Difference between revisions of "Logs:Hraedhyth 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.

People have been watching the eggs all day, just waiting for any hint of movement. Certainly, the dragonhealers say today will be the day, but as the afternoon wears on, those eggs remain resolutely silent. Cadejoth's tail-tip flicks against the sand, his eyes whirling rapidly as he watches. Maybe if he watches really really hard, it'll happen!

It's as the sun begins to drop below the spires, at the end of this early spring day, that the humming commences. There have been signs all day, of course - it's no surprise - but there's a gut-punch to it, too, as the birth song of the dragons begins resonating through the weyr, echoing deeply enough to be felt inside as well as out. It's time; it's unmistakably time.

In contrast, Hraedhyth is stone still as she watches the galleries, the ledges. Those dragons who might be unable to contain their excitement are too far for her to chase out, but people? No. Not until Hraedhyth and Cadejoth's humming echoes throughout their territory. From the queen's savage throat, it sounds more like a musical growl-- interrupted by the real thing once intruders begin to fill the galleries. There are still eggs to guard, and soon there will be vulnerable hatchlings on the sand.

Cadejoth isn't the only dragon who's been watching. (Maybe that's why it's taking so sharding long?) Teisyth has been watching. And pacing. And changing ledges. And jiggling her wings. And wiggling her tail. It's good that she sticks to the higher ledges so as to be less obnoxious to the dam and sire on the sands, but her excitement is barely contained, unless you're a dragon who happens to offer up their mind as an outlet for all that exuberant energy. When the hum begins to vibrate through the throats of the other dragons, she's so quick to join, her cup runeth over with the joy of it all.

Could Cadejoth be any more excited? No. Probably not. Drawing himself up, so full of pride, he belows excitement... and then lets that hang back so that he can hum, eyes whirling faster than ever as he focuses upon the gently rocking eggs. Several of the Weyrlingmaster's assistants beat K'del onto the sands; the Weyrleader, when he does arrive, is still hastily adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, a skin of wine dangling from his arm. "Yes, yes," he says, hastily. "I'm here. I'm coming!"

Hraedhyth sits up as Cadejoth does, every muscle bulging beneath her tawny hide, oversized jaws and red-tinted gaze making her a ferocious sight to behold. Just as her wings begin to open, Azaylia arrives on K'del's heels with a soft laugh. "He's excited?" Not really a question as she smiles up at Cadejoth, a delicate hand acting as an anchor for her protective queen. Surely she isn't going to wear such a light dress to the feast, but for the sands it's perfectly practical. At least it's pretty.

K'del, with a grin: "You think?" Not that he's lacking excitement, even if he's generally more inclined to calm. The 'skin gets offered to Azaylia as he steps in alongside his dragon, gaze falling towards the eggs.

G'laer isn't wearing the knot of an assistant weyrlingmaster, but he arrives all the same with the other assistants. The only sign that his usual self-contained manner is shaken is that his fingers are twitching in a rhythmic sort of way; probably no one will notice that it's matching his dragon's wiggles above.

Azaylia accepts the skin with mild surprise, blinking at it and K'del before deciding to slip it onto her own arm. It would be unseemly to drink during their hatching... wouldn't it? Perhaps, she'll be more tempted the longer she stands in such heat. To K'del in a breathless murmur, "I am, too."

K'del's brows raise; "What?" He has always made a habit of drinking on the sands, but clearly this is not a habit shared by all. At least having the skin out of his hands lets him finish fiddling with his cuffs, so that he can straighten and look somewhat respectable. "Good," he says, firmly. "You should be. Oh-- there they come."

The Dancer Tilting egg has long sat at an angle; now, at the behest of a rattling from within, it topples over altogether, shattering into a flurry of artistic pieces as it hits the sands. A roar rises as this first dragon is hatched: a green, tiny and perfect, who promptly finds her partner with a boy still on his way onto the sands.

