Difference between revisions of "Logs:Ysavaeth and Cadejoth's Clutch Hatches"

Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr

Whether one enters from the main bowl entrance or one of the smaller tunnels at the back of the cavern, golden-brown sand glitters and swelters in every direction. Close inspection reveals that while the large egg pieces have been gathered up, small fragments remain mixed into the hot sand, record of a thousand hatchings. The main source of light is a huge window of sky high in the wall that also serves as an aerial entrance, its overhang just deep enough to admit light and cooler air but fend off harsher weather.

The sands' setting designs them to be the focus of the vast amphitheater, with tiers upon tiers of galleries rising up its southwestern side near the tunnel to the bowl, and rings of dragon ledges higher yet: heat and architecture combining into what can be a palpable sense of pressure.

Galleries> Madilla looks pleased and excited as she climbs up into the Galleries, though not nearly as much as Lilabet, who clings to her hand and all-but-bounces, all radiant enthusiasm. Dilan is less excitable, held in his mother's arms and sucking his thumb without a great deal of comprehension of what is going on, though Lily's enthusiasm does turn his expression into a smile eventually. The trio make their way towards some empty seats, close enough for Lily, but not so close as all that.

Galleries> There's a low murmur of voices that accompanies the newest arrivals, for a number of reasons. Lord Braeden of High Reaches Hold is the first, nodding his head by way of greeting to various other Bloods here and there. The next reason is his sister, Lady Issedi, and the man that accompanies her, Devaki. The former looks around with wide eyes and the occasional murmur; the later is more stately, gaze flicking here and there, meeting the looks of anyone whose gaze lingers too long with a easy (if perhaps, slightly forced) smile. The group head for a section near the front of the steps, settling down on either side of Issedi.

Galleries> The driving snow outside forces Ali to wear her fur cloak even for the short trip from dragon's back, across the bowl, and into the galleries. Once there, however, she heaves a sigh of relief, loosing her hold, a hand brushing through her hair to try and dislodge snow as she casts a glance towards E'ten and N'rov with a rueful smile. "If I'd known it was snowing, and we weren't already on the verge of being late, I'd have gone back and changed." Again. Probably because she's wearing a light blue dress, which while suitable to the occasion, probably isn't the warmest thing she's ever warn. "Do either of you see a free spot?" she asks, craning her neck about, looking - perhaps - for any other Fortian riders.

Galleries> Two turns is a long time in the life of a child, and it's no wonder that although Lily sees Devaki, there's no recollection in her expression. Anyway: she's too busy watching the sands, exclaiming quietly about the candidates that are now heading out onto them. This excites Dilan in turn, who wriggles madly, making Madilla laugh. "Yes, there they are. It won't be long now!"

Galleries> N'rov may arrive with other Fortians, but he slows upon arrival, hands thrust into the pockets of what passes for finery in a weyrling: clothes from his old life, tighter now about his shoulders and upper arms and too light for the snow that's falling outside, though their fabric and cut's more than respectable. He's not above looking in the direction of the Blooded, a step or two even drifting in their direction and a faint smile meeting others', until Ali calls him back. "What? Hm, depends on how much you want to see, but..." a look this way, a look that, and he settles on a tier about a third of the way up, doing the excuse-me hello-there watch-out-for-the-lady we'll-be-out-of-your-way-soon ritual traverse that leads them past women and children to a fine, fine viewing spot... if one that's right next to a set of riders and weyrfolk who're already in their cups and happily, sloppily loud with it. Which could explain a thing or two.

White Egg shudders powerfully, this motion alone setting it apart from its peers for a brief time before it grows still yet again. After a single moment's pause it twitches minutely, as if reluctant to give up the fight. White? Egg shivers, tiny hairline cracks beginning to appear across one end under continued pressure from the hatchling within. It shudders - and then it stills, as though all this effort has been a little too much, too soon.

They're only a few steps ahead of those candidates, K'del and Iolene, and Io, while dressed all pretty and dolled up, is missing shoes. This fact becomes obvious a few steps in as the blonde goldrider minces steps and winces before scampering over and climbing atop Cadejoth's back foot. Most likely, Ysavaeth's already nixed any such notions of impropriety and the young queen looks down upon her clutch of thirteen magnanimously without even a look for her improper rider.

Galleries> When in doubt? Layer. Layer. And layer. Following Ali and letting her lead the way, E'ten only knows to match High Reaches with the idea of cold. Attired in a thick winter jacket, the riding gloves are enough to provide minimal protection against the cutting winds. His own attire, paired colors of a burnished deep tan into a formal tunic and dark slacks can hardly be seen as he taps the weyrwoman's shoulder to follow N'rov's direction. "I think he found somewhere."

