen. That's my guess. Though I won't put any marks on it." He waves to everyone and heads out of the galleries.

In the galleries, L'ian walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance to the bowl.

During the gold's respite from egg laying, as brief as it was, Satiet takes a few more steps forward, her progress stayed by a distantly uncomfortable rumble. "Fine, fine." Though her words are distrustful at best, uneasy at worst. She finally glances again at Sria, with more clarity in her liquid gaze, and then nods, following the example by rolling up her sleeves as well. "Teonath will be superb, is superb. There's no talk of -her- scaring the candidates." But the goldrider does neglect to mention the bets on herself, rather than the dragon.

Teonath's contracting muscles offer no relief just now; the fourth egg of the clutch finds its way to the sands with little surprise but all the welcome that can be offered. A sweep of Sruth's talons prepares the shallow dip nearby, a silent exchange evident along with his glance to the youthful queen. Her mouth sets in a firm line, a trace of apricot marring the maternal blue in her eyes, and with a deliberate sereneness to her gait, she sinks into that shallow dip and rocks lightly as if swaying in a spring breeze, moving away to reveal the wonders of a sapphire sky shell.

Beautifully Lazy Day Egg

The surface of this egg is mostly a mixture of light sky and sapphire blues intertwined with puffy white figures. The colors come together and interweave in such that, at first glance, it appears the colors are flowing across the contours of this egg like clouds through a spring sky. One side of the egg has a dark sienna shape that appears to form a small porch swing. The illusion of movement is as with the clouds above, as the heat of the sands lifts to blur mahogany brown into brilliant blues. The warmth and calming effects of a lazy day in spring radiates from this diminutive egg.

In the galleries, Suraiya still doesn't look pleased with the eggs. "There has to be a nice egg in that belly of hers. Can't be like that last clutch I saw. Dark an' dull..." She sniffs at the memory. Tilting her head at Lisle, she gives her a smug little smile. "Well, lately thirty sounds like a strain. Sitting on the poor sands for days." Sure, it used to happen. "An' I got none." She shrugs her shoulder. "My sis might have some, but I doubt she'd spare a mark to me."

In the galleries, B'rakis directs a frown toward the complaining girl, "*ALL* of the eggs are nice, as will be all of the dragons, I'm sure. How pretty the shell is, is of absolutely no importance at the end of all things." He turns back to Griere, giving her a shrug, "Hey, it's a lot warmer here than it is Between," and then smiles as Josilina comes up the tiers beyond Griere. "Looks like four now."

In the galleries, Tahiri glances at Suraiya, grinning. "I think they're lovely." not that he is much of a judge, having seen dragon eggs only once before. "They can actually have up to thirty?" he whistles. "Ouch."

In the galleries, The same grey-haired woman that spoke to Griere turns now to Tahiri, the kindly smile turning wickedly delightful. "Ouch indeed. Them queens get all lumpy and dumpy and tubby, and can barely lift off to fly."

In the galleries, Tahiri turns to look at the grey-haired woman, smiling in his friendly manner. "I imagine. Poor things." he returns his attention to the sands. "I don't think she'll have near that many, though."

Sria, perhaps with some effort, also refrains from adding the other side of those bets on Teonath and Satiet. "I'm sure she'd be capable, if she felt the need," is all the brownrider says, distracted by another glance up to the galleries, just long enough to seek, and maybe find, someone specific.

In the galleries, Suraiya beams at the last egg. "See, there's a pretty egg to boast 'bout. Reminds me of a /warm/ day." She glances over a shoulder at the directing comments. "Sure, the dragons are nice. They gotta be. But the /eggs/ are something to look at for the next several sevendays. Colors always attract attention." She pauses a moment, smiles, and continues. "Like flowers!" She turns her attention back to Tahiri and the sands. "Lumpy queens back then. What's the most eggs ever laid 'fore?" She asks of no one in particular, but her eyes trail towards the grey-haired woman.

Satiet, too, in a mimic of much of Sria's movements thus far follows the brownrider's gaze up, and perhaps for the first time notes the audience. Blanching a bit, the reserved (well, nominally so in terms of privacy) weyrwoman inches closer towards the safety of another person on the sands even if it is Sria, the muscles in her chest-folded arms tightening visibly. "Voyeurs and exhibitionists. People watching the laying of eggs, and then watching them pop out of the shell. /Shells/! And now I understand why that makes such a great oath."

In the galleries, Griere seems to be settling into the cozy temperatures of the hatching cavern, her death-grip on her jacket easing, her shoulders starting to loosen up. "Some clutches are just darker than others," she points out mildly. "I heard something about the queen's diet effecting it, but that might just be talk. I don't think they really know what makes eggs look the way they do." As B'rakis looks past her, Griere glances over him, a quick inspecting look that ends abruptly as another egg arrives. "The blue is that one is bright, is that more to your satisfaction?" she asks Suraiya.

Copper-fired and night-touched brown tailtips rest near, if not touching, for a brief moment, before Sruth finds a new spot of nearby sand to accommodate the fifth egg and Teonath shifts to lay the predominately two-toned addition in its place. Before the next arrives and muscles tense once more, there's a moment for a pair of tails, dark and light, to tuck the egg into its sandy nest.

