Difference between revisions of "Logs:Faldaverth and Sarevith's Clutch Hatches"

Hatching Ground Sands

The sands here are heated by the volcano that birthed the Fort Weyr Bowl itself... still hot enough to burn through anything less than a sturdy pair of wherhide boots. It is here that the golden queens of Fort Weyr come to lay their eggs, and brood over them while they mature and harden.

Along the southern wall are the galleries for spectators, and broad steps lead up into them. The lower entrance is to the west and above it, you notice a larger entrance for the dragons. Ledges ring the upper levels of the cavern, providing perches for the hundreds of dragons of the Weyr.

Piper blinks in astonishment as first Impression occurs so quickly, "Look, T'bay...that's Pachet...wasn't she on your dodge team?" she grins, "And brown, too! Is Sare happy?"

Rhilashi watches the eggs in amazement and horror, afraid to move an inch. He breathes deeply to try to loosen himself up. "Congrats Pachet!"

Sokaris lets out a shaky breath when he sees Pachet impress. "Oh. Oh /my/.", he can be heard to whisper by those nearest to him. His feet begin to move, shuffling anxiously already. "Faster than I ever imagined ..."

Imali claps hre hands once for Pachet. "Congrats!" She says softly to the fast impressing team.

Persie slips over towards Cyrus and Sokaris, her hands gripping the 'skirt' of her robe as if holding it down. "I feel naked out here in this thing with all these people watching," she hushes to them, teeth pressing into her lip. The hatching and impression doesn't seem to have sunk in yet.

Scurvy and Pox Egg stills for a moment, and then a bulge appears on one of the blue 'bruises' on the shell. It seems as though the occupant is going to force its way out in one spot. Fragments of shell litter the sands around it as the hatchling struggles to get out, Out, OUT!

Cyrus stumbles, too busy staring as Pachet's picked out of the line almost before she's even upright from bowing. "Good grief," he chokes, indifferent to his own poor mode of dress even as he catches up enough to give Persie a faint grin. "I dunno," he mumbles, "if it had a belt or some trim or something you could dress it up all right." On the sands: good time to find your feet with the girl.

T'bay claps his hands, then his fist pumps the air even as Sarevith's resounding trumpet sounds. "Hah, they did it! They really did! Came right out of the egg and picked someone, sure as the star stones. Look at that, Piper, a healthy one, too!" Color is the last thing on this bettor's mind, as he's dumbfoundedly staring at the shards of the first egg to open.

Imali claps a hand to her mouth, staring at the Scurvy and Pox egg. "OH my." She whispers, her eyes as wide as glasses.

Trusaren's jaw drops, and he mutters an oath which unfortunately isn't so much a mutter as a fairly loud syllable. "That was so fast," he marvels to Sokaris, near whom he's arranged himself. "I thought it'd be more of a /whaaaah/ type thing." He sings out the tone, about as well as one might have suspected he could, as if imitating a whole choir singing the story of some really famous rider's life.

Theron finds himself near Rhilashi, as luck would have it, and is taken aback by how quickly everything seems to be happening. Nevertheless, he calls and waves his congratulations as it all happens, trying to remember all the advice given. "An' don't ye forget t' duck an' doge, now," he says in an undertone to Rhilashi. "Just in case."

One of the blue bruises of the Scurvy and Pox egg seems to shatter as a brown snout pokes out of it. Soon the rest of the egg is lying in shards on the sands, and a Battered Fedora Brown Hatchling is stretching his limbs on the sands in its place.

Battered Fedora Brown Hatchling

A thin, almost aquiline profile gives this brown a rakish air. Eyes are set wide apart and forward in his head, giving him a perpetually curious look. A thick, stocky neck extends down into wide shoulders and over-large wings. The sails are a gorgeous pale ochre, creased and battered here and there with darker taints of dust - easily his best feature. Spars are coated with the same dusting of chocolate, providing a strong frame on which to rely. His body is built for power with heavy limbs and a short, almost stubby tail. His coloring is a smooth, worn suede rich with age despite his youth. A sharp crease like the brim of a well-worn fedora is formed by more dark, bittersweet chocolate dribbled down his neckridges and back along his spine, petering out when it reaches the base of his tail.

Piper's awe gives way under the infectious enthusiasm of her partner on the sands, and wolf-whistles, "Yay!" She bounces up and down and applauds, even as Faldaverth carols a greeting to Pachet and her new lifemate.

Sokaris glances at Persie and nods, though he says nothing. Rather, he reaches out in an attempt to nudge the girl's arm, "Don't you fret, now. If it's going to move /this/ quickly, you won't have to worry at all-", he's cut off by the hatching of the brown, which draws a soft, "Ooh." from the normally garrulous young man.

Imali smiles, at the brown. "I bet Sarevith is happy with tihs Hatchling." She says to the rest of the Candidates.

An egg with its very own lingering X to rest upon busies itself rubbing out the markings on the sand by wobbling side to side, the independent dragonet inside already eager to prove itself, though the egg stills before the spot is completely unmarked.

Savory Saffron Egg wobbles back and forth, the crimson streaks along its yellowed exterior bright against the sands. The delicate lavender that appears so soft from up close rocks hard against the sand, causing scrapes in the form of white lines that stand out against the pastel backdrop.

P'ter links his hand in Ramya's and grins widely at the Weyrwoman, the Weyrleader boyishly excited and pointing out across the sands to the latest brown hatching. "Lovely coloring on that one, he's going to be a big 'un to from the looks of him."

Imali cocks her head to one side, stareing at the rocking Saffron egg.

Battered Fedora Brown Hatchling shakes his head, as if to clear it, slinging egg goo everywhere. He blinks rather owlishly, still sitting in stunned bemusement. It worked. It actually worked! After a moment to gather himself, he is on unsteady feet, wobbling his way toward the candidates.

Rhilashi laughs anxiously to Theron, "Don't worry, we've been through the.. training.. I'll be fine... I hope"

Imali creeps across th esands to sand by Rhilashis side, staring at th enow free and walking about bronwn hatching.

Imali says "He'll be a bigger brown, I tihnk." She remarks softly."

T'bay is indeed proud: of his lifemate, who is leaning back and forth from side to side in a joyous rocking dance that jut might tip him over; at the multihued brown just hatched; and most of all, judging by his triumphant grin, at the goldrider's surrender to that most excellent wolf whistle. "Hey, nicely done," he compliments, before his eyes are again on the sands.

Theron scratches the back of one leg with the toes of the other, keeping an eye on anything that moves on the Sands. Sokaris realizes that he's forgotten how to breathe in those moments after the brown's hatching and he forces himself to inhale and exhale slowly. "Fine looking fellow, isn't he?", he glances to Persie, then at Trusaren, before looking back at the wobbling dragonet.

Piper oohs softly, "He's a handsome one, isn't he?" she utters before aiming a sideways smile at T'bay, "You're right...they did it. Amazing isn't it?"