Galleries> Somewhere in the arriving crowd is a contingent of Monaco riders -- the Weyrleaders, and several others. They sit in a grouping towards the back, talking animatedly amongst themsevles. A few of the older High Reaches riders greets one of the Monaco riders with a surprised familiarity.

Cadejoth, by comparison, is more than happy to serve as a seat for Iolene - and his rider just leans up alongside them, positively beaming, and aiming the occasional proud glance at the goldrider. For the clutch? For something more? Oh, who can even tell.

Azaylia is torn between thanking Damaris for attempting to straighten her hair, and all but yanking poor Brieli out onto the Sands. The poor seamstress really has no idea what she's in for, holding her hand like she is. There's a forceful bow for one, then the other clutchparent- perhaps accidentally yanking the once-seamstress down with her in the process. Once she straightens, K'del and Iolene will get one of those big, body-involved waves, and for Cadejoth, too. Her face is strained in a forced smile, too nervous to do much else.

Lirienne follows after the Azaylia and towed upon Brieli, a little less frantic, but definately nervous as she offers a bow to Ysavaeth and Cadejoth, a rather faint smile struggling through a nerve-induced pale complextion before she moves after, keeping near the two she was following earlier.

Galleries> Rubbing her hands together, Ali's distracted momentarily by the arrival of the candidates, her gaze flickering across them, until E'ten taps her shoulder, and she gives him a rueful smile. Undoubtedly, the fact that the Fortian junior pulls free her of her cloak and displays her knot helps with the 'excuse me's' and apologetic smiles she offers as she follows in N'rov's wake. "We can see the sands, that's all that matters. And the dragons can see from the ledges, even if /we/ can't," she adds, with a wry laugh, letting her cloak fall to her feet as the heat of the sands and the press of so many people begins to warm up the area.

A pair of girls stands closely by each other, a little distant from the 'rabble' as it were, sisters by the look of it, one fair and the other dark-haired. The blonde might look sympathetic for Azaylia, but the brunette looks studiously ahead.

Galleries> Madilla smiles, as N'rov moves past, her own cheerful excitement warm in her expression, and, too, "Lily, don't wave your feet around like that. Sit still, please. There - some of them moved. Watch, now." It can't really be said that Lily pays much attention to the admonishment, but perhaps that's to be expected.

There's a faint look of annoyance at no pockets to shove her hands into. It was fine until she actually wanted them, at which point. Robe, dirty look, yeah. Damaris follows along with the group, mimicking Azaylia's bows though without the force and with a flicker of tense amusement. "Breathe," she's prompting Azaylia, sending a sympathetic look Brieli-wards. She's tense, but she's moving, focusing more of her attention on the other candidates than anything else. Because that keeps her occupied and not thinking about other things.

A pair of white eggs, in their enthused tremoring, collide against each other, causing one to fall apart to reveal a steady bronze. He takes a moment to look upward, his initial attention being drawn somehow to his dam, whose also eyeing him for a long breath before a pleased little drop of her chin urges him forward. With his mother's consent, he makes short work of finding a mind to match his and a young islander falls to his knees as Impression is made.

Brieli looks a little stunned as she's pulled out onto the Sands, stumbling in a rather undignified way behind Azaylia - and then bowing rather jerkily along with her to both dragons, dark eyes widening at the sheer size of each. With a blink - she's underestimated the former herder's strength entirely, but doesn't drop her hand - she scans the whole scene; the ledges, the galleries, the eggs, and tries very hard to maintain her usual composure. K'del and Iolene are offered a tiny, nervous wave before she shrugs at Damaris with a little smile.

Iolene, uncomplaining perch claimed, tucks her legs up so her bare toes might overlap with Cadejoth's talon. She might miss K'del's pride-filled smiles, but that's only because she's look up and up and up at the bronze dragon and then to her own dragon. It's only when a little toss of Ysavaeth's head indicates anything, that Io turns, her curious gaze seeking and then finding a cachet of candidates she's familiar with. Her arm lifts to wave, but the imbalance of such an action threatens her seat and the arm quickly falls back to her side. "Do you think...?" But how that thought concludes is lost as a roar of applause greets the first Impression. In spite of the cheers, a large section of the crowd is noticeably silent.

Galleries> Devaki seems, oddly, more interested in the crowd of the galleries than the sands themselves -- glancing over his shoulder and taking note of those in his immediate vicinity. His gaze drifts over where Madilla is seated, and snaps back, lingering on the healer and the two children. It's only when an excited Issedi leans forward and points to a few of the familiar candidates on the sands to him that he refocuses attention there with a dutiful murmur of agreement.

Off to one side, Meara and Quinlys stand, waiting. No sooner has that first bronze hatched (the pair exchange beaming smiles) than the greenrider is off to tend to him, perhaps not as spry as she used to be, but still perfectly able to lead the pair off. "Congratulations," she says, no hint of censure in her tone for his islander-status. "Just this way, please."