Valenros steps onto the sands with the other candidates, soon finding his way to the semi-circle. He places himself somewhere near the end, standing with hands balled up in his robe and an anxious expression on his pale face.

Quinlys trails behind the last of the candidates, arms folded behind her back, and chin held high. She moves towards the group of her assistants (and G'laer), murmuring something to them in a low, clear voice. Of course, almost immediately she has to send J'vain off to collect the very first pair. Just like that!

"Oh!" Excited and nervous, Azaylia easily gives in to peer pressure-- even if there isn't any. She'll steal a sip from the wineskin just as the cadidates appear, swallowing quickly and pushing the closed skin at K'del. His! Hraedhyth is suddenly very interested in the group as they enter, weight visibly shifting beneath her paws as she aims a humgrowl at the candidates. She's watching you.

Jadzia might have been in a bad mood before coming out here. But now that she's here, now that there are eggs already cracking open to spill out baby dragons, there's not much brain space left over for moodiness. Being alert, and possibly high on adrenaline, seems a little more important now.

Jayzin bows to the clutch dam and sire, smoothly, but then an egg is hatching before he has time to really do anything else. This is going way faster than he thought! He slides around to place himself away from other candidates, careful not to put himself anywhere where Hraedhyth might object though.

The Rain and Cloud Egg begins careful, calculated shaking - whatever is inside knows it has to get out, but isn't going to be frenzied or freaked out about that. There is an escape plan in progress, one to breach the geometric fence, to break free, and it will not be thwarted.

K'del's! He's clearly not inclined to complain with that; even if drinking wine on the sands may not be necessarily the best idea, hydration-wise. "A green already!" He enthuses, brightly. "Oh, and that one's moving." Cadejoth thrums, louder than ever. His hatchlings! His!

Valenros shifts on his feet, watching the proceedings - eggs shattering, dragons roaming - with wide brown eyes. He looks younger than his twenty turns just now, vulnerable.

There might be something to be said for G'laer's calm on the sands. He's attentive to Quinlys and her instructions, even if his eyes stray to Teisyth's candidate briefly before coming back to the redhead.

Flakes of sparkling shell begin to scatter upon the sand, nestling amidst single grains dislodged by the slow, steady motion of the Sheer Sparkle Egg. Gently, it rocks itself, shivering as if in sheer, sensual delight; soon it will be time to be free. Soon.

Quinlys wipes her face with the back of her hand, wrinkling her nose at the sweat that seems already determined to stick her hair to her forehead. Still; "Keep your eyes open," she instructs her group of mini-- assistants. "I don't want any accidents. Or any uncertainties."

Azaylia keeps one hand on her lifemate, a much-needed touch of calm as Hraedhyth's intensity rises with that of the hatching. The first impression earns a sudden roar, quickly followed by a soft laugh from the Weyrwoman. There's a coo, "They're so little." How can she drink? She can't take her eyes off the sands.

Jayzin lifts his eyes, briefly, to scan the Stands, but then his attention drops quickly back to paying attention to his surroundings.

The insubstantial patterns lurking in the Rain and Cloud Egg sway and warp as the movement inside becomes more insistent and willful. After a few more focused, deliberate shudders, the fog begins to dissipate, the grey disintegrating into shards to reveal a bright-eyed, long-limbed brown lurking in what's left of the shadows of his shell.

Shadow and Smoke Brown

Intricately reptilian patterns scale the hide of this deep, dark brown, their fine charred lines lending him a sinister, disreputable air that's only enhanced by the bright cunning in his brow-shadowed gaze. Further charcoal smudges his neckridges, seeming to dissolve into campfire smoke at their well-honed tips, a haze that drifts all the way down his tail. His wingsails are a smoldering veil, burnt nearly to black along his wingtips and spars, casting even more shadows upon the lanky leanness of his body; he's a dragon well-suited to darkness, sly and swift and unquestioningly self-assured.