Sleeping Toddler Egg

Night's dark embrace covers a majority of this egg's shell, save for a wide triangle of soft, honeyed cream. The shadows that play across the egg's surface hint at a door being opened, pale peach suggestive of a hand resting upon a brassy splotch of a doorknob, as someone gazes lovingly upon the image revealed by the light. Within, nestled under a mound of soft pastel shaded blankets, lies a sleeping toddler, a fisted hand at his mouth, his face peaceful in repose.

In the galleries, Lisle nods to Suraiya, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand, "Dark eggs can be beautiful too. Sometimes a nice inky black one really stands out..." But the latest egg makes her blink. "Does it look like there's a kid in that egg?"

In the galleries, Tahiri gazes at the newest egg, arching an eyebrow. "You know, it kinda does....." he remarks, glancing in Lisle's direction. "Weird."

In the galleries, Suraiya doesn't seem to notice she's being spoken to by so many riders, or that she seems to be insulting the eggs in any way. "It's cozy and /warm/. Something I very much enjoy." She grins at that forth egg. But at Lisle's comment, she stares at the latest shell. "Did she eat a weyrbrat?" She questions Griere, glancing back her way. "'Less it's not the diet that affects the shell." Back to sand-staring. "Weird eggs, dark eggs, warm eggs..."

In the galleries, B'rakis sees Satiet looking in the direction of the galleries and waves at her for a moment, before taking a sip of his klah. A look of surprise is on his face as he glances at Griere, "Diet? I hadn't heard that what they eat could effect color of the egg. That's interesting," he says thoughtfully.

"-Shards- is a good one, too," Sria says, her attention on the dragons and their care for the most recently arrived egg. "The exhibitionists, in that case, would be the dragons, wouldn't they - though I've certainly never been on this side of all the betting, before." Perhaps the so-calm brownrider's found her own aspect to take issue with. It's soon dropped, however, in favor of: "All things considered, she's feeling well enough?"

In the galleries, Griere tips her head in a rather non-committal fashion and finally moves to claim a seat as she unhooks the clasps of her jacket and tugs at the thick, pink scarf so that it hangs in a floppy loop. "I've also heard that the way the eggs press inside the queen has some effect on the colors," but she shrugs at that, it's just another rumor.

"No betting." Satiet seems completely firm on that, and slants Sria an even look, almost as if she can't actually see the older woman betting on anything. "I'm told it's an unfair advantage," which means she had been thinking about it for a while," Though fat lot of good it does me when -she-," one slender finger lifts to stab the air that separates herself and her lifemate, "Doesn't bother to share." It's in a second scan of the galleries that she notes the presence of a few familiar faces, the goldrider to B'rakis' side earning a bemused look, followed by an inscrutable study of the Istan bronzerider. "She... have you ever seen those fat bovines that get themselves knocked up and scream in labor." And by bovines she clearly doesn't mean the beast-type. "She's not like that." And this is said with some pride.

For all the glares sent this way and that, there's a certain accord between dam and sire, a harmony of preparation and completion that glows as steady as the silvered strands of mind's illusion that link stars together into constellations. Their camaderie betrays itself in that brief tactile contact of tail tips or the accidental brush of brown to gold. For the sixth offering to the sands, placed not far from the egg of stormy skies, the dam and sire sit together, him in velvet encouragement, her in silken stoicism. Tensed muscles, soon relaxed once more, bring forth the newest addition to the clutch, its vague warmth settled well into the patterns of its parents.

Wrapped Against the Fog Egg

Pearlescent gray twinkles across the surface of this smallish egg, bringing to mind cool foggy days in Reaches' heights. The embrace of the sands around the oval gives way to a patterned swath that wraps around it, like your favorite quilt caught up to ward off fog's chill. Dotted lines in faint white separate neatly outlined squares of pale cream between a motley of many-colored diamonds. At the egg's crown, fog evaporates into floating steam, as if rising off the surface of a warm drink. There's a translucence to the shell almost at its peak, as if it might have some small defect that allows the occupant to see out through this strange skylight. Yet, if one dares to lay hand to shell, it is warm and firm to the touch, comfortable in its nest of sand.

In the galleries, Tahiri frowns in thought and remarks to no one in paticular, "You'd think the colors would be effected mroe by the dragonet inside than to anything the mother does, wouldn't you?"

In the galleries, Lisle wrinkles her nose at Tahiri as she considers that. "Yeah, I guess, but all sorts of dragons come out of all sorts of eggs." She lets out an easy sigh, "I don't understand any of it," and sucks down another gulp of her drink, complete with a flourish of lip-smacking.

"No betting," Sria agrees, whether that's this time or anytime. "Not that I'd have an advantage, either." She slants a glance to the object of Satiet's gallery gaze, though there's more focus on the look itself before she replies - with clear, familiar amusement for the goldrider's choice of words. "Bovines, mm-hm. I wouldn't have expected that of her, no. Fortunate for you, then. No screaming."

In the galleries, Suraiya keeps her comments to herself about the latest egg, and sort of drifts into silence as she sits back and watches the high reaches clutch form. "I think the only one that affects the shell is a gold... It'd be easy if a brown eggs has a brown dragonet." Her eyes never strayed from the sands. "Six, so far."

In the galleries, Tahiri reflexively reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes, shrugging. "I think it's symbolic. Not so much of the dragon's color.... more of their personality, maybe." it was a fansiful idea, of course, but the boy has lots of those.