Azaylia offers a squeak for Damaris, "Tryin'." Accent belongs everywhere and nowhere, muffled by the fact that she's frozen to the hot sands. Luckily for Brieli, all that spastic movement will suddenly come to an end as the bronze hatches. B-bigger. Bigger on the Sands than when she's looking down from the galleries. Her eyes glance to the side, Lirienne caught in her sights as trembling lips mouth a 'good luck'.

Suddenly, White Egg picks up right where it left off with a powerful one-two kick of hatchling paws, a flurry of shards allowing the newest addition to roll from its shell. Dropping into a crouch, predator-like and wary, is a fine-boned green, her elongated tail clinging about her haunches as she peers out into the world.

K'del's "Mmm?" is distracted - he too has his attention focused on that first Impression, his expression not unreadable, but neither especially bothered nor especially pleased. "What's that, Io? He looks solid enough. They make good dragons, clearly." Cadejoth's rumble is rather more enthusiastic, though restrained: he's not going to knock Iolene off her perch, oh no.

>---< Make a Joyful Noise Green >--------------------------------------------<

 She's a curious creature of filtered light, her greenness many-layered,   
 blurring that sleek body with the deep shades of some wild forest's       
 canopy. Even so, she's not made for hiding: tiny filaments of golden-green
 sweep above large, personable eyes like minute feathers, and slim,        
 iridescent wings shine closer to cyan in the sunshine and owe nothing to  
 concealment at all. As dragons go, she's small even for her shade, with an
 elongated tail for clinging and outsized haunches for leaping and always, 
 always those wings for flight.                                            

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

The blonde sister cheers too. The brunette remains that thoughtful quiet, as if by sheer concentration she can make something happen and when a green hatches, her breath exhales.

Galleries> N'rov shrugs out of his coat too, folding it over his arm and then reaching for Ali's cloak with the explanation, "They'll be a bulwark. E'ten!" this over her shoulder. "Willing to give yours up?" In all the confusion, he must miss the first Impression given how his head jerks without quite looking at his /other/ neighbor's excited shriek and her, "Did you see that? One of /them/! We're just lucky that other one didn't beat out our K'del last time, such a sweet boy growing up, how cute they look."

Louder, "Do you think our child will become a dragonrider or a Holder?" And the capitalization on that 'H' is very distinct somehow. Iolene, however, gets distracted as more dragons hatch and a little happy clap is rewarded the pretty green's arrival. "Maybe," she adds a little more distracted for all that's happening now, "She can become a dragonholder."

Galleries> Madilla is too busy watching the sands to notice Devaki's attention - it's entirely possible she's not even really aware of him being there, though she fairly studiously isn't glancing in that direction, so perhaps not. Lily's 'Oh!' draws a bright smile from the healer, who agrees with Lily's quiet announcement that this is the best hatching ever.

Galleries> E'ten may never have seen a Hatching this far north where cold and the warmth of the sands vie for attention. Nevertheless, he does take the moment to nod to those of apparent rank that he passes. Eyes mindful of the knot that sets people apart for proper acknowledgement, he flashes a grin towards N'rov before a hand follows through with a wave that falls short. "Cute," he remarks, already beginning to grin while shrugging out of his own jacket. "And give what up?" He must have missed something.

"It'll be over soon," Damaris tells Azaylia, and then she can't quite ignore the eggs -- or that first impression -- any longer. Her attention follows the bronze and his rider towards Quinlys and Meara, and then she's blowing non-existent hair from her face and looking back to keep her eyes on the eggs. And now, the next hatched. Irritation is finally starting to give way to the cause of it; yeah, she's nervous, and it's becoming apparent.

K'del is watching when the green hatches, though Iolene's remarks rather rapidly draw his attention back onto the goldrider. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see," is his answer, rather noncommittal, really. "Did you see that green? She's awfully pretty."

Lirienne keeps a wary on her compatriots and any movements from those spherical objects - and most especially, once they release their contents. A quick smile is given as the first calls are given, and she takes the opportunity to move closer. "Just, uhm, breath slowly. And watch for any, well, dashing or trampling," she offers, words a bit softer than she means.

With renewed efforts, the hatchling within the White? Egg resumes those efforts to break free. One dark talon pokes, finally, out of the egg's rounded end, sending shards scattering - and then, the rest of it collapses altogether, thrusting onto the sands a brown-gold hatchling: a warrior queen.

>---< Conquerer of Worlds Gold >---------------------------------------------<

 This browny-gold young queen carries clubs with her, wingspars as thick   
 and blunt as her jaw on an even larger scale, ashen like aged bones. She  
 carries treasure with her too: the small and close-set jewels of her eyes,
 shiny-dark and rapacious and so often joyful; the even more opulent folds 
 of her wingsails, dusty-dark and warm and rich as the shadows of throat   
 and flanks. Within those two extremes she's that smudged, umber gold, her 
 hide clinging to a skeleton that needs to be grown into, short of neck and
 skinny of haunch with a strong chest in between. But if her neckridges are
 ragged, and so is her carriage, there's no missing the fine lines of her  
 long, sensual tail, or the wicked promise of ebon-gold talons.            