Persie makes and off gulping noise when she should be teasing Cyrus, gawking when she should nudging Sokaris to continue. "Shards and shells, these baby dragons are huge! They look so much smaller when you're in the stands!"

Rhilashi nods, "More than likely. He's got that look to him, ya know?"

Cyrus misses the brown's hatching - but as oohs and ahs ripple through the candidates his attention's drawn away from his admiration of Persie's figure as cut by the shapeless sack of a candidate's robe. "Is that one a bronze? Or a brown?" He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, as if that'll help. "He's all wet. I can't even tell."

Acadia watches the brown hatchling with one eye and keeps the others on the candidates. Her expression is a mixture of concern and hope, with a touch of watchfullness thrown in.

Battered Fedora Brown Hatchling gets up some speed. Hey, this is easy! Then one of those wings gets caught under him and down he goes, plowing snout first into the sand. Oh, this was so not in the plan!

"Aww... Poor guy..." Rhilashi replies to the dragonets seemingly painful tumble.

Imali winces at the browns fall. "Oh no!" She exclaims softly.

Trusaren arches a speculative brow as the brown makes his entrance, hands pulling behind him to allow his fingers to figet as his feet do much the same on the hot sands. Hazel gaze flips over to the Bitran beside him before back out to the brown hatchling on the sands, "Certainly not bad. Not as nice as -- well, ne'ermind. If'n that one's comin' my way, I'd 'spect it wouldn't be nice t'say." He grins a bit, for once not stuffing oversized-'Reachian feet into his mouth.

Faldaverth croons to her young son as he goes wing over tail, encouraging him to find his feet again.

Sarevith scrapes at the sand with his talons, a nervous father trying to teach the little one from afar how to gain solid footing in the shifting sands.

Theron shows concern on his face when the brown falls, but he can't help but smile a bit, remembering. "They mind me of newborn colts, all legs an' limbs an' not knowin' how t' use what they got."

Battered Fedora Brown Hatchling picks himself up, scattering sand on the nearest candidates. Ugh! At Faldaverth's croon, he settles back on his haunches. Better study this situation for a moment. Deliberately he looks up and down the rows of candidates before getting to his feet once more.

Imali peers at sitting brown, and a smile curves across her face. "So beautiful.." She whispers.

Piper comforts Faldaverth, and Sarevith as well, as she says, "See, no son of yours'd be kept down long," she says proudly to the clutchparents.

Rhilashi glares at the brown on the ground, "So pitiful, yet so beautiful, just like you said Imali. I can't help but feel bad for the critter."

Sokaris looks relieved when the young dragon finally pulls himself to his feet. "Oh, he's taking his time, looks like.", he babbles to no one in particular, keeping a wary eye on the brown. "Not at all like Pachet's, not at all."

T'bay gasps, but covers the expression of trepidation quickly. "Right, he's up again. Just like that, and he doesn't look at all harmed. Right? Besides, Sare fell on the sands, too, right on my feet!"

Imali sighs and lets herself relax a bit, before doing a little hop to get her geet off the hot Sands.

After taking careful study of the situation - or as careful as one can be with hunger and instinct driving him - the Battered Fedora Brown makes his choice. He marches up to a younger boy with dark brown hair and changeable hazel eyes. Planting himself at the young former Reaches lad's feet, he croons up at him, eyes changing to heart's own blue as Impression is made.

Skull and Crossbones Egg looks mutinous over in its resting place, and it twists and turns, rolling around as though in a fitful slumber.

Mutiny on the Bounty Egg slumbers, undisturbed, with hardly a shiver, a shake, a shimmy, or a wobble.

Imali watches the brown, with wide eyes.

Savory Saffron Egg tries again to leap from its nested spot where it has sunken in firmly, but it is not strong enough to push past the sandy walls of its resting place.

Imali peers at the Saffron egg. "Oh, the poor dragonet inside, she, or he, is in a terrible predicament."

With a fierce wobble that betrays the hatchling within's nature, the Skull and Crossbones Egg bursts, the albumen exploding forcefully outwards. Left amid the tatters of shell and shards is a Ferocious Conquering Blue hatchling, intent on marking a memorable swath among the robes of white. Shaking free the shards, he stalks along a row of nervous yet eager boys from Fort Hold, traipsing on nearly-bare feet unaware, heedless of the red-dampened sands he leaves behind or the healers moving stealthily in to tend wounds and restore calm. His deliberate selection is a tall, broad beastcrafter with dark eyes and a surly sneer. "Onatedoth!" Joshawon, now J'wan, hollers hoarsely as they are led from the sands.

Persie turns her ankles to stand on the outer edges of her feet. "Sure, they bust right out of the eggs, but then what happens? Where's he going?"

Imali stares, open mouthed, at the blues sudden arrival and quick impression. "Wow, th ebrown is taking a long time!" She comments.

Rhilashi stands there... Shocked... eyes wide open, his mouth gaping a little bit. "Enryth..." He reaches out carefully, and statches his eye ridges gently, "Of course we can get something to eat." Rhilashi continues to watch him with a feeling unknown to him. "Lets go" Rhilashi leads his new life-partner off the sands, happier than he ever could have dreamed.

Savory Saffron Egg lurches again, this time using the momentum to roll away from its mound. It leaves a trail of violet shards in its wake. Around and round it goes making a wonderful bright violet pattern in the sand as the shards splay this way and that, and in the middle of this artwork is one chunky little dragonet.

Diamond in the Rough Bronze Hatchling

The word plump may come readily to mind, or perhaps robust, when this hatchling is first seen. Broad of shoulder and jowl alike, all his limbs are filled out well, rounded with apparent 'baby fat'. As he moves, his belly jostles a bit, creating a wallowing trail to mark his passage across the hatching sands. While not being long of length likely helps explain his chunky nature, he strikes a close resemblance to his dam, so perhaps he will retain his sizeable presence as she has. Beyond his swaying gullet, there is a promising grace, or at least a lack of clumsiness as might be thought from his girth. The way his wings sweep and catch light like sugar crystal candy leaves no doubt of his proud Fortian heritage. His colors are surprisingly sensuous given his jovial demeanor, a rich blend of warm and inviting bronzes. From the dark honeysuckle coloring of his wings to the syrupy drizzle of light and dark across his shoulders, there is little of him that is not mottled with color. A rich pear-bronze sweeps along his underbelly spotted here and there with chunks of gold, as if someone had nibbled said pear. His legs and sides are lighter still, the color reminiscent of fresh baked bread dusted with fresh green herbs. His head cannot be left out for it is a lovely chubby cheeked dish shape, like a cup of tea caught in sunlight setting the dancing leaves of tea alight in their warm bronze bath.

Trusaren gives a grunt in response to Sokaris' assessment. "Some of 'em are gettin' on alright." His eyes flick across the sands just in time to catch the blue's impression to a fellow 'Reachian and a shout of congratulations is directed to him before he looks back to the hatchlings. "Lot faster'n our kind of babies that's fer sure. Maybe we could teach ours t'be like dragonets, hm?" He suggest to Sokaris, grin lopsided now.