In the galleries, B'rakis catches some of the conversation going on on the sands and a curious exprssion appears on his face as he looks at Griere. "Do any dragons scream when clutching? I thought they just kinda laid eggs.. not overly much fussing. Oh I hadn't heard that, about how the eggs press up against each other.. I remember when I came to Ista I was positive that you could tell the color of a dragon by the egg that shelled it."

"Shards." Satiet ruminates over that oath, elongating the vowel and slurring the s's even more. "Shells. Speaking of, have you spyed Josilina out yet?" The newest addition to the sands is given a quick jerk of her chin. "Greyed along the edges is still grey yet, isn't it?" Discomfort with the proximity of the brownrider is betrayed in every movement, though she gamely keeps her feet planted firmly. After a long pause, she clears her throat and allows, "I haven't seen you much lately again." It comes and goes, these not so chance meetings between gold and brown riders.

The strain against her hide seems to be alleviated as pressure along her distended abdomen fades with each egg clutched. Still, with all the gumption she can muster, a sardonically humored melody is shared with Sruth, who is already readying for the next egg by creating a wallow. Those who have nothing to prove, as she appears to believe, can afford the time to laugh at themselves even midst another contracting of hind muscles. Or maybe it's just jittering nerves and an overly wakeful, if pained, state. With a grace that must be forced if that tightened set of Teonath's jaw is any indication at all, she propels herself across the sand to the pre-made deposit point and squats inelegantly. When she moves away to rest her limbs, the heady swirls of cream and glassy brown that are revealed seems to fade into the cradle of sand, the shading given a wry look of paternal approval.

Cuppa and Cream Egg

The surface of this small egg is a swirling blend of even hues from creamed-klah to glassy pale brown, here and there fading to thin streaks of milky white. Flecks of a darker hue decorate the shell just above the base line, reminiscent of tea leaves or coarse brittles of klah bark that have sunk below the even creamy whorls. A rounded base settles neatly into the dip of sand which cradles the shell, while a certain flattened shape on top suggests both a cup-like shape and the possibility that the egg has been turned only once since being clutched.

In the galleries, Griere shakes her head, "I don't think so. I'm not sure I've ever heard it. Some grunt and rumble and fuss and complain, but most seem to be pretty at ease with the process, unlike people. But then if you compare the size of the egg to the size of the creature clutching it..." But her brows draw together in thought.

Sria glances back to the galleries, "I thought I saw her, but - she might be in there somewhere. I'm sure we'll hear her exclaim, for any grey." The tired joke comes halfhearted, distracted, discomfort breeding easily in the heat and the limelight of their dragons. "Again," is all she says to the last, switching her glance from dragon to rider, measuring, before returning to survey the soft shells of the eggs. "I do suspect that pattern's about to change."

In the galleries, The greyed woman, ever wise, or not, is silent throughout the discussions of colors and shape, and returns to her knitting with a clacking of needles. Every so often, a new arrival is accorded a grin and a nod to partake of the refreshments nearby. "Dehydration," she volunteers towards one likely lad, "Is a sure way to get yourself carted out of the galleries on a healer's plank."

In the galleries, Josilina has, at some point or another, picked out a spot in the bleachers to sit - near towards the front, and on the fringes of the crowd. She keeps her occassional comments for the eggs, but for the most part she watches the clutchparents and their riders, with a sometimes-look-around at the other spectators the event has drawn.

In the galleries, B'rakis absently tugs on the leather strip around his neck, as he notes to Griere, "Still and all, a dragon egg is far far smaller comparitively speaking than a baby is to a woman. And they do it.. though they do scream a lot when they bear them," he allows. Tahiri gets a grin for his conception of dragon eggs versus colors. "Now that idea makes sense to me."

"Slow start?" Satiet queries of Sria, though it's her dragon doing the laying. Teonath's one-noted melody to Sruth distracts the goldrider's attention back to the dragon and considers the new arrival, "Hopefully. Else I hear anything about how I have my dragon on a bad diet with all these dark-hued and muddy looking eggs." The galleries are spared a cold _look_ that conveys quite clearly, she may be out here and sweating from the heat, but she's not quite deaf yet, especially when a conversation vein takes grip for so long.

Teonath, for a moment, seems a bit concerned with the lopsided dumpiness of the previous egg and noses it gently to one side. The taxing endeavors of laying eggs must be wearing the gold's exterior unflappability thin for a sharp rumble ensues from behind, and for a moment there's a contest of quiet wills between rank of hide and seniority of time before the pale queen acquiesces, leaving the last egg to the ministrations of sire, and moves on towards the next Sruth-created divot. Good timing too, for as soon as she sinks down, the ripples of musculature in her back calves indicate more egg duct movement and a bright, sun-lit burst of spring is revealed. The previous egg, however, carries with it a slight indent along the top where both dam and sire have touched their muzzles.

Dewy Sunlit Field Egg

Gradient strokes of a deep earthen brown towards a feathered spring green rise from the lower curve of this egg in a slant. The touch of a spring breeze dances through the various blades, slivers of a misted blue peeking out from behind, and casts the illusion of a field bathed in a zephyr's dance, sunlit glory coruscanting throughout. It is washed from above by a splotch of clouded white that drapes over the very top curve, a gentle nose or handprint creating the slightest of dents to the perfect ovular shape. Of average size, it sits well in its little mound of sand, tilted just so to afford views of the streaks of rose and lavender skirting the edge of green, dotted lightly with what appears to be dew.