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

Brieli is all wide eyes again for the speed of the first Impressions, looking over towards the new riders for seconds before there's more eggs cracking, more movement. Looking over to Lirienne, she breathes, "You never said it was so fast." Her composure is near-lost in that breath, as that stunning green hatches. To Damaris, as she starts to be the twitchy one rather than Azaylia, "Over that soon?"

The second of those initial eggs, continues to rock, falling off its carefully built perch and tumbles, losing pieces of itself along the way until a dainty green is revealed. She's sitting on her bottom, tail tucked beneath her bulk, and she too pauses, jolted out of her attempts to right herself, to look to Ysavaeth. But it's a split second before she's up, shaking the sand off herself and making her way towards the candidates. But is that displeasure in the sniff of her dam, when the little green selects an older woman?

Galleries> The murmurs of 'exiles' in the stands is enough to clue Ali into the first impressee's origins, her mouth thinning briefly despite herself. "Oh- thank you," she tells N'rov, gratefully, passing her cloak to him. She's too distracted by the goings-on on the sands to notice where he intends to put them, however. She glances sidelong at E'ten with a brief grin, before the hatchlings on the sands earns her gaze again. "I always forget how /fast/ they are when you're not down there. That green's going to be a fast one!" she says, approvingly.

The hatching of the gold does the brunette in, an aghast look crossing her face and low words that aren't quite low enough are shared with the blonde. "I bet it's because she Impressed to an exile." This time, it's Quinlys who steps forward to do the weyrlingmaster duty, directly the newest Impressee towards the barracks with a beaming smile of congratulations (even if she does aim a glance at her sister over one shoulder, hopeful and encouraging).

Galleries> There's an interested exchange of comments from the Monaco contingent as gold hatches, the Weyrleaders in particular exchanging significant looks and glancing over to where that rider is having an animated chat with some of the High Reaches riders.

Ysavaeth, having looked pleased at all the initial hatchlings, and particularly delighted at the green gets as sour milk of an expression on her face as dragons are capable of when... well, that hatches. Her tail thumps, sending up a cloud of sand at the candidates nearest to it.

To Cadejoth, Ysavaeth projects, « That, » thing undignified in anything other than pronoun, « Is your fault. »

Brieli, suddenly and flatly to the brunette, "You need to shut up, or get off the Sands."

Make a Joyful Noise Green accustoms herself to the bustle of the sands rather quickly. She eases from her crouched position into one of curiosity, neck stretching and tail uncoiling to lash at the air behind her as she takes the first steps to investigate whats really out there. Growing bolder with each tread of forest green paws, wide and whirling eyes keen on every detail she passes, slow but steady progress.

Azaylia isn't so rude, or oblivious as to miss any impressions... she just can't utter a sound. Her heart's on fire and her belly is ice cold, and poor Brieli will have to deal with a sweat-slickened palm. "Dshingtrmpling." See that? That's Azaylia's attempt at trying to repeat Lirienne's words. She only jerks her head up and down, agreeing that indeed the impressions are fast. Without so many words. The green is stared at, and then the gold, and Azaylia's eyes wide and her lips in thin lines, though she offers her athletic frame as back up to Brieli's boldness. Whether she's aware of it or not.

To Ysavaeth, Cadejoth will have none of that, thank you very much. « I think she's beautiful, » is his reply, as bright and brilliant as anything could be, and accompanied by a mad flurry of jangling chains. « But I'm sorry if you don't like her. » Seriously sorry.

Another white egg begins rocking. Slowly at first, building speed. Time to crack! Here we go! Just kidding. Suddenly the egg is completely still again, like nothing ever happened. One, two, three: in quick succession, two blues and a green are thrust into the sands, their limbs and wings akimbo. The two blues are quick to seek out their chosen ones, both locals, but the green takes far longer, eventually stopping short in front of a young Blooded boy from High Reaches, whose surprise is only tempered by his joy.

The brunette probably has never been yelled at in her life, but her fingers twitch at her sides, clinging to the white robe she wears. "Mind your own business," says the once harper, with all the snotty regality that her heritage 'allows' her.

K'del's reaction to the queen is not quite as enthusiastic as Cadejoth's - he rumbles, delighted - but that doesn't mean his smile isn't bright. "She may not be pretty," he remarks, in Iolene's direction. "But I bet she'll be strong."