Cadejoth leans across to nudge his head towards Hraedhyth's, mate to mate. They made them; isn't it amazing? "Hard to believe our two were ever that small, right?" he agrees, with a laugh. "Oh - look, a brown. Good looking creature, isn't he?"

Jadzia doesn't stand near anyone in particular. If she has friends, it's hard to tell right now. She doesn't even look for the big smith. Her focus is on the eggs, hands tightly fisted at her sides betraying her tension.

The Into the Light egg has been pulsing for long minutes as the life within struggles to free itself. There's barely a transition from those motions into a sudden fissure that splits the shell in half along dawn's light, a long, regal, elegant blue spilling forth onto the sands. Silently, he climbs to his feet, taking his time examining all the candidates, until the perfect one is chosen with an imperious bump of chin to legs.

Shadow and Smoke Brown lurks and lingers in the shards of his egg, assessing the situation. Large dragons behind him, seem to be related to him, check. White robed line of humans opposite to them, shifting and anxious on the sands, check. Other hatchlings popping out of eggs all around him and Impressing... now he's got the way of it. He takes some careful steps toward the candidates - and nearly trips over his long forelegs. This might take time.

Valenros isn't letting anything distract him, not even the simpering of the candidate beside him. He bites his lower lip as he watches, anxiety written clear across his face. Impressions are happening too swiftly, egg hatching in an instant, for individual emotions to register.

Flakes of glittering crystal glide away from the Sheer Sparkle Egg as it continues to shudder under the efforts of the hatchling within. Abruptly, the shuddering stops - only to be replaced, a moment later, by a great crack as it sunders. Left in the egg's wake is a dark-hued brown, wings furled about himself in a gesture of what can only be described as pure glee.

Smooth as Tillekian Whiskey Brown

There's something debonair about this brown dragon, and it's not just his hide like glossy mahogany, nor his svelte lines, so long and lean and perfectly proportional. The rakish tilt to his headknobs only accentuates the smug glee characteristic of his wide-spaced eyes; an equally aristocratic precision informs the swept-back line of his neckridges, their leading edges wine-rich as well as regal. Whiskey pools about his exquisite paws with the sheen of bronze, and about the tip of his dapper tail likewise; it also burnishes the fine bones of his wings, though not the mottled parchment of his close-held sails - the latter often tucked close to his shoulders and the flamboyant sweep of his back, not a cape so much as a perfectly tailored coat.

Hraedhyth quiets, if only slightly, at Cadejoth's touch. She leans, an affectionate headbutt given even as her ruby gaze remains on the hatchlings. Yes, the ones they made. Azaylia's beaming, trying to stifle it with a bite to her lip. She answers K'del with a joyful, "Uh huhm!" She's listening, honest. But... baby dragons!

Jayzin is calm, collected. He doesn't seem to be sweating the hatchings or anxious about little dragonets. (This might be because of the rum he had earlier.) But, for now, he seems to be taking it all in cooly.

Quinlys, for now, seems more inclined to direct her assistants towards the new pairs, than to actually take any of them herself. The perks of being the boss? Maybe!

Shadow and Smoke Brown attempts to cover his clumsiness with sharp appraisal. He's looking at the candidates, clearly trying to figure out the best angle. Not at all trying to manage his overlong limbs straight out of the shell. When he pauses on his way there, he's sweeping a look over a group of girls, not at all untangling his tail from his back paws. Oh, hey, another like him. He bellows at his clutchmate.

A trio of giggling girls squeal as that brown, the smoky one, bellows; they look somewhat appalled. Is that... supposed to happen?

Jadzia's watching of the hatchlings of course has her watching some of them impressing to her fellow candidates. Her gaze doesn't linger on any of them very long, especially not when she jerks her attention to the bellowing brown.

Valenros is sweating, profusely. He wipes a hand down his face, muttering under his breath, which catches as more dragons erupt from their eggs.