In the galleries, "Their personalities? Of the hatchling?" Lisle asks, mulling over that idea with her face sort of screwed up. Then she breaks into a smile. "That could be it. I like that. Does that mean that all the darker eggs are going to be dark-tempered dragons? Or that dull, gray eggs are dull dragons?"

In the galleries, Tahiri has a dreamy eyed expression, lost in the thought of translating colors to personality...... there was a poem in that somewhere, he was quite certain. "Mmm. Grey.....like clouds....flying maybe?" he mutters, apparently quite unaware that he's talking to himself.

In the galleries, Suraiya finally spares a glance towards the others around her, crowding the front benches. "Personalities? I think that'd be sad... All dragons are great; none of these dull eggs could ever produce any boring dragonets, either." Icy eyes turn to the sands, and she brightens. "That's a lovely egg there." The young girl, more interested in the shells than any dragonet that could be growing inside, sticks to keeping count of the clutch.

In the galleries, From somewhere behind Lisle comes a soft snort of a male voice, "Most likely dark-tempered. They say a dragon chooses their lifemate for a reason, and while the gold's not a bad sort 'cording to Kmeth, she picked that girl for a reason. And Sruth?" Well the brown is sort of well-known for his special characteristics. "Dark-tempered is what I'd lay my bets on."

A quiet rumble from Sruth is short-lived, as if a silent regard broke free to the surface, as Teonath's rest is once again interrupted by an uncomfortable tension in her diminutive frame. But that discomfort is short-lived, and a gentle caress of her tail to the sands is evidence of just how much melting ease relieves the egg from the duct. Glinting gazes back and forth, reflected in the multifaceted eyes of each bearer, serve to match the bright accents of the mostly-brown egg next revealed.

Melt In Your Mouth Egg

Medium brown pours over rounded edges and plump curves, coating this egg in a practically uniform shade of carob. Breaking up the sweetly smooth darkness are scattered flecks of blue and green - just a few: near both base and apex, and one sliver of grass-green along a side; all so bright they look nearly metallic. In one spot streaky lines of a lighter brown crisscross over the egg's middle, intersecting to create the impression of an eight-rayed star.

"We'll see, I suppose," Sria allows, considering the first. "They're distinct. All eggs are, to someone, but these - there's just something about them, hm?" Not that she's biased. "Diet," she scoffs, "Considering the number of grey eggs Lhiannonth's tended, and the way it can vary, I doubt it's at all diet." The attentions of the dragons now have her nearly a step forward, but abruptly halted, only shooting a sharp glance at her brown.

In the galleries, Tahiri manages to catch a hint of the conversation through his reverie and remarks thoughtfuly, "Dark might not mean 'dark tempered'. Maybe they like dark places.... or maybe dark doesn't mean 'dark' but stands for something else...." confusing, no doubt, but it seems to make sence to him.

In the galleries, Lisle twists to grin at the random male voice behind her, perhaps a bit of a knowing, conspiring grin. She doesn't add anything to the man's comments, but instead continues along with Tahiri, "Like, not dark but secretive, maybe?"

"That one," Satiet turns at the bidding of her mate-schooled lifemate, to watch Sruth at the creamy-klahed egg and then to the new offering of decadently rich brown. "Or maybe there was too much hope for something brighter. And it does have to do with diet of sire or dam." She tilts her head to try and catch a closer glimpse of the funny shaped one, lips pulling into a frown. "I know. I know, I've heard the dragonhealers say it's instinct to lay and tend, but do you think that egg will be worse for the wear for it's.... pushed in shape?" Dubious, the worry of the one egg sends the goldrider closer to Sria's side, head ducking towards the other woman to try and keep her words low. But to the uninitiated, and those too far to tell, it looks as if her lips are brushing too close to the other woman's cheek. Whispers, really.

In the galleries, The man, he just smiles indulgently at the conversing pair. He knows better of course and continues in the silence of belief in dark tempered.

As if like colors are being matched with like, Teonath find herself tipping to one side in a feat of multi-tasking, to curl out a depression of sand for the, evidently, very quick to arrive next egg. With Sruth seemingly preoccupied with the oddly shaped egg, the queen has respite from even the slightest of attentions of her mate, though those in the galleries receive a rather inscrutable look that might be a passive request for privacy. Fat chance. Resigned to her fate, the fast arrival of a blossoming rose egg and the comfort of honeyed chamomile tossed into the fray seems to soothe her, and it must either be getting easier, or this medium egg has found easy passage in the wake of a larger one.

Honeyed Rosehips Egg

Petals of wild roses are thrown as ruby leaves across this medium sized, spherical egg, tossed in untamed abandon with tiny nubs of golden chamomile along the honeycomb surface of porcelain and gold. Nestled within the twist and turn of an imagined arbor, well steeped tea gathers only in the leather's rough crevices, darkening the shell with a tisane of liquid auburn and winnowings of russet and brown, a delicate fusion that suggests the essence of fragrant memory. A dollop of true golden honey runnels along the top from one end to the other, swirling and curling amber to rose in with light-hearted delight, small speckles of darker tannin stain implying the buzz of tiny insects, and splashes of multi-hued beauty a pattering schmetterling upon the shell's base.

In the galleries, B'rakis slants a glance at Tahiri, noting, "Dark alone, might mean dark tempered. But remember all the eggs have a color to go with the dark. SO maybe like a dark blue one would be still and quiet like a peaceful night. Or a dark brown one might be warm and comfortable, like a mug of klah. And a dark red one might be... feisty. That kind of thing."