"Not now," Damaris says, though there's no indication made as to precisely who she's talking to. "Watch them, watch them." She's ghosting back a few paces so she can keep the eggs and the hatchlings and her fellow candidates in her line of sight, concern starting to eat at the nervousness in her gaze. Still, watching all the little dragons make their appearances, some hint of something tensely pleased makes an appearance, too. See. They're just fine.

Galleries> A slight tightening of expression from Lord Braeden, at that impression of the Blooded boy, though he forces a smile and claps politely. Issedi is far less reserved, tugging on her brother's shirt, "Brae-- did you see? Oh how wonderful!" Devaki, however, has eyes only for the queen, and perhaps, the islanders on the sands.

Some unheard sound catches the attention of the little green; she cocks her head from one side to the other in an attempt to catch the melody. At first, frustration reflects in the whirling red gaze. But then she bursts into sudden motion, eyes blue-shifting, as she rushes inelegantly towards one of the Weyr's local candidates: Damaris.

Lirienne bites her lip, then shakes her head, "B-brieli, peace. F-focus on more important things." She takes a deep breath, then adds, "After all, we're all h-here to Stand for the same C-clutch," she forces the words out, her point stated without turning to face those she's pointing it for. Iolene's reaction is nothing like her disdainful dragon's, and while there's the slightest hint of uncertainty as we go from beautiful green to not... well, a face only a mother can love and apparently not this mother, Io eventually takes it in stride. "Strong and willful hopefully." A glance goes out into the galleries and then up, as if seeking out one particular entity. Iovniath or Tiriana, perhaps?

Galleries> "Coat," explains N'rov to E'ten, jittery with his, "Jacket. Mantle. Cloak. Protective shield against..." the neighbors? the looks of his neighbors? At least, however boisterous, they have enough wineskins to bring more joy to the immediate vicinity. All the while he's folding the cloak, tidy about it, inside in and outside out, piling it up with his coat and then finally sitting, no doubt to the relief of those behind them. "Look at them. So many, already! Is that... usual?" He has a certain hesitation to him, a too-careful avoidance of this place's politics and implications.

More hatchlings, more Impressions: Meara and Quinlys are kept busy, moving from one to the next and directing them away.

Conquerer of Worlds Gold, warrior queen or no, has to reassemble herself: the talons go /down/, the head goes /up/, the wings uncrumple and go /out/ and so does the tail... and she takes a deep gasping breath of the hot sands and the clamor all around her. The clamor's within her, too, though: those whirling eyes blink into flecks of red and green, demand and curiosity, impatience and exhilaration. Her large head swings, looking around, her gaze fixing briefly on the largest moving objects in the cavern, her sire and dam. A bugle rips from her throat, and abruptly she turns towards the white-robed girls supposedly waiting for her, trumpeting at them as they argue, seeing who'll run before her.

Abruptly, that dark-haired girl turns. Has a candidate ever walked off the sands before? "I'm not risking that." Good riddance. Her sister stands there look a little, well, 'WTF' at the entire situation but doesn't follow.

Brieli's palms aren't exactly dry either and her hand might be shaking in Azaylia's - and she does take Damaris' advice before the young women is chosen by the green, dark eyes going to the dragons - but she has to tell the former harper girl, low-voiced, "Have some respect. They're queens." And as if to prove her point, the gold comes running towards them, trumpeting. She steels herself, gripping Azaylia's hand hard - she will NOT be running if Brieli has anything to do with it.

Galleries> This time, E'ten is paying more attention to the sands before contemplating the entire matter of handing over his own jacket to N'rov. Instead, he folds it over one arm before to Ali, "I think you're right. Somewhat, on both counts. All I can think of is how little sleep they're going to have for the next few sevendays." Only then does he extend the jacket holding arm towards his fellow Fortian weyrling with a considering glance. "I don't think that's what I meant." Beat. "Did you see that on the sands? They /are/ fast."

Brieli shrugs a little as the girl walks off. Good riddance. Don't let the door hit you...

Galleries> Taikrin nudges Riorde in the side, hard, her expression triumphant. "HAH! Did you see that? Damaris and the green? I knew it! We're gonna be rolling in the marks tonight." She pauses, craning her neck to peer down from their relatively high seats. "Did she say a name yet? Did you catch it?"

Azaylia swallows, sweat dripping off her in very visible trickles. She was already drenched before the hatching- Brieli's hand doesn't stand a chance at staying dry. A rattling inhale is taken, turning towards the brunette and the willfull candidate she's currently attatched to, "Sssss..." Any demands to stop are cut off as Damaris, so close, impresses. "Hhhaaaaaaa..!" Another hiss meant for more. This one congratulatory, no doubt. That is, until the young gold lets loose that bugle and turns her eyes on their white pocket. "Brieli!" A charging animal is a charging animal, and rather than run, slippery hands grab at the other girl trying to coax her out of harm's way. She looks to follow, if there's enough time before the hatchling reaches them.