Shadow and Smoke Brown Hatchling has taken his time. He's deliberated, assessed his options to the best of his fledgling abilities... while distracted by all the activity around him and the fact that he's really really hungry. As quickly as he can manage long limbs without sacrificing what little slime-covered dignity he has, he marches right through a few candidates, claws be damned, to stare at a dark-haired young man. Decision made.

Smooth as Tillekian Whiskey Brown stretches his wings out from around him, then tests at the sands with one foot, then another, then both at once. It's an awkward little hop, and the recovery is less than suave. It doesn't stop him making a happy noise, and turning his face up to Hraedhyth, all tiny little teeth showing. Mom, look what I did!

Jayzin doesn't have a handkerchief. Sorry, Valenros. He does cast a brief glance towards the sweating man, a laugh lost on his lips directed at Valenros.

Hraedhyth's attention is stolen, giving a deep croon of encouragement for the brown hatchling looking up at her. She saw! Muzzle lowered, she's careful not to actually touch the fragile creature, instead nudging the air. Go on, now. He can do it.

Dante's Vengeance Egg has, like most of the rest of the eggs, been twitching from the start, but only now are those irregular shakes and pulses obvious to the eye. Each pulse is a great heave within, only the occupant doesn't seem to be making headway with its shell. There's a tiny fracture here, a minuscule fissure there, but nothing that really says 'Ready or not!' There is a shudder that sends the egg toppling to its side... followed by a long period of stillness.

V'ros is so busy being anxious that he doesn't notice the brown dragon coming towards him at first. It's all so fast, but the moment arrives. He shifts his focus to the brown staring at him, his mouth dropping open. "Zmeyth yes.. yeah, ok, I'll get you food. Let's.. go." Brown eyes are dazed, but he stands a little straighter as he walks with his new brown lifemate, moving towards the food and the future.

Jadzia forcibly relaxes her hands once she realizes that she's practically cutting into her palms with her blunt nails. She takes a deep, deep breath, then sighs it out carefully. Calm down, woman!

K'del seems to remember, only belatedly, that he's still got that wineskin: he takes another swallow, and in the process, nearly misses Valenros' Impression. His eyes widen when he does catch it, his murmur just barely audible: "Guess he'll have his chance at finding his purpose." He sounds pleased.

Zmeyth is still careful with his steps, but more confident now beside V'ros. And pleased with the food idea. Yes.

As demure as the colors of its shell, the Art Nouveau Egg twitches against its bed of sand. Clearly, speed is not the top priority of this hatchling-to-be: for now, it seems content to take its time, slow and sure.

G'laer's nod to Quinlys acknowledges her instruction. He's striding with purpose to the new brownrider and his dark lifemate. "This way," he offers with certainty to V'ros, turning to escort the pair out.

Jayzin calls to Jadzia as Valenros Impresses, "Seems like you should have taken a drink."

There will be no repairing the Reparo Egg; after rocking steadily for several minutes, it abruptly shatters into hundreds of little pieces, leaving behind a bright, apple-hued green. She shakes herself off, takes a few testing steps, and then hurls herself towards the nearest group of candidates. None of them are right, but one in the next group is: High Reaches' newest greenrider beams as they're collected by Telavi and taken off towards the food.

Jadzia shoots a glare in Jayzin's direction. "Shut up!" Her gaze shifts after Valenros, though, lingering longer there than it has anywhere else as G'laer leads the new brownrider off of the sands.

"Oh, I know that one." Azaylia, perhaps Hraedhyth-touched, motions toward V'ros' Impression. K'del's murmur is almost missed, earning a curious stare from the goldrider. All too quickly, her gaze snaps back to the sands as another green Impresses.

Jayzin calls back, so easily and light even now, "Whenever you want to make me, I have some suggestions." He glances after Valenros, too, but he is quick enough to return his attention to hatchlings.