In the galleries, Tahiri nods thoughfuly. "Secretive, or good at keeping secrets..... or good at sneaking maybe?" he is warming up to the subject now. "So many possibilities."

Some newly overheard comment prompts Sria to turn from eggs and dragons and Satiet and sweep her eyes across the galleries. The look then travels to Sruth, a silent comment prompting the brown's glinting gaze to shine briefly at his rider. "Not to the point of controlling -" but she breaks off, returning to her study of the misshapen shell, "Sruth's not worried," is all she can offer, quieting to hear the rest.

And then there was a calm, when nothing but the heat of the sands rises to swelter the various non-draconic entities either on ground or in the somewhat cooler galleries. Teonath sinks to her forelimbs, slender neck curved down in the breather allowed. Sruth first watches the youthful queen, an exchange of silent conversation, turning his head towards the galleries as well, and an equally expressionless look is gifted towards a tiny girl near the front. When the heat seems to be at its most unbearable, and some of the galleries begins to get impatient with the wait, Teonath moves, revealing the refreshing sight of bubbles laid into a somehow cool, thirst quenching triple shade of colors.

Always Refreshing Egg

Three shades of gray spiral this egg like waves on an ocean of silver, strands of red, black and white playing counterpoint to the silvery-gray that drowns the majority of the egg. On closer inspection, tiny oval and round shapes on the surface look like bubbles coming up for air, and still more bright red scrawls across the surface in an indecipherable, curling script.

In the galleries, Tahiri smiles at B'rakis, adding the man's remark to his mental list of ideas. "Mmmm-hmmm."

In the galleries, Griere snorts quietly to herself for that male voice's comments and she doesn't add to the speculation of what sort of dragons might hatch. She does lift her chin a little peer past some heads at the latest addition to the clutch. "That one is lovely, or it looks like it will be when it dried off." She glances over at B'rakis, just a little sideways glance, thoughtful for his addition to the discussion of eggs and dragon personalities.

Sria senses "Satiet's breath is there, but words are belated, a bit of sardonic humor making its way free of the tensed girl. "Do you suppose there'd be issues if we just sat out here on our bums all day, drinking excessively and clad in our respective bikinis?" But worry is prevalent in her words, which the narrowed look that slides past Sria's nose towards the clutchparents is telling of."

Quick on the heels of the bubbles is a dark rose that sits elegantly, perched against a spiral of red, neither movement of hide, nor accordance by sire preceding it's arrival. It might have been overlooked for its smallish size if it weren't for the brilliance of its deep colors that seems to settle a sense of peace in the dragon. Or else she's completely been drained by the ordeals of the day. Sruth is gentle in his nudge, the slender muzzle lowering to the gold neck that curls on the sands, tracing up her spine before pivoting to check on the nearby sapphire of another egg, keeping his tail within reach.

Raindrops on Roses Egg

Dark, rich magenta reaches up in swaths from the basin of color at the base of this egg, gradually giving way to soft pinks. Subtle shading lines separate each concentration of color into petals, unfurling deceptively outward in an inviting faux-dimensional embrace. Timorously dotting these shaded shapes are a scattering of precariously placed clear blots resembling droplets of translucent water captured mid-beading and likely to remain frozen there despite the heat of the sands.

In the galleries, B'rakis counts the eggs, "Up to eleven now.. no wait, there's twelve. I like the red splash on that one," he says, ponting at the refreshing looking egg. "Almost looks like writing, doesn't it?" He pulls at his collar again, and makes a face. "It's getting hot in here now," he starts pulling off his riding jacket, swapping his klah mug from one hand to the other as he does.

Sria abruptly grins, past whatever worry might remain in bits and hints. "That, I think, is a very good idea," she tells Satiet, her eyes on the dark - yet magenta - egg that's now revealed, before slipping back to the clutchparents. "It would, at least, be more comfortable to wear out here," and she pulls at the front of her shirt before adding something else, lower.

In the galleries, "That could be it," Lisle adds in to B'rakis' line of thining. "Or many the darker eggs are quieter about those things while the brighter ones are louder. Like, a bright blue might be the sort of dragon that everyone knows is calm and peaceful but the dark blue might back mean that they are, but not everyone would notice. Or something." She wrinkles her nose again in her own confusion and then gives her head and shoulders a shake to toss off the whole weird thought.

In the galleries, Suraiya chews on her lower lip, quiet to the others present and yet enjoying the latest batch of eggs herself. The reds and the pinks.. oh, she likes! Suri doesn't seem too entertained at the personality suggestions. "One more, I bet," she mumbles to herself. Already passed the nine point, she's aiming at her lucky thirteen.

You sense Sria doesn't echo the worry, though it may be there - her dragon's confidence in the face of the unknown comes easy to her, at times, too. "Besides, it'd be amusing to show up those who have been telling us just how miserably hot it's going to be." Or just how miserable, full stop.

In the galleries, Tahiri leans forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. "It is very nice looking." he remarks in Brakis's direction. He glances over at Suri, grinning. "No thoughts on the colors?"