Wait, towards her? Damaris is starting to skitter back away when she freezes, eyes going wide. Brain function stops for an instant before the smile appears, as bright and genuine as anyone here's ever seen on her, at least. She's swiftly moving to meet the pretty little green partway, to...right, try and get her shuffled off towards Quinlys. Hooray for friendly faces when one's mind is simply failing to process. "You did," she manages to say, aloud, to the pretty little green. "You did."

K'del adds, too, "I'm sure she'll grow into that body. Just give her time. Not all hatchlings are beautiful immediately." His beam turns brighter still as the little green picks her partner - he points, excitedly, but waits a few seconds more before calling, "Damaris! Congratulations!"

Quinlys at least seems wonderfully proud as she steps towards Damaris, leading her (and the green!) on towards the side of the sands. "She's beautiful," she says, for all that she clearly doesn't really seem to expect the words to sink in. "Let's get her some food, shall we? Right this way."

Galleries> "It's usual," Ali assures N'rov with a reminiscent sort of laugh. "When you're on the sands it seems /much/ longer. Maybe because of the heat?" She doesn't seem /too/ bothered with the noise of their neighbours, as fixed as she is on the sands. The newly hatched gold earns a chewing of her lower lip: she's far too polite to call a spade a spade, so she settles for, "She's an interesting looking one." Her fingers soothe down the material of her dress, a little smile apparent, "But the lack of sleep doesn't really matter, remember? Because of /them/," she gestures towards the sands, towards the dragons, eyes bright as she watches.

Pounding from within causes one of the eggs to splinter and then collapse, all structural integrity lost. There's a brown inside, solid and cinnamon-bright; he takes a careful step out of the ruins of his egg, and then another. On the third, he comes face to face with his first candidate, a local boy: Impression is immediate and absolute.

Galleries> Down by where the dragonhealers wait possible injury, a short-haired woman just /stares/ at the candidates, or rather, a departing candidate. And then at the galleries, towards weyrmate and child, her lips pressed tightly together before she turns back.

Lirienne opens her mouth to congratulate Damaris - and gets sidetracked by a charging warrior queenet - and not being brave in the least (according to herself) - she darts to one side away from the momentary heading of said queen. "Careful!"

Galleries> Meanwhile, from that Monaco rider, there's a low throated chuckle of something approaching fond fatherly pride at the commotion on the sands.

The left alone blonde looks ruefully towards the other girls and stands alone on the sands. A big mouthed apology is shot towards Brieli, but then the gold is charging and there's a green and brown Impression and unable to keep up with it all while making up for her less than tactful sister, she turns again and begins lurching back and forth on her heels and toes.

Suddenly, and without warning, that white egg that had gone still again bursts open, shards of shell sprinkling down upon the golden stand. Left standing in the middle of all that destruction is a little blue hatchling, egg shell still stuck rakishly to the egg goo about his head. He's only still for a moment - then, with an exuberant rush of energy, he takes his first steps into the world.

>---< Let It Burn Blue >-----------------------------------------------------<

 Such a dragon might disappear against troubled skies, if only he'd close  
 his burning eyes: proud, predatory, all grayed blues against a narrow and 
 wolfish build. His talons are the palest, chased with near-white lines of 
 frost, even sharper and stronger than the damascened steel of his         
 neckridges; more pale marks brush his long muzzle and drift down the      
 refined curve of his neck like so many runes from some foreign tongue. But
 even they can't touch his wings: dry warmth if anywhere is there, a       
 glimmer of deeper blue in shimmering waves like heated air along the      
 distant, unknowable horizon.                                              

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

Quinlys aims a worried glance in her sister's direction as she makes it back onto the sands, and wraps her arms around her middle. She doesn't have long to stand still, however: there's another new pair to collect, and it's clearly easier for her to do it than for Meara.

Brieli is just distracted for a moment - just a moment for a smile towards Damaris and her green - and then she's starting to be pulled off her feet by Azaylia again. "Azaylia! She probably wants us to run, look at her!" But she's not convinced enough, or - let's be honest - strong enough to pull a herder, so she's dragged through the Sands, leaving little tracks behind her. The blonde's apology is noted somewhere in all of the chaos, and she looks to find Lirienne, making sure the other candidate hasn't been mauled. "This is insane."

A flurry of shards marks the arrival of a second bronze on the sands, long and lean and full of energy. Cadejoth seems thrilled with the arrival, trumpeting his joy so loudly the poor creature tumbles in surprise. It's a bold young Blood who steps up to help him, and who, a few moments later, is triumphantly calling his new lifemate's name.

From her perch, Iolene seems oblivious to the insanity. Her seeking eyes do not find what they're looking for and instead alight onto the dignitaries present. But as her head bobbles in a count of who and how many, perhaps the crestfallen look on her face is less about who is there and who is not. Low words, this time actually meant only for K'del turn her body a little on that paw of Cadejoth's, her lean upward allowing her to whisper and possibly be heard.