Another delicate quiver overtakes the Art Nouveau egg, fine cracks finally beginning to demolish its pastel, geometric perfection - until, all at once, that elegance turns equally chaotic but far more violent. Talons pierce what integrity remains as its inhabitant thrashes against his prison, shredding the shell until it shatters at his feet; he celebrates his hard-fought freedom with a gritty roar, the ripped egg sac still smeared across his chest and soggy, stretching wings.

Dirty Brew Bronze

He's a beastly sort, this dark hulk of a bronze, all short, spindly limbs and big, knobby joints - and deep-set, mischievous eyes. That deep hide's the granular, gritty shade of a brew long-steeped, though brassier metal glints at the tips of talons and tail and the very end of his nose; his wings are hazier, smoky and swirled, limned here and there with the time-muted copper and green and gold of distant lands. The bluntness of his head contrasts the exaggerated length of his neck, neckridges carrying the same barbed spikes as his curving, upturned tail.

Smooth as Tillekian Whiskey Brown looks back down, looks at his feet. All of them. It takes a few false starts and struggles that leave little divots and dunes in the sand before he manages to get all those feet under him. There are a couple more creative sand designs before he's even doing something resembling walking. But if his brother can do it, so can he! Toward the candidates he lurches!

K'del abandons his drink, now, in lieu of leaning up against Cadejoth's bulk and just-- grinning, yes. "Lots of solid dragons," he says, as much to himself as to anyone else. "They did such a good job." Lythronath aside. Stupid Lythronath.

Jadzia sends another look in Jayzin's direction that might be followed up with her closing the distance between them to introduce him to her fists if they weren't, you know, surrounded by sharp hatchlings and protective parents. She doesn't respond out loud this time, though.

He may not be the steadiest dragon on his feet, but the Smooth As Tillekian Whiskey Brown has pizzazz; he can do this. He's doing this. He's totally doing this. He's... okay, he's falling down. But it's fine! He's fine. He's getting back up, he's teetering, he's... toppling forward again, but this time to collapse at the feet of a blonde-haired woman. On the plus side? Impression is a certainty.

One of the weyrbred candidates murmurs something to the girl next to him; they both scowl, glancing in Jayzin's direction. "Vijay," says someone. "Vijay," says another, in confirmation. Their noses go into the air.

Though Dante's Vengeance Egg has seemed still for some time, now the fight for freedom resumes. That it's been a battle is obvious when the Born to Burden Brown Hatchling finally bursts through the thick crust of his egg with a creel that might've been triumph but is too quickly turned to pain. His war wound is obvious as ichor immediately starts seeping, bright green against warm brown, from the long shallow gash across his muzzle. Still, not to be daunted by a little thing like pain, the hatchling pushes the rest of his tangled bulk through the widening cracks until he tumbles onto the hot sands.

Born to Burden Brown

The dragon collects stares as men collect marks, for he is small and twisted in a way that overshadows the rich brown of his hide. It's not just that his muzzle boasts a long scar-in-the-making and is long and awkwardly large in proportion to his thin neck and stubby-looking limbs. It's not even his stunted tail with the crook near its tip. It's the innate malformations that warp wing shoulders and upper spine. If coloring were all that mattered, he would be a fine dragon indeed, what with the warmth of his hide and its undertones of gold and crimson. Brighter gilt even sweeps along his neckridges as might a regal mane then swirls in yet richer adornment across the sails of his wings... but in this life, it's far more than coloring that counts.

K'del's excitement and glee falters rather immediately at the hatching of that latest brown; his eyes go wide. "Oh shells," he breathes. "Shells. Is he-- shells."

Free at last! But there's something else just as important to do! Dirty Brew Bronze wastes no time, lurching into a stumble, then a half-trot, knobby joints and frenetic kinetics in perpetual motion as he heaves his ungainly bulk around. A trip and fall to belly leaves the hatchling undaunted, though he hisses in agitation, but soon enough he's righted himself, flexing claws and flailing goo-covered pinions for balance as he roves about.