Satiet, visibly, keeps herself from stepping forward to the exhausted gold's side. That, and her head is still ducked somewhere near Sria's in their murmured conversation. "True." The slight goldrider tilts her head, piercing blue eyes fixated a moment on B'rakis and then Griere in the galleries, and then shifts to study each of the visible faces in turn, finally spying out the distinctive hair of the Reachian Weyrwoman. Smiling in challenge, though there's that knowing that she -knows- Sria will have no problems with this particular suggestion, she dares, "If you do, I will." It's at least a moment's distraction from the funny shaped egg and the magenta and tri-colored one that it joins. "She says," the girl moves away from the shadowy blonde towards Teonath finally, relief in her expression, "There's not much left." If one can be also counted as not much.

The eggs are slower in coming now, and a few dragonhealers at the very fringes of the sands converse lowly. The parents, one exhausted and moving by sheer instinct, the other doing what little he knows will be accepted to support his queen move as one, apathetic for the lowly voiced approval that the end is soon. As one, the touch of tails creeps up on them again, Teonath curling the narrowed bit of copper-gold beneath that of Sruth's burgundy and carmine tinted brown. Twined as such, they herald the arrival of translucent sliver of tangible sunlight mixed with the apricot of waning day.

Sleepy Afternoon Cuddles Egg

Translucence descends onto the mantle of apricot and peach that drape over a large egg in a veneer resembling liquid sunlight peeking sporadically through blinds. Entangled colors in the most abstract of forms then dance across the shell's glistening surface: darker apricots tucked beneath the curvature of peach, a splattering of gold-dusted ebony shaping a bent head coupled with a careless streak of smudged charcoal that seems to place a chin above the hair. In general, an ethereal peace prevails in the muted colors of this large egg, the hazy cast of sun's yellow weaved through pale brushes of an aquamarine breeze.

Sria laughs, disbelieving. "You won't," she tosses back to the goldrider, then turns to assess once again. "Good," is for the last, the news of not-much, and then she darts her gaze along the sunlit shell and the touch of tails beyond; without appearing to count, she silently mouths the new tally.

In the galleries, Lisle drains down the last of her drink and sticks the mug between her knees. "There's something sort of quietly comforting about all these eggs. Like, they're all sort of content or something. They're making me drowsy. Or maybe it's just the heat. It -is- stinking warm in here." She pulls at the front of her shirt a few times to increase the airflow around her body.

In the galleries, Suraiya's teeth are flashing at that last egg. "Now there's more color to the clutch. Lovely!" She sends the last bit clutchparents-way, getting up and dusting her skirts. "Shoulda bet," she mumbles with a sniff. Her eyes are focused on the queen, wondering if she'll be depositing any more yet. But she seems like she's not waiting around, she turns to pick up her discarded blanket and grins at the others. "Well, I'll be running into ya'll 'gain soon. Gotta go find my sis now." She waggles a few fingers and finds her way around the crowd to the exit.

Satiet doesn't need to count, or tally, and offers to the brownrider, "A baker's dozen." The sunlit shell holds her focus for a moment, a sudden smile emerging unbidden for this last of eggs, one that turns to include the tuckered out queen in reflective silence. Her look, however, flattens a bit as she notes the touch of tails. "You'd be surprised, and I don't mind giving the old biddies something to talk about."

In the galleries, B'rakis is tallying up the eggs as he tosses his jacket over the edge of one of the seats, pulling at the collar of his cream shirt again. "Whew. I feel like I'm baking.. and I'm not even on the sands. So what's the final tally, it looks as fi she's done? Thirteen eggs? A lucky number," he grins at Griere.

In the galleries, Suraiya walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance to the bowl.

In the galleries, Tahiri smiles, thinking it terribly funny that they'd all shortly before been complaining about the cold, but doesn't say anything. "Thirteen. Mmmm. She looks done, anyway."

In the galleries, Naemyr wanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

Sria inclines her head, "Good number," she decides, her smile softer for that final egg, for the tired parents and the match made. After a moment, she says simply to Satiet, "Deal."

In the galleries, Lirit wanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

In the galleries, After some moments of further watching, Josilina makes a note on a slip of hide before, with a longer look for the eggs and those who laid them, making a quiet departure out to the bowl.

In the galleries, Josilina walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance to the bowl.

In the galleries, Griere must be getting warm too, she's started to fidget with the scarf around her neck. "Very nice for a first clutch during the interval, I think," though there's something flat to the comment. "Do you think we'll have a chance to congratulate Satiet and Sria?" as she cranes to look for them and then eyes the exhausted queen curiously.

In the galleries, "Well, she was right," Lisle comments to Tahiri. "Thirteen. She should have gotten those marks from her sister and laid 'em down. You didn't bet, did you?"

In the galleries, Tahiri shakes his head a bit wistfully and says to Lisle, "Nope, didn't bet. Probably should have though."

In the galleries, Naemyr pumps his fists against his arms as if that would beat away the cold. He pauses to smile at the watchers, then peers out at the eggs. "Shards. I thought it was beginning." he mutters to himself.

In the galleries, B'rakis looks toward the brownrider and goldrider out on the sands and then back at Griere. "Probably, if we waita round long enough. Since it seems that Teonath is done, anyway. Excitement's over. For now. Well, at least until the candidates start coming in," he adds with a grin. Catching Naemyr's words, he responds, "Nope, just ended. We think, anyway."