Galleries> "No?" N'rov's on autopilot as he answers his fellow weyrling, managing E'ten's jacket, taking a deep breath of the heat-clogged, gossip-clogged air. He loosens the ties of his collar one-handed, gray eyes wider than he'd no doubt like, his smile back to Ali a fleeting one. "I'm not saying they're not worth it. But more sleep would have been nice. Maybe a little fellis... no? Then maybe a little more wine. Shells, he's loud," Cadejoth presumably, N'rov looking vaguely proud: actually using rider-style expletives!

Iolene whispers to K'del, "Will there be enough votes to pull things our way?"

K'del's nod is an approving one. "Two bronzes and a gold -- well done, Ysavaeth!" His own dragon's contribution he can set aside; anyone, he's beaming at Iolene's abdomen again. A moment later, Iolene is whispering at him, and he tilts his head up to hear the better. His nod is a careful one, followed by a low remark of his own.

Let It Burn Blue He's just hatched, but Let It Burn Blue isn't wasting time just sitting around. There are things to be done, and fun to be had. Tapping a nervous candidate with his tail as he scurries behind causes the poor girl to nearly wet herself on the sands. Amused, he takes a second to relish in the reaction before dashing off to his next target.

Azaylia manages to get a solid sentance out, though it's in a high pitched trill of fear. "She's going to EAT US." You can't trust those metallics! (Except for Cadejoth). Brieli's safety is clearly more important, and the herder is less pulling and more forcefully shoving Brieli around the Sands. It's a poor job of shoving hard enough to get her to move, but catching should the other girl stumble or trip. Not the best rescue in the world. A glance is given to the hatchling, and should she continue to charge Brieli will be abandoned, if only to try and confuse the gold by splitting up.

Grace is lost on the Conquerer of Worlds Gold Hatchling, and now, hunger causing her eyes to whirl faster and redder, coordination at all seems beyond her. She moves with a savage lunging thrust of limbs and tail, shoving past candidates as she tries to find her one. One boy goes toppling with an errant thrust of her wings; she tries to push past, Azaylia, too, raking at her midriff with a bitter swipe - and then she stops. No sooner has her paw connected but she's seeking out the herder's face, eyes suddenly the blue of elation: the one she wanted was here all along.

K'del whispers to Iolene, "There will. We've got Monaco, Southern and Benden. Fort. Almost certainly Telgar. Half - that's all we need." to Iolene.

Two greens hatch almost at once, if from eggs that sit across the sands from each other. Their movements are completely different, one slinking towards her chosen partner, the other bowling hers over. Still, the end result is the same: two more hatchlings, happily paired.

Whatever K'del says dissipates some of the worry from Io's face. "I hope so." And the timing of her hand drop and her question might be innocent, as her hand curves over her nonexistent belly. "Have you thought any more of my proposal?" You know, the one she was minxy enough to ask at the most inappropriate of times.

The Let It Burn Blue blinks in delighted surprise as one of his bigger, brown brothers trips over his tail. He can DO that? Wow! He's just beginning to eye one of the smaller greens, clearly thoroughly enjoying the chaos he has caused - and then, all of a sudden, he's on the move again, dashing towards a small group of candidates. What rumpus does he have in mind now? But in the end, it's not trouble that he's after at all, but rather a quiet little healer whose hand he nudges with his muzzle. His.

Brieli is easily shoved, and stumbles back behind Azaylia. She's about to contradict the other girl, she's opened her mouth to do so - but only shrieks when the other candidate is clawed with sharp talons, raising her hands to her face in horror. Even when it becomes apparent that an Impression has been made, the once seamstress is pale and uncertain. "A- Azaylia, congratulations. Are you all right?" She looks up and around suddenly, finding another of the candidates near her Impressed. So fast.

Galleries> Madilla's mouth forms a sudden 'O' as first Azaylia and then Lirienne Impress; Lily seems only excited because of the dragons, but for the healer, it's something far more personal. Then, suddenly - "They did it. Oh goodness." YES.

Azaylia falls, stumbling just as the gold hatchling knocks her over and those claws bite through the robe to the flesh of her stomach. Tears spring to her eyes before she can even make a sound, pain flooding all of her senses, even those newly awakened. Watery gaze is suddenly filled by tawny browngold and that elated blue, a gasp finally leaving her as she leans forward, foreheads touching. "Hrr...hrrrrr" She pants, suddenly ignoring all else in order to climb do her feet with Hraedhyth's to help steady her. "Over here..." Delicate, breathless whisper is mixed with awe, shuffling towards the weyrlingmasters. A toss over her shoulder, forgotten tears streaming down her face, "Of course I am."