R'lashi walks out of the Hatching Grounds, to the Bowl.

R'lashi has left.

Imali gaps, and stares at Rhilashi, well, wait, R'lashi! Sh eapplauds for her friend at his impression, and them gasps at the new, bronze hatchling.

R'lashi has arrived.

Enryth has left.

P'ter moves from foot to foot, even though he wore his thick soled footwear for this, the heat is getting through. He takes a number of steps towards the bowl entrance, the sand cooling somewhat in that direction, knowledge of long experience with the Fortian sands. His attention goes back to the dragonet in time to catch the moment of impression, and he grins widely, "Ah, wonderful! Well done Enryth, well done Rhilashi." He turns to Ramya, "What do you think his name's going to be, Rh'lashi, R'ashi?"

R'lashi walks out of the Hatching Grounds, to the Bowl.

R'lashi has left.

All For Me Grog Egg slowly starts to shift on the sands, once, a pause, then twice, and another pause. A long moment passes and the egg teeters a touch on the edge of its resting spot, and then rolls a few metres from the rest, only to stop all movement once more.

Theron is suprised to see the brown making his choice right in *front* of him, but he can't help but smile and give Rhilashi two thumbs up. "Knew you'd do it, Rhilashi! Congrats!" As they leave, he keeps a close eye on the injuries the blue inflicted, and draws back from the press of Candidates a bit, now that he's without a partner on the Sands. He peers at the new dragon, and smiles. "Well now."

Acadia says, "Congratulations, R'lashi. Let's go get your new lifemate some food and oil, yes?"

R'lashi has arrived.

R'lashi has left.

Acadia has left.

Sokaris looks at Rhilashi, now R'lashi, and finds himself applauding. There's not much time, however, as the bronze emerges and he finds himself looking at it with widened eyes. "And a bronze, too? And that blue earlier-", he trails off, fidgeting a bit more, now.

Cyrus watches the brown so intently, squinting for a cue as to the beast's hue, that when the hatchling makes his choice it takes the harper lad quite some time to catch up. "Hey, that's Rhilashi," he points out, helpfully. "But I still can't tell if it was a - " Except now comes basis for comparison, the chunky rough bronze gleaming among the shards of his shell. At this, now, Cyrus stares. "I lost count already," he shakily confesses to the sands at large.

Piper grins as Rhilashi...now R'lashi Impresses, "Oh, he'll do a good job, he was so excited about standing," she notes to T'bay.

Acadia has arrived.

T'bay shakes his head, amazed, as the blue's vicious claws leave some cuts behind in one group, but he's rapidly distracted by the blue and brown Impressing. "Think I knew that one, that lad? Uh, young what's-his-name? Imagine it'll be different, now, anyhow." He grins as the pair are led off. "I'm sure you're right. The team'll have an easy time, with his cooperation and all. Can't always be so lucky."

Persie points over at the bronze. "Hey, that one sort of looks like Tubby, I mean, T'bay. Sort of, uh," but then she realized that Sarevith's rider is on the sands with her and she shuts up, if belatedly.

Trusaren's gaze flickers towards the newly impressed, but he doesn't quite catch who because his eyes pass over the newly hatched bronze, forehead wrinkling as brows knit. The lanky lad looks from hatchling to gold, hatchling to gold, then just grins before he mutters to Sokaris, "Nervous yet, Bitran?"

Acadia walks back out onto the sands, and pauses to wipe off her face and toss her jacket up to someone in one of the lower galleries. Now she's ready for the next pair.

Imali remarks dryly from the other side of Sokaris, "I think we all are."

Sokaris squares his shoulders a bit, glancing sidelong to Tru. "Nervous? Shells no, Tru. Not by any stretch of your imagination.", and if there's a peculiar twinge to his voice, well, he tries to cover it by looking confident. "Are /you/?" Inevitably, his eyes slide back to that wandering bronze.

Faldaverth's swings her broad muzzle around to regard Persie, rumbling in disappointment, before she turns, her chastisement forgotten as she's greeting her young son - such a family resemblance!

Cyrus laughs, hard and loud and very nervously, anxiety having rather the opposite effect on him than on the suddenly-silent Persie. "Um. Yeah. In a good way. You know, dragons're beautiful. Even fresh-hatched." But also, of course, slimy and clumsy. So take your pick.

Diamond in the Rough Bronze Hatchling stands up, slowly reaching the extent of his short legs, in a daze, and looks around, mouth open wide and eyes whirling a gooey uncertainty up toward his broad-bellied mama before he tucks his head back down toward the violet-patterned artwork he made of his shell. Can I go back in now?

All For Me Grog Egg gives another, harder shudder, the egg rocking back and forth in fits and starts. A few suddon moves, left right, back and forward, seperated by pauses as the occupant seems to be thinking things over, only to try once more to get of its shell.

Imali smiles, almost wanting to laugh at what looks like a poor, confused bronze. Howev,er she holds her laugh in.

T'bay flicks his head just barely in Persie's direction, though he may not have -quite- overheard her comments. "Hunh," he observes, distracted from the excitement enough to tug down his just-fitting dress shirt. "Ohh, don't be scared," he reassures. "Just get up, and you'll get food soon." A snort. "Not the brightest, ar--" but Sarevith's staring him down, so the brownrider hushes rapidly.

Trusaren snorts softly, "Certainly not." Or at least he certainly would never admit to such in front of such a large crowd. He does take a moment to square his shoulders though and straighten his posture even as he continues to rock gently back and forth from foot to foot to try to lessen the time each spends on the sands without exhausting himself. "Looks like he is, though. Ne'er thought 'bout that. Y'think we're intimidating to them, Soka?" Is the comment and inquiry from Tru as he observes the bronze and then the rest of the eggs shivering and pulsing on the hatching sands.

Theron shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Is it just me or is it hotter in here than usual?" he remarks to a shorter, younger candidate by his side. Watching the just-hatched with wary curiosity, he makes ready to get out of their way. Seems somebody took his dodging classes *very* seriously.

P'ter grins, giving Ramya a hug as she looks at the bronze hatching's body language and goes, "Awww." "Heh, it's not even your clutch and you've gone all maternal," he says to her, then looks again at the bronze and echoes her, "Aw." He seems to have fallen under the maternal spell as well.

Faldaverth is the most maternal of all, making her way around the edge of the clutch to croon softly to the awkwardly chubby bronze. Imali clasps her hands over her heart, staring at the bronze hatchling, and the other eggs on the sands that were rocking. "Oh, I do so hope that the poo tihng impresses." She whispers.

Diamond in the Rough Bronze Hatchling squares his shoulders, heedless of any clinging egg-goo. He opens his large mouth and creels upward toward Faldaverth, pleading her to put his puzzle-egg back together again. He nudges at it himself, his wobbly legs shivering with anxiety, and leans against her when she comes near. Ahh, safety.