The fat, round Unconditional Egg lands on its side after only one wobble, its buttery warmth not long for the world, shuddering and shattering into yellow confetti. Surprise! It's a slender tea-green hatchling, covered in shell-bits, no matter how long she tries to shake them off. Soon enough, she gives up in favour of finding her lifemate - which she quickly does in a clump of white-robed girls from the Weyr.

The first task the Born to Burden Brown must undertake is the matter of getting up from where he's fallen. His stunted limbs and tail have made a tangle of themselves, but at least this is the kind of puzzle he can deal with. It's slower going than the brown would like judging from the frustrated huffs that slip out when a limb doesn't behave as it's likely been told. Perseverance will no doubt serve him well throughout his life as it does now. With some patience (and some impatience), he makes headway.

Azaylia is as flushed as her complexion will allow, eyes bright as another brown finds his lifemate. For Jadzia, Hraedhyth gives another roar that echoes off the cavern walls. "They did." Just as the words leave her lips, the other brown finally breaks shell. A sharp hiccup from Azaylia, and this time Hraedhyth lurches to her feet, stayed only by her lifemate's hand. "Oh."

Jayzin's jaw seems to tighten at overhearing the label, his gaze flicking directly to the girls talking about him. "You ever want to see a Vijay up close and personal," he offers, but is distracted as Jadzia Impresses. He glances, thoughtfully, in that direction.

Lurching heavily, Dirty Brew Bronze moves sideways as much as forward, but still manages to assay whatever's before him. Grainy stuff makes me sneeze, brothers and sisters protest when crashed into, things on two legs in white..? The hatchling totters his way up and back, towards and away those ranks of robed candidates for some time, not bothering with intensive inspections as he also tries to master smooth motion.

Quinlys, finally, stirs herself from her position in order to stride evenly towards Jadzia and her brown; she seems undeniably smug, and utterly pleased. "Well done!" she enthuses, firmly, never mind recent uproar over the next brown. "Come on - let me get you both to some food."

The Imperial Egg finally fractures after its shivering efforts to get there. The cracks race in webs that follow the lines of gold. Bettors that went for the obvious are rewarded as a blue muzzle breaks through blue shell and the rest of the hatchling follows. His progress on the sands is initially slow, but gangly limbs don't trip him up too long. Soon enough he is forging ahead to examine the white-robed bodies. In this he isn't slow, swiftly locking eyes with his new lifemate and just as quickly following the assistant weyrlingmaster off the sands.

Born to Burden Brown is finally, finally, on his feet. Now that he's solved the problem of becoming vertical, he can do other things. The first other thing on his to do list is to look around. He's not about to rush himself, either. There's a lot to take in, and take it in he does with a shrewd sort of attention. His eyes linger long moments on the gold and bronze bodies of Hraedhyth and Cadejoth before he's looking to the candidates. It's then that he attempts his first real step.

K'del, wincing, takes in a deep breath. "He looks..." He's missed everything else, at this point. That brown... he looks deeply troubled.

Jayzin watches the brown. Sympathy actually sobers the Vijay slightly, a frown appearing as he stands there watching.

Jadzia looks up at Quinlys like she's more than a little bit confused. She's too distracted to pay much attention to other hatchlings now. That will have to wait for later, since she'll apparently get to take a good long look at all of them from inside the barracks now! She nods and follows, making sure the brown can do the same.

Awkward limbs and heavy wings aren't enough to stop the Dirty Brew Bronze now that he's out. There's little care given for sibling or candidate alike as he tears through the sands, the need to go-go-go spurred on by the crimson hunger held in his gaze. It may surprise many when he suddenly stops, heavy head swinging to observe those humans clothed in white still remaining. His twitchy stillness explodes into full-blown motion once again, then, toward the man who looks sturdy enough for his semi-planned impact. Dirty Brew Bronze is now listening.

Quinlys is still on her way with Jadzia, but Telavi is at hand to approach Geviaur - G'var - and his bronze, and lead that newest pair off towards the barracks. Cezveth, draconic rumour says the name is.