Satiet's blue turns a bit frosted in that last statement from Sria, and with a careless shrug that belies some sort of emotion that's like anger, but not quite, she heads first towards her lifemate to reach out finger tips to the pale hide. Sruth and the brown's rider could matter little for now as she first ascertains that Teonath is, indeed, not dead yet, and the murmur low words that somehow work marvelously at calming her down rather than for the queen's sake. Then, she slides the clutchsire a look and mouths: Congratulations. For those in the galleries she knows, a hand lifts to greet them finally.

In the galleries, Lirit strides into the galleries, apparently finding them much warmer than she did the ledges above by the relief showing on her face. She heads for the refreshment table for some juice, then scans the seats for familiar faces, her eyes settling on B'rakis and Griere. Sitting together. She smiles a bit slyly and meanders a bit closer.

In the galleries, Naemyr glances over his shoulder at the speaker, eyes dropping to the knot on his shoulder. "G'd day, sir. Sorry to say I'm naturally late, so it's no surprise to me. Nice collection out there." he replies then shivers a little. "Wonder how they fare in this weather. I don't think I'd last very long."

In the galleries, Tahiri stretches, yawning rather loudly, and casts one last glance at the eggs. "Sure are pretty." he looks over at Naemyr. "Eh, they'll be ok. I don't think the queen would dare let them freeze."

In the galleries, Lisle takes a deep breath and sighs. "Next time, right?" she asks Tahiri with a teasing grin. The mug is plucked from between her knees and she adjusts her shoulders after the long sit before she stand and shakes out her legs. "Well, back to grind, I guess. See ya around." She gives the general gaggle of people a playful salute and trots off towards the exit.

Sria watches Satiet step away after that shrug, and then awards Sruth the kind of openly loving expression that few ever see. The brown, not unused to his rider, shifts after a moment to regard Satiet, pleased. In the same moment, Sria turns for a closer inspection of the galleries, and a silent greeting for those gathered.

In the galleries, Lirit alights just down from her fellow Istans, smiling greeting to them as she sips at her juice, smiling a bit more broadly as she notices B'rakis is wearing the necklace with the bell on it. She glances to Griere, trying to take measure of her mood.

Loving hands pet against the golden muzzle, that were Teonath human, would be sweat-lined from strain. As is, Satiet makes up for that with the beads of sweat along her brow and an impatient arm reaches up to wipe it away in one motion. Leaning the pale cheek in to touch briefly to dew-lined hide, she then moves away and spares Sria a cool look. "You can leave the sands if you'd like. Unless Sruth would prefer you stay? She's," a well of emotion leaks in the next: affection, concern, and a slight hint of trepidation. "She's down for the count." And that's the only explanation given as the girl's ambling steps take her to the stairs into the galleries.

You head up a short flight of steps to the galleries.

In the Galleries of the High Reaches Weyr Hatching Grounds(#510RJas$)

Griere lifts her chin in response to that wave from the sands, a small smile on her lips but hardly more than polite. "We can wait, if you like," she mentions to B'rakis, though surely there's not requirement that they leave together. "It's warm enough in here, they'll be fine. Hatching caverns are chosen for the heat," she points out offhandedly to Naemyr. Lirit receives a familiar nod of the Istan weyrwoman's curly head and a small smile no more warm than the one she offered Satiet and Sria a moment ago.

Lisle walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance to the bowl.

Lisle has left.

Naemyr realizes he's probably blocking someone's view by standing there in the front, so he moves to the side for a decent vantage point, mouthing 'Sorry' to Lirit as he passes. After nodding thoughtfully to Tahiri, the counting begins, index finger poking the air as his lips silently chant. Grier's explanation brings a smile and polite nod. "Good to hear, ma'am. Wouldn't want them to grow into icicles, though I guess they'll get to know about the cold of *between* soon enough. Probably seem like nothing after living in cold weather."

Satiet comes up those stairs, rests a hip to the railing that separates the sands from the galleries, and just observes for now. Everyone is afforded the same flat look of appraisal, though a few garner a slight narrowing of closer study. A few people who pass by are greeted with low words and nods, just polite enough from the few turns of practice and thin arms fold over her chest as she just waits for an opportune moment.

On the sands, Sria allows Satiet her coolness, nodding briefly. "See you, then, Satiet." And as the weyrwoman heads up the steps, Sria glances toward the visitors, smiles, and then approaches her dragon carefully, skirting the eggs and getting a closer look at those sections of shell not completely buried. She lingers there, for silent conversation and proper inspection, before eventually saying her hellos above.

Tahiri gets to his feet slowly, eyeing the refreshment table as though he's just now noticing it. He grins to himself, walking over to raid it. Oh but he did so love events that had food.

Lirit raises her glass in Satiet's direction, nodding greeting from up in the stands. Leaning close to Griere, she ventures "He's wearin' th'necklace y'gave him."

B'rakis is staring out at the eggs thoughtfully, and comes out of his reverie to wave to Lirit as the Istan approaches. "Hey! Xalerth told me Eleketh was here too, but I didn't see him outside. I guess you guys were up on the ledges?" He glances away as Satiet comes up the stairs from the sands, and he offers the goldrider a cheerful "Congratulations!" as he unconsciously lifts his hand to pull at his collar and the strip of leather there. Then his Wingleader's words reach him and his hand freezes, and drops down to his side.

Tahiri comes away from the table sporting a warm mug of klah. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of the gold rider and offers her a wave of congratulations, smiling broadly.