Imali smiles brillianty. "Aww." She whispers softly. "So cute."

Persie leans towards Cyrus, "How do you think a dragon gets fat in an egg? Don't they all have the same sort of egg goo?" she asks, still eyeing the bronze. "Maybe he got more?"

A few sharp knocks from within create deep cracks that split into deeper fissures, yawning from one side of the egg to the other, permitting a glimpse of viridian hide hidden within. Another shake of the whole and the two sides of the shell fall away, as a petite, plump green trundles away from her protection.

All the Way to the Ocean Green Hatchling

Dappled green hide the color of the leaves and needles on coastal forest trees touches this rotund little dragonet from one end to the other. Paler in the underbelly it might seem almost as if the tide had come in over the sand there, rushing up the dunes to the treeline, roiling with seafoam. Compact and sturdy on her feet, Secath is a petite bundle with extra folds of flesh where limbs meet body and a sweet rounded face. Her wings might almost seem stubby in comparison to other dragons' though when she spreads them they are impressive enough, a mottled watercolor wash of warm sage and darker bayleaf.

Imali smiles. "That new, green one is petite enough Persie." She remarks.

Faldaverth dips her muzzle down to gently nuzzle his dished face, like a mother fixing her child's hair before sending him out to play. Then, kindly but firmly, she nudges him onward toward the white robes, crooning reassurance every step of the way.

Cyrus leans back, eyeing Persie sidelong and uncomfortably - then leans back toward her. "Maybe it wiggled around less inside the shell? Er, he, that is. Maybe he needs some exercise."

Mutiny on the Bounty Egg suddenly springs to life, wriggling to and for uncontrollably and gaining in momentum until it swings a wide pendulum. Then again, without warning, all is still.

Sokaris shifts his weight, hands shaking themselves out loosely at his sides. "I don't think we're any more intimidating to them than they are to us. Which, I guess, is to say they're /awfully/ intimidating, even when they're rather on the chubby side like that fellow. He /is/ a lovely colour, though, don't you think?"

Imali shakes her head. "I'm worried about that egg that keeps on moving but dosen't hatch."

Trusaren's lips curl into just the faintest shadow of a smirk as he observes the movements of the hatchlings - bronze still in his mind as he continues his musing with his friend, as though to keep his mind more or less off any feelings that might be running high amongst the candidates. "Well, I think I might be sorta intimidated if my first view of the world had a lot o'folks all dressed alike so y'c'n barely tell 'em apart - especially when they don't look anythin' like you. P'raps we're on the same level only don't see it since we can't scarcely be 'spected to see us as they see us since we know us." And he trails off there. Perhaps hatching ground heat and philosophy don't quite go hand in hand.

Diamond in the Rough Bronze Hatchling decides to brave the world, bored at mom's side and interested in what might be beyond her golden hide. He approaches a small circle of candidates, but when they step back, wary of his talons, he turns and runs, slowly and awkwardly, the other way.

Imali puts her hand over her mouth. "Oh!" She mutters.

Theron wrinkles his nose as sweat trickles down his back. Making a wild gesture, Theron twists to try to get the sweat to stop tickling, paying scant attention, for a split second, to whatever the baby dragons are doing, or, in some cases, not doing. "Shells!"

All the Way to the Ocean Green Hatchling makes a few hesitant steps, and then stops cold as she finds herself in the centre of attention, if for a moment as the other hatchling makes his way around. She props herself up as high as she can, and her head moves about as if getting a good look at all the candidates arrayed before her.

Acadia chuckles as she sees the green roaming the Sands. She's a cutie, and not as plump as Inneth was. It wil be interesting to see who she chooses.

Imali peers at th elil itty bitty green. "The green is quite a darling isn't she?" She says, not at all interested in the bronze, for she has no chance of impressing him.

Piper glances around as the hatching seems to be going on in earnest now, multiple dragonets milling about the sands, eggs everywhere shaking and rocking, "This part I rembmer," she murmurs, "It goes so fast."

"I can't tell," Cyrus mutters, eyeing Sokaris briefly, then turning back to squint at the bronze. "He's still wet." Which, it appears, all of the hatchlings will be, and about this the harper lad might seem the slightest touch disappointed, even annoyed. The newer hatchling, he casts a brief glance over, nodding a simple note of certainty: "I can tell that's a green."

Persie blinks at Imali. "Are we looking at the same dragon? That one's all chubby too. Maybe they'll all be like that? Too much something in the egg goo, I'd guess. Is that even possible?"

Sokaris sucks in a quick breath. "Oh, now he's moving, look at /that/.", he murmurs, his drawl fading in favour of a growing nervousness. "Now, he's not /dangerous/, I don't think. Not like that other one...", he trails off, fidgeting with his robe. The green earns a quick look and an appreciative, "And she's a lovely one, too. I wonder who she'll choose."

Diamond in the Rough Bronze Hatchling pauses in the middle of the sands, his belly dragging on the ground, his mouth open and his tongue lolling out as he pants from his first efforts at utter exertion. Drawing himself up, he admires his clutchsibling's moment in the limelight, and watches her behavior for a moment for cues.

Trusaren gestures then to the bronze who turns away from the white-clad forms who flinch at his approach. "/See/? S'evidence fer my theory." His grin now is smug. Perhaps this was just enough to make him forget about his present place and state. "An' look, she's not headed too close yet either. They prolly gotta get a good handle on things a'fore they try t'come near us, don't ya think?"

A muffled creel heralds a dark green nose's entrance into the wide world, the shell of the Marked Spot Egg still swallowing up the rest of the young creature. Intent pecking commences, continuing on in the background for several moments until the Aristocratic Olive Green appears in full. Ducking her head beneath her wing, she sheepishly peeks out, watching some of her siblings intently. So dark as to be almost mistaken for one of her brown siblings, she learns quickly, and imitates the masculine wobble until she's weaving among the candidates, looking for the tanned adventure-seeker who will share her newly discovered life. Sure enough, a cry confirms it, and then it's Essadith and Anouke, Anouke and Essadith--the two shall be inseparable from now on.

Imali smiles at Persie, and the bronzes' antics. "Oh my!" She exclaims at the darker greens Hatching and quick Impression. "

P'ter smiles broadly, lacing his fingers behind his back and now standing on the slightly cooler sand near the bowl rocks back and forth on his heels, both amused and delighted but the hatching. He grins widely at the bronze, "Reminds me of Aisheth when he was little," he says to himself.

All the Way to the Ocean Green Hatchling thinks she sees a few things that could use a closer look, and she plops herself back on all fours, moving towards one batch. Of course, being fresh out of the shell she is not what you might call gracefull: Stagger here, stumble there, and after a few awkward moments, she comes to a stop once agian, taking a moment to get a good look around the sands.

Faldaverth bugles enthusiastically for Anouke and her Essadith.

Imali applauds politley for th equick impression, and her heart jumps into the throat at th egreens stumbling movements. "Oh, I hope she dosen't fall."