Hraedhyth's jaws part, a low snarl ripping through her for the candidates, for those watching in the stands. When she looks back down at the brown, her teeth are sheathed and she makes the same nudging motion with her nose. He can do this. He is strong. "He's f-fine." Azaylia stumbles, not a lie but a prayer. "He'll be okay." Eyes lingering on K'del, "They did well." No matter what.

K'del manages to distract himself from that brown just long enough to take a deep breath, and push his words into something solid: "He's fine. He's... made it this far. There've been... he'll be fine." Cadejoth isn't bothered, at least. That's important, right?

Born to Burden Brown takes another step toward the white robed figures, each step a labor unto its own as he learns to work each leg. His focus is absolute, until his long, ichor-bathed nose is jerking toward the stands. Could it be his lifemate is there? No; keen observers might have noted the particularly loud roll of laughter from a pot-bellied cook that heralded the brown's movement. The laughter was, more likely than not, not at his awkward gait and slow progress, but it doesn't matter. Born to Burden Brown has stopped right where he is, only feet from where he hatched - and now directs that nose toward the slight blonde who is fated, it seems, to walk this weary world with him.

Quinlys, on her way back from the barracks, manages to get to Evanthe's side just in time for the girl - and her Zvaraseth - to meet up; she gives them a moment together, before escorting them, somewhat grim-faced but doing her best not to be, towards the side of the sands.

The green left in the wake of the Mama's Messy Masterpiece Egg finds her partner promptly; just like that, there are no eggs left, and no dragons unpartnered. The green buries her head in her rider's middle, J'vain escorts them off, and an uneasy hush settles upon those candidates left behind. It's over. It's all over.

Jayzin is still there. He doesn't seem surprised not to have Impressed, either, or maybe that is just a facade. He only looks into the Stands, and shrugs.

Among those left is the lanky beastcraft apprentice Tolman who had such high hopes. He sighs, though perhaps that's not visible from the sands. "Always next clutch, right?" He asks of Jayzin before looking toward the weyrleaders. "And hey, a party." Hatching feasts are good times, right?

It could be Hraedhyth's final roar is the loudest, one of triumph as Zvaraseth finds his Evanthe. With a firm thump, she sits, turning to give Cadejoth a more forceful headbutt. Now? Now she is no longer worried. Azaylia lets out a long sigh of relief, looking at the empty sands and motioning for K'del to hand over the 'skin, please. With no more eggs to guard, Hraedhyth gives Cadejoth's shoulder a sudden nip. Freedom! Play! Never mind the sand she kicks up, and the rather sloppy exit, the warrior queen plans on flying.

K'del's troubled expression shifts, minutely, as the brown Impresses - disabilities or no disabilities - and is joined, finally, by the very last of the hatchlings. He turns his head towards Azaylia, and then out towards the remaining candidates. "Iesaryth's clutch will be on the sands before too much longer," he ventures, trying for firm. "Any of you who wish to take another chance will be more than welcome to do so. If you wish to be returned home, we're also happy to do that. In the meantime... please, enjoy the feast. We're grateful to you." Beside him, Cadejoth is as eager and enthusiastic as his mate: sand flies. Sucks to be you, remaining candidates.

"I always appreciate a party," murmurs Jayzin to Tolman even as K'del speaks, and he joins those candidates that move back to the barracks to get changed out of his robes.

Azaylia takes a step, hand reaching for K'del's shoulder. There's a moment of hesitation before it presses, firm and supportive as the remaining candidates take their leave. To those left, "The Weyr welcomes you." Whatever decision they may make. Above? Hraedhyth is bellowing her and Cadejoth's success, and will likely be at it during the festivities.

K'del turns his head, delivering Azaylia a solemn smile; a quick nod. Then, he offers her his arm to escort her off the sands, so that they can prepare for the feast... while their dragons cavort. Freeeeeeedom.