"It looks like she's coming up this way," Griere mentions to B'rakis, an eye on Satiet's approach and pause. She's ready to wave, too, but then Lirit is there murmuring such things to her and she forgets all about Satiet and just turns to blink at the bluerider. "Excuse me?"

Lirit says "B'rakis" Lirit says matter of factly. "Didn't y'notice?" She smiles pleasantly as if this was the most natural thing to be talking about in the world. Her eyes go back to the approaching Satiet, smile still in place, though now a little more guardedly."

There's something of twitchy bemusement in Satiet's expression at spying B'rakis with Griere, and interest is piqued as Lirit's words reach her ear, coupled with the bronzerider's movement. But the duties of a hostess are never done, however drenched in perspiration she may be, and the goldrider turns towards the congratulator, Tahiri, and offers the politest of nods. "Welcome. Reaches duties... to you," she concludes lamely, as the attempt to place the face fails. She advises dryly for the spiky-haired lad, "The muffins are my personal favorite if they're still on the refreshment table." Lirit, on the other hand, is given a slightly warmer look than the last one the bluerider had been gifted with. Suffice to say, it melts a bit of the exterior chill, even if it's by no means apologetic. "You came," she notes, a bit more brightly for the Istan contingent, though eyes fixate onto the Weyrleader and his necklace touching.

Naemyr's eyes follow Tahiri's steps to the food, but he makes no move to join. Instead, he glances toward B'rakis as the congratulations are offered, noting the knot on Satiet's shoulder before looking back to Griere and her knot. An arched brow offers his first reaction at the gathered leadership, then a smile as he mouths to himself, 'Shards n feathers, quite the gathering..' Dark eyes turn back to the sands, a sigh possibly indicating he thinks it's safer that way.

Tahiri blushes, returning the nod. "Tahiri. And there's not many of them left." Mostly because he'd gobbled down quite a few himself. He returns to his seat, watching the others converse as he sips at his drink.

Tahiri blushes, returning the nod. "Tahiri. And there's not many of them left." Mostly because he'd gobbled down quite a few himself. He returns to his seat, watching the others converse as he sips at his drink.

B'rakis's smile comes across as rather nervous, judging from quick glances directed at Griere and Lirit before he responds, "Teonath looks tuckered out, though after laying eggs, I don't blame her. Congratulations," he says again, and then coughs as he appears to realize that he already said that. His hand rises to pull out the collar on his creme shirt, conveniently tucking the necklace out of sight for the most part. "You must be very proud. I'm sure the muffins are even better than they were last time, and I will definitely have to try one of the muffins." Which seems like good advice right now, so he ducks away long enough to grab one.

Griere frowns at Lirit, suddenly looking over her as though she were entirely alien, "What about it?" she asks sharply, a definite 'none of your business' tone coming through. Her eyes dart warily towards B'rakis, towards Satiet with her bemused expression, and it only straightens her spine and lifts her chin in dangerous challenge when she turns back to Lirit.

Satiet shifts uncomfortably, a sudden wistful glance for the jacket on the sands. Oh, to be in the comfort and protection of those pink and white folds. Instead, she manages to keep the smile plastered on her face, "I can't even imagine a gold laying forty eggs, which I'm told happened quite often this past Pass." The slender goldrider shakes her head, dark bangs obscuring the vision of one eye. Still, one sharp eye considering Naemyr is perhaps one sharp eye too many and luckily the study only lasts a beat before a cool alto offers to this young man a greeting, "Welcome. And Reaches duties to you and yours." Quick steps and ease of maneuvering her slim frame takes her across the small distance to deliberately brush past B'rakis' side on her way out. A wholly wicked smirk curves on the dark-haired girl's face. "Thank you for coming," is murmured past that sardonic delight, and she slips out.

Lirit seems oblivious to Griere's impending anger. "Just thought it worth note, is all" the bluerider says amiably. "Lovely clutching, Satiet. You should be proud! Teonath makes beautiful eggs...."

Naemyr's stance is relaxed but an occasional nervous tilt of his head back toward the necklaced weyrleader, challenging weyrwoman, Lirit, Tahiri and of course the hostess Satiet belie nervousness with this group. "Swirls, patterns, all so very nice on those eggs!" is noted as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. Safer there, no doubt.

Tahiri hums a little tune to himself as he watches the others, eyes bright with curiosity. If it wasn't such an interesting event, he'd no doubt be quite nervous himself. As it is, the nervousness is mild, over ridden by his lingering thoughts on dragon egg colors.

Griere seems even more dissatisfied to find that this necklace talk has kept her distracted from offering her congratulations to Satiet, seeing the Reaches goldrider's wicked little smirk and then her retreating back. Griere actually seems to pout at that turn of events. "Well, it was noted," she says to Lirit with obvious impatience. Huff. "Did you enjoy the clutching." As in, 'moving on...' But of course another curious glance finds the bronzerider she arrived with, particularly for his neck-region.

B'rakis's glance toward Tahiri and Naemyr clearly conveys his desire to be over there where it's safer too. He breaks the muffin into two pieces, then pops one half into his mouth. And then Satiet's not-so-accidental brush against him causes his expression to go from nervous to startled, a quickly indrawn breath causing him to cough as he nearly inhales his muffin. Literally.

"It's always nice t'see eggs hitting the Sands, Griere" Lirit smiles. "Reminds me of th'first time I saw Eleketh's egg, in amongst those pesky Susu bugs....."

Teonath> In the galleries, Satiet walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance to the bowl.