Ropes of Pearls Egg moves slightly. A gentle flutter of movement that carries on with a roiling shudder as the egg wibbles this way, and then that on the sands. A sudden mighty twitch leaves it it canted at a jaunty angle before it stills again, almost as though the hatchling within is regrouping it's efforts.

T'bay stands clear of the sands-crossing young dragons, keeping himself far off to the side. Sarevith joins the triumphant song for Anouke's selection, a harmony to Faldaverth's song.

Sokaris applauds again, this time turning to watch Anouke and Essadith, "Oh! Anouke, she's /lovely/. Congratulations!" Ah, but more eggs are moving and he's quick to return his attention to the sands where it /ought/ to be. "Which one'll hatch next, d'you figure, Tru?"

Diamond in the Rough Bronze Hatchling stumbles, falling forward and resting in a heap, quivering and shaking with a startled fear strong enough to blur the honeysuckle bronze along his wings. Drawing himself upward and casting off any vestiges of embarrassment, he blindly runs into a batch of candidates, creeling loudly in their wake as they scatter. Can't they tell he just wants to be loved? Is desperate to be loved? A shock of long, tied-back dark hair catches his eyes, and he parades, underbelly wobbling all the way, toward the one who stands out in his mind as perhaps as different as he. Collapsing with exhaustion at the feet of a tall, chisel-featured lad, the bronze dragonet gazes adoringly upward at his choice.

Theron applauds for Anouke, offering his congratulations, and continues to watch the goings on, eyes darting here and there, trying to look at everything all at once.

Imali stares at the bronze, who seems to have come to a stop in front of..could it be? Could it really be? "Go bronze, go!"

S'kris's attention is wrenched rather suddenly away by *something* inexplicable ... or, perhaps not so terribly strange at all. His hands move of their own accord, reaching for that chubby-cheeked bronze's face. "Oh! Oh, yes, Wrencath! Food, how terribly rude of me not to offer it to you /first/.", he manages to drawl -- well, babble, really -- his mouth pulling itself into an impossibly proud smile. "I'm sure they'll have plenty of food left, /plenty/ of food."

Cyrus fidgets at the edge of his tunic, pausing to ask sideways, "So, are you rich yet," but the moment for that question has come and gone. He backs up a step, managing just barely not to trod upon Persie's sandaled feet, abruptly treating Sokaris - S'kris - as if he's coated in poison. Not that this is too much a change from their previous relationship. "Uh, I guess so," he answers himself.

Ropes of Pearls Egg gives a little jiggle as the hatchling within rejoins the frantic struggle to be free of its shell and join it's clutchmates on the sands. Almost as quickly as it's begun the movement ceases, only to start up again a few moments later into a steady relentless rocking that might almost be hypnotic but for the shells shattering all around it.

All the Way to the Ocean Green Hatchling moves once more, seeing a few things that seems to be something she wants to invistigate further. Agian, Stagger, stumble, pause, and repeat. She is taking her time, thinking things over as she props herself fully upright, her head moving left and right as she peers carefully at a few faces.

Acadia steps forward to greet S'kris and bronze Wrencath. "Congratulations to you both, and welcome to Weyrlinghood! Let's get your new lifemate some food and oil, shall we?" With one arm she gestures toward the Weyrling holding room.

Piper blinks as the rotund bronze chooses, and bounces once again, "Soka!!!" She grins, "I /knew/ it, I /knew/ it!"

P'ter holds his breath as the bronze falls, then lets out a shout as he chooses his lifemate, "Well done S'karis, well done Wrencath!"

Trusaren's jaw quite literally drops as the bronze appears in front of his conversational partner. "Shells. This is /not/ going to help your ego-thing." This is barely kept quiet enough that it doesn't go all across the sands. But a grin replaces the look of shock. "Good on you, Soka! Good choice, Wr-Wrencath." He compliments the chubby bronze.

Persie acks as Cyrus nearly tramples on her. "Cyrus, you almost stepped on- " But then she sees the bronze and Sokaris. "Soka?" She just blinks a few times. "But..."

Imali does alittle jump skip in delight! "Yea Sokaris!" She remarks cheerfully, "Yes, the bronze PErsie!"

The hapless cluster of pale colors dominating the Ropes of Pearl Egg trembles one last time, disrupting the calm for a long moment before becoming still, the dragonet inside brainstorming a fitting escape from captivity. A sudden shrill ringing pierces the air, strong with the echoes of sharpened talons against confining eggshell as a neatly sliced line appears just above the blackened base of the egg. Rapidly unfurled pale bronzen wings shatter the shell, sending shards in every direction and leaving a Strong Tailwind Bronze Hatchling standing, pleased with his ingenuity, in their wake.

Strong Tailwind Bronze Hatchling

Sparkling mocha glitters bronzen with the dewdrop-wet sheen of freshly-added sweetener, melting into the dominant color of this birth-damp hatchling. His hide is as rugged as a many-faceted landscape, displaying crags and valleys in speckles of ruddy crimson, creating the illusion of depth clear to the tip of his long, flexible tail. His wings, when unfurled, are as clear and pale as a full set of ship's sails, billowing in a reckless breeze. Clouds of chestnut darken his proud head, drifting down over his defiant neck before fading over a smooth but slender chest and to wide, flat paws, where large knuckle-joints end in sharply-defined talons. Scrawny as a hatchling, but already bearing signs of a trademark fearless strength that will develop his slenderness into a powerful, lean and sinewy muscle, he is a sight to behold.

T'bay joins in the whooping, though it could be largely out of relief that the chubby little guy found a lifemate out there. His hands find his sides, ceasing to wring together; he wasn't worried, nope.

S'kris has left.

Acadia has left.

Imali claps in joy. "A bronze impresses a bronze hatches!" She exclaims.

Theron raises both hands in victory and jigs in place, doing a dance of joy, modified for the occasion, grinning like an idiot about Sokaris' impression. "I knew it! I knew it!"

Imali peers at the staggering green. "Oo oo ooh!"

Mutiny on the Bounty Egg cracks and splits, the upper half of the cloud-whte shell rising up into the air as the dragonet inside stands tall. Delighted, he flaps his sticky, damp wings, casting off the shards. Using those outstretched wings to help balance, Benign Blazing Blue hop-tumble-runs in a direct line for a line of white blobs. "Abruzzath!" calls a startled and terrified girl from the swamps near Boll as she 'excuse me's' to the front of the group. "You'll have your chance to fly soon enough--first, we should ask about a meal," Tri chatters, as she and her blue are led from the sands. "Don't worry, I'll talk to my parents...later. I'm sure they'll understand."

Intoxicated Colors Egg jostles a bit in its wallow as soft tapping is heard, like a handyman sussing out strength and weakness, the sound travelling the perimeter of its shell.

Imali claps for the quick impression of th enew blue.