K'del doesn't have time to answer Iolene's question, not when his gaze is suddenly caught, wide and surprised, by the Impression of that queen. "Look," he says, "Look!" He's wincing, shutting his eyes and then opening again in horror at the sight of it all.

It's Meara who ends up by Azaylia's side, concern wrapped deeply in her expression. "Bring her here, come on. We'll get you both tended to, don't you worry."

Hatched a few minutes earlier, the solid brown sent flying by his smaller blue brother's actions flails on the sands for a few moments before attempting to right himself. No one comes to his aid, but in the end, it scarcely matters: all it takes is an upwards glance, and then he's found his girl, a local woman who wraps her arms enthusiastically around him. With that, there are now hatchlings left: everything is still.

Liri turns as her hand is nudged - for all her words about keeping an eye on things and breathing, she fails utterly at both at this one moment. Forgetting how to breath, said little healer staggers slightly, then reaches to run fingers over knobs and ridges, as if to confirm it all, "Of course we do, Kasvanth," she manages to say in one go, unlike her previously halting words. "But first things first," as she turns to go with the dragonet towards the weyrlingmasters.

Galleries> So much to pay attention to. Even for E'ten, it's all a matter of where to start with so many trying for attention or to simply be loud and proud and aware that he won't be a quiet spot er, rider for long. Not with some still commenting on the hatchlings. "You should get the lessons finished finished sooner rather than later, N'rov. And we'll likely meet them again sooon enough." That much to Ali.

Quinlys is beaming as she approaches Lirienne, clearly delighted. "Female blueriders are the best," she says, earnestly, as she directs them off towards the barracks. "Come on, I'll show you where you can get food for him."

It may be the mother's influence, but Iolene isn't looking quite where the queen goes, fixating instead (rather belatedly) on the left over blonde sister, the twin long gone, and Brieli. It's as if that whole exchange only just now sunk in. Or-... Ysavaeth is also looking for a long moment at those empty spots, until the ruckus of Hraedhyth's Impression draws her back to reality. "Oh, bother."

Galleries> "Wine would've put /me/ to sleep more often than not, in those days," Ali admits, somewhat ruefully. She's about to answer E'ten, perhaps, when she's looking at the sands again, and- exhales. "Way too quick, when you're watching. Did you- shall we stay for the feast?" she glances between her companions, apparently amenable to either decision.

And just like that - it's all over. K'del steps away from Cadejoth's side, glancing up at Iolene for a moment, before he straightens, and turns back towards the candidates. Cadejoth's low rumble is almost sad - sad, but also happy, a mix that can't easily be explained. "Know you're disappointed," he begins, gaze sliding from Brieli to Arysanne, to each candidate in turn. "But we really appreciate that you took the time to Stand with us. Maybe your lifemate will be shelled in a future clutch. In any case, you are more than welcome to stay. We'd be delighted to have you. Now - there's a feast awaiting. Please do join us for that, and decide what you want to do after a good night's rest." It's clearly not a duty he especially enjoys, this time.

Galleries> After a few exchanges, the Monaco contingent rises as a group and heads out, after a last, long look towards the sands -- or possibly towards the Weyrleader?

Brieli starts to breathe a bit easier as things slow down and stop, but she does look after Azaylia and Lirienne both for a moment with a wistful expression. Her composure slowly returns with each breath, even though she still clenches and loosens her fists with leftover tension. As K'del speaks, she tilts her head to the side to listen, expression somewhere between disappointment and near-relief. She gives him a nod as his gaze falls on her, and falls in with the group of once-candidates shuffling off the Sands, some muttering and whispering amongst themselves. One notes, "At least we can drink now?"

Galleries> "Lessons? Which lessons?" N'rov checks quickly. "Are you saying you're ahead, E'ten?" He makes it into something wry with the curve of his mouth, gray eyes glittering, before glancing back down again: "I wouldn't be averse to food. If you think we can be suitably... well-behaved." His gaze slides to the sands, to the weyrwoman so chummy with High Reaches' Weyrleader. "Do you know her, Ali? Them?"

Iolene scrambles off of Cadejoth, forgetting the heat of the sands and looks at the leftover candidates. It's a first sight for her and one that... sets the pretty face into a flushed look of sadness. Leaning in towards K'del after his speech long enough to brush her lips against the corner of his mouth and then his cheek. "Let's dance later?" And then she's stepping towards the group of once-candidates, slipping in from behind to link her arm through Brieli's. "Let's go get something to eat. You and I. And all of you. Let's get drunk."

K'del seems amused by Iolene's gesture; his nod is definitely one of agreement. "Of course," he tells her, though he'll wait where he is a few minutes more before departing the sands.

Iolene heads up a short set of stairs to the hatching galleries.

Seeming surprised and rather touched by the goldrider's impusiveness, Brieli looks at Iolene and just nods, following her lead.