"But?" Cyrus turns about to stare at Persie. Suddenly this is all very real, and the harper student's eyes very wide. "He came out here. We all did. Pers, he's gone now, he's a rider, he's riding -that- and - " Cyrus suddenly realizes he's got his hands out to try to take the girl's shoulders, observes his hands with a shameful glance, and throws them back down to his sides. Shaky, he mutters, "Sorry," and tries to turn his focus to the new hatchlings yet solo on the sands.

Faldaverth puffs up proudly at the sight of a second bronze, leaning over to offer a muzzle touch to Sarevith. They done good. Pride radiates in the deep blue facets of her rapidly whirling eyes.

Acadia has arrived.

Wrencath has left.

Trusaren takes a few shuffles to move a touch closer to Persie now that S'kris has vacated his position - the candidate to his other side having been claimed already. "Fancy S'kris a bronzer. M'thinks that he'll be in all kinds of trouble right out of weyrlinghood, hrm?" He inquires of Persie. Lose one conversation partner, get another one.

Acadia slips back onto the Sands, wiping her face yet again. The sweat flies off in great drops, but there's nothing more she can do until everything is over.

Imali looks up at the momma and poppa dragon in time to see thme nuzzle. "S'kris? Trouble?" She snorts from behind Tru and Persie. "Right."

Strong Tailwind Bronze Hatchling takes an unsteady step, which is quickly followed by another as the bronze lurches across the sands with more focus than elegance. One misplaced footing and the bronze stumbles. Just as quickly he's back on his feet again with the air of 'I meant to do that'

Imali gasps, and thne smiles. "Oh, that bronze, he's fun!"

Sephir has left.

All the Way to the Ocean Green Hatchling looks longer and longer at the crowd, and she gives off the airs of a dragon who can't decide what the answer is. She makes a soft sound, her head spinning from one face, then to another. Still, she stays still, swaying a touch as her head looks towards the stands, looking for someone to help her, and then she turns all the way back to Faldaverth for help as well.

Faldaverth peers at her young daughter, and wharbles a communication, extending her lengthy neck out to indicate the little huddles of white robes.

Persie goes from blinking at the departing bronzer pair to blinking at Cyrus. "But he was standing right there." Sure, that's the surprising part. "And now he's... And that dragon just came right over and..." Still sinking in and then... *click* She laughs brightly at Tru, "Ha! Trouble indeed!"

Theron scoots across the sands, looking wistfully at the forms of R'lashi and S'kris. Two good friends gone. Who will be next? He winds up next to Imali, and smiles at her nervously. "Mind if I stay here next t' ya? Seems like every time I pick a friendly face, they get dragoned. Heh. Maybe I'm a good luck piece, or somethin'!" He smiles, watching all the activity. "Got another bronze. Dragons must be proud of that."

Trusaren gives a slight shrug to his shoulders as he hears Imali's snort, "Y'can't possibly not know how he /is/." The candidate's hands release from behind him to move to his sides - fingers plucking at the seams of his robe as he shifts his weight from one side to another. "An' on bronze? Well, that just gives 'im permission t'be like he is with Holder girls." The quietly added mutter is, 'Not that being Bitran doesn't already give him that kind of permission'.

Imali chuckles, as she edges around the pair to take a tance by Theron. "I'd say. More bronzes and greens than anything else, and poor Saverith has only one brown son."

Intoxicated Colors Egg's inner knockings have shifting its position enough to send it on the road, so to speak, as sands give way and it tumbles down from its mound. Where it rests, it simply trembles under the steady rather innocuous assault from inside.

All the Way to the Ocean Green Hatchling finally nods as she sees her mother point out the white clad candidates, and she gives the batch another look. And sees something of interest, and staggers towards one small batch of them as quickly as her clumsy gait can take her.

Imali watches the Intoxicated Colors egg for a moment, before turning her attention to the now walking green.

The round little All the Way to the Ocean Green Hatchling trundles to a sudden halt in front of a pale-haired girl and starts crooning softly, sweetly, looking up at her with certain adoration.

Imali stares at the green. Could it be that the girl..was Persie?

T'bay and Sarevith exchange glances that could be touched at the communication between mother and her young green daughter, then T'bay wipes the mushy expression off of his face. "Can't believe it. This egg-hatching thing is making me all soft. In the mind as well as in the gut. Oh, oh--she's getting the idea. Heading toward them. Sixteenth on that oily kid, what's his name? Folsum, or something like that. He's gotta get one."

Strong Tailwind Bronze Hatchling pauses and cants his head neatly, looking up at Faldaverth and Sarevith curiously as he greets his dam and sire. A flicker of movement catches his attention though and the bronze spins around tacking off to the side to go see what's out there across the wide sands.

Imali peers at th eloping, well ,that's what shes calling it, bronze.

Faldaverth peers down at the young bronze skimming along the sands' surface with nary a care now. She chortles, the sound a low throaty rumbling.

Persie squeals. That's right, a loud, girly squeal. "Secath!" She bounds at the little drunkard of a green, reaching for her and jumping up and down when her hands find the slimey green hide. "Ha! Look at you! You're a mess!" she giggles gleefully.

Cyrus scowls, squinting out at the bronze who yet prowls the sands. "Yeah. Just came right over and took him. That's how it goes, and we're - " There is a long pause, the young man staggering the other way now (wary, just barely, enough of Trusaren not to tread on -his- feet now), before he finishes his speech. "- next." Very quiet, that last word. A mere squeak, as Persie jumps and squeals.

Theron grins at Imali. "Well, one brown is better'n no browns, eh? Oops, hark t' that bronze young'n, better make sure he don't hurt ya." Now who'd that green pick anyway? He stands up on tiptoe, trying to see, and rubs his sweaty palms on his robe. Then, he grins. Persie. "Congratulations, Persie!"

Acadia walks over to Persie and green Secath. "Congratulations to you both, and welcome to the ranks of Fort Riders. Let's go get some food and brushing and oil for your new lifemate. Right this way." She gestures toward the Weyrling holding room.

Trusaren's jaw drops for a second time as the next person over is claimed. Its hard to miss the impressions so close at hand. "Shells and shards. Must be something about this spot on the sands. Must be--- dragon-honing." This is now to himself because anyone he might be taking to is otherwise distracted, so now its just himself. "P'raps someone got mauled 'round here or maybe Fa brought a herdbeast back and it dripped int'the sands and--" Its at this point it occurs to him to grin Persie's way, "Congrats!"

Imali holds her hand to her heart as th enumber slowly dwindled. "Well, I didn't impress her." She says, giving Theron a crooked smile. "I just hope.." Hre breath lets out in a long sigh.

Persie has left.

Acadia has left.

Intoxicated Colors Egg's many hues glint into and out of focus as its shell bulges and buckles from the steady rhythmic force insistently chipping away at its structural integrity. There is nothing spastic or frenzied about the continuing efforts of the shell's inhabitant to break free, just keen determination that eventually pays off. Weakened enough to sport a fissure, the egg shudders and splits cleanly in two, leaving the chaos of its colored confusion behind as the Night's Vessel Brown Hatchling emerges.

Night's Vessel Brown Hatchling

Darkest walnut decks out a sleek and cleanly lined form that bespeaks strength and stability, an even-keeled hull ruddered by a near-ebony tail that marks his passing in a sand-wake behind him. Perched atop a mast-like neck, carriage ever proper, is a strong-featured head with low eyeridges furrowed in a perpetual expression of deep thought. What at first passes for a uniform swathe of freshly swabbed and shining loamy luster from muzzletip to tail, muted only by the shadows of night, is revealed upon closer inspection to be a fabrication of excellently mated planks of darkest brown, the joinings so seamless as to perpetuate the illusion despite the subtle natural shadings. When they flare and snap open, wingsails provide a spirited contrast to the otherwise monotonous hues, raising aloft in warmer shades of mahogany, echoing the reddish chesnut limning of his sire in the showier expanse of hide not always seen.

Secath has left.

Thandril has left.

Imali peers at the new brown. "That evens things out!" She murmurs softly.

Acadia has arrived.

P'ter starts to edge his way around the sands, keeping well away from the milling dragonets, then goes and heads in the direction the Weyrling's take.

P'ter has left.

Acadia hurries back to the Sands, just missing P'ter in her rush. Here she is, ready to escort the next pair.

Strong Tailwind Bronze Hatchling pauses, sniffing the air as though testing for the direction of the breeze, gauging its effects on the currents of a salt-scented ocean far away. His pale wings snap upward, then their billowing sails, sticky at first, unfold in a display of debonair brilliance only marred by the unsteadiness of his steps as he makes his choice. A wiry boy with a broad forehead is his port of call, and the bronze dragonet loses little time in his clumsy yet intent trek across the sands to land at that mousy-haired boy's feet.

Precious Beyond Compare Egg shivers gently, drawing attention to the multi-hued facets as the reflections from the glittering sands twinkle off its shell.

Imali stares at the bronzes impression, wondeirng who it impressed, before looking at the now shuddering egg.

Exquisite Emerald Egg trembles very slightly, more akin to the motion of the throats of the dragons thrumming all around than an actual shake. The egg's viridian sides vibrate intensely, displacing a few grains of sand then stills slowly as if it had never moved at all.

Night's Vessel Brown Hatchling rolls and stretches, testing each body part in turn to make sure they all function at the right level. Wings give a quick flicker out to shake off egg remnants, before refurling, giving the merest peak at his more interesting colorations. Glancing around, he takes in the candidate pool, and dam and sire alike, the facets of his eyes glinting in the light of the hatching cavern in speculation.

Imali smiles at the young brown who now is looking around at everyone.

Maybe he was right about that /spot/ on the sands because before Trusaren knows it, the bronze is there. Hazel eyes blink and then he opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. After another try, T'aren manages a- "Well, shells, Teusath, I'm not sure I'm cut out for 'adventure' but, well, if'n you're wantin' t'go, I suppose we can -- right, /after/ we eat." A hand reaches out to caress the bronze's eyeridge - hesitant at first but then with more surity.

Cyrus heaves a sigh. "Congratulations, Pers," but it's too late for her to hear. And he's utterly distracted by Secath's departure, so much so that when Trusaren's next to be chosen, it's all the harper student can do to jump away from him. At least he's far enough from Theron and Imali not to trod upon -their- feet - that honor's kept for Folsum, who shoves back, sending Cyrus stumbling a few sandy scuffs forward.

Imali claps her hand over her mouth. "Theron, Tru, Tru, he got the bronze!"

Acadia minces around patches of egg goo and shards to greet T'aren and bronze Teusath. "Congratulations to you both, and welcome to Riderhood! If you'll follow me, I'll take you both to food and oil in the next room over."

Theron smiles to Imali. "A second brown. See now, there's a goodly number of all th' colors. An' ain't he a beauty too!" he remarks. Then, as he sees Trusaren Impress, he bends over, wheezing in laughter. "What's sauce for th' goose is sauce for th' gander, Trusaren! Now yer both bronzes, an' ye can't complain 'bout Sokaris' ways no more!" Straightening, still laughing, he calls "Good for you!"

Davy Jones' Locker holds a myriad of secrets, and this egg is about to reveal them. Pinpricks of light seep into the shell as the tiny, insistent tapping of dragon claws finally break the surface. The shell weakened, Nascent Marine Green slithers free. Dappled with the ocean's kiss and with tangled lines the deep green of seaweed vining along her limbs, this sweet and dainty dragonet takes her time about making her choice. Several candidates are inspected closely, then discarded by a flip of her slender muzzle. Then a voice breaks the stillness, and a blue-eyed boy comes forward, nearly weeping with joy. "Viarlyth, of course we'll go somewhere where there's water, all the water you want to swim in." The lad, now S'vial, laughs heartily, "Swimming, you know when you dip into the--oh, I'll show you later. First, let's fill your belly."

Imali smiles at the greens quick impression. "Oh, shells, you, Cyrus, and I, we're the only three left.."

Exquisite Emerald Egg starts to shudder again, this time the vibration intensifies gradually until the sand all around the egg is tumbling down away from it as if fleeing from the violence that's playing out inside of it. This one's about to blow.

Imali peers at th eshuddering egg. "Oh, I ownder what colors coming out of the Emerald Egg!" She exclaims softly.

Night's Vessel Brown Hatchling seems to fly under the radar of many of the candidates as he moves with little fanfare, circumventing his own shards and those his siblings have left to despoil the once pristine sands. A small cluster off by one side of the semi-circle is evaluated as if they were a line up at drills, the first boy discarded, too arrogant, the girl beside him giggles too much, the next one, too sloppily attired. He strides onward, evidencing no lack of coordination, but likewise, no showy fanfare.

Cyrus regains his feet, turning about in a whiplash spin to glare at Folsum, then trod back to Imali with a shrug. "Something like that." He lifts his feet, scattering sand out of his sandals with kicks against opposite ankles, paying little attention for just a moment to the hatchlings.

Imali peers at the little brown. "Oh, I wonder.." She exclaims softly...

T'bay holds his stomach, his lips busy with laughter enough to make the fitted waist of his pants more than cozy. "Not bad, not bad, Sare! Two, did you see? Two bronzes. Out of this tricky fellow here." T'bay nods, proud, even as a few of the candidates are pushing and stumbling beyond. "Up, up," he murmurs, back to hand-wringing. "Before you're all trod upon and scratched up. None of that, not at Sarevith's hatchi--" he stops part way though this, flushing scarlet. "Er, Faldaverth's hatching." He meant that all along, really.

POW! The Exquisite Emerald Egg practically bursts outward, tiny fragments of shell raining down everywhere as its occupant explodes from within. Virtually pouncing into the world, a lanky green hatchling leaves the spot of her birth behind without a second glance and immediately approaches the nearest Candidate, staring at the hapless girl intently before moving on.

Soaring Around The World Green Hatchling

Bright yellow-green drapes this lanky dragonet from nose to tail, like the unripe peel of a certain tropical fruit from Pern's southern climes. Her body is lean, sporting long limbs and tail that render her somewhat awkward as a hatchling. The narrow sails of her wings shade from a darker verdant hue on the spars to palest beachgrass, at times seeming almost golden, were it not for the matte quality of the color. Long of snout as well, some might unkindly dub her "runnerish", until they see her move with a singular sinuous grace, her lean form barely leaving a mark at her passage.

Theron smiles at Imali. "Green. An' for once an egg matches it's shell."

The incoherent jumble that makes up the Ancient Wadded Tapestries Egg evinces a sign of life, those distorted blotches straining and stretching outward until the young chestnut brown dragonet shielded within is freed, left in a gooey pile of sticky yolk and crumbled images. Sunbrowned Aldrinth wheezes slightly, expelling the fluid from his nostrils, but that doesn't impede his rapid selection of Tandrick, now T'rick, as his new partner. Their first mission: find food!

Piper grins over at T'bay, "It's both of their work, they both have every right to be proud. Oh, and look at her! Fierce little thing!"

Imali claps her hands in excitement at th enew green, thne, whoops! He attention is diverted ot th enew, fierce like grene. "ooh!"

Acadia applauds the hatching of another green dragon. More friends for Inneth!

Night's Vessel Brown Hatchling is about to approach a little cluster where he thought he saw something that caught his attention initially, but he's distracted by his sister's hatching, and pivots, standing erect to watch her initial progress.

Cyrus finishes with kicking the sand out of his sandals and he turns back out to watch what's still occurring on the sands. It takes him quite some time to realize something: "My egg's gone." Very quietly, he says that, lifting a hand to scratch his bangs up off of his face so he can squint harder. Which egg, he does not clarify; instead, he just starts counting those that remain, mouth moving in tell-tale numeric shapes.

Soaring Around The World Green Hatchling continues to stare intently at this first person she sees, her gaze tinged very lightly with orange she lets out a single whuff then moves on, very decisively to the next proximate Candidate. Again her examination is intense, as she eyes a tall lad from head to toe, but her attention is diverted elsewhere and she purposefully makes her way around the circle of those remaining. Behind her, the end of her long yellow-green tail trails in the sand. Her body is awkward-seeming and yet there's something graceful about the way she moves.

Imali peers at the graceful green. Howevermuch she seems to be akward, Imali dosen't trust apperances and cna tel lthis green is da tops. "She is sooo beautiful."

Theron sighs, running a hand through his hair as he watches the hatchlings. "They're all handsome, or beautiful for th' greens. Cna't see one that ain't."

Imali nods slowly, being one of th eonly females left on the sands. "I quite agree."

T'bay winces, then just gives in to laughing again. "She is. And look at that color! And, uh...that nose." He adds a smile; it's a compliment, really. But Sarevith croons to his lean daughter; go, pick. The white things! He casts his head their way, helpfully, and hums to encourage the last of them.

Night's Vessel Brown Hatchling eyes his sister's progress with a detached, almost clinical gaze. One would think him a seasoned member of the Fortian team rather than a just-shelled brown. However, now is not the time for assessing his fellows. There are more important things afoot, and by the looks of it, that lad he saw over there looks almost raw-footed from the heat. He approaches the trio, determined to spend his time eyeing them each in turn, not to make a hasty decision.

Imali peers at the brown who now prowls their little group of Theron, Cyrus, and she. "He's a cutie." She remarks.

Piper glances around, "T'bay, look...there's only that one egg that hasn't broken shell yet...it's almost over." It boggles the mind.

T'bay looks in the direction Piper's mentioned, shaking his head. "So fast? I had no idea. I mean, when you're sitting up there," a glance toward the galleries, then he gulps at the crowd size and looks quickly back at the shells and sands again. "It seems so much longer." A rueful partial-rub of his backside indicates how he's perceiving the time.

Cyrus holds very still indeed. "Cute?" A little alarmed at Imali's opinion. "He's... he's something." Frightening, perhaps, if the shaking knees would be any evidence.

Imali shakes her head. :He's a bit, well, scary now, wouldn't you say? If you go past that he is quite a cutie, same as that green would steal any bronzes heart."

Theron gives his group a curious look. "Scary? Well, yeah, maybe a little, but I doubt he means it. None of th' others deliberately did anythin' bad, after all, so it stands t' reason this one won't." He hopes. He swallows and keeps an eye on the dragonets walking about, shifting his weight -- just in case.

Soaring Around The World Green Hatchling marches on, her movements rapid and assured as she crosses the Sands. She knows where she's going. Or does she? Briefly, she pauses to inspect a large piece of broken off shell, seemingly fascinated by its colors, then she looks up again, very focused on the task at hand. Must. Find. Partner. Onward we go, questing for the one. Another person is examined and deemed not-quite-right, perhaps it's the undone sandal strap on a rather fly-away looking girl whose eyes bug out with nerves as the light-hued green stares at her.

Imali stares at the green curiously..

Night's Vessel Brown Hatchling has examined all the options and weighed all the factors. And yet, the answer is the same as it was the moment he emerged from his shell. Sometimes the obvious choice isn't a trap. Decision made, his focus returns to the red-headed lad whose steely grey eyes first caught his attention, and in that moment, Impression is made.

Precious Beyond Compare Egg finally shudders again, then a spinnerweb of myriad lines race over the shell, leading to a crumbling collapse. Remaining on the Fortian sands is a deep blue dragonet with a thick white stripe down its belly, its dark blue wings obscured by the clinging remnants of its former home. With a piteous yet brave creel, this dragonet strays from the sandy mound and makes his way toward a mischievous, smiling lad who happens, again, to be in the right place at the right time to connect with the last of Faldaverth and Sarevith's clutch. "Byrdryth!" The precocious Healer apprentice turned weyrling, now F'lsum, is directed toward his new home, his proudly creeling lifemate close by his side.

Leeana steps out onto the sands.

Leeana has arrived.

T'hon stares at the brown dragonet, eyes wide with suprise, and then he looks down and gives a dry little laugh. "Griseth, you an' me can handle anythin' we got goin' on from now on. An' yeah, food's important. Yer a growin' dragon, after all. C'mon, now, an' we'll go find it. T'gether."

Imali claps her hand over her mouth, as T'hon impresses. "Griseth, wow, he's going ot be alovely dragon!" She exclaims, turning her attention to the green dragonet.

Griseth falls in beside T'hon, exhibiting a rare moment of public affection as he gruffly bats his muzzle against the now weyrling's shoulder.

Leeana grins, broadly. She's been here the whole time, really! "C'mon, then, T'hon, or...Theron, or...ah, we'll figure that out later. Follow me to the holding room, then!" she offers to the new weyrling.

And then Folsum and Theron are gone as well. At least Cyrus is unlikely to trod on any more feet. He crosses his arms, cants his head, and eyes that last green with a blank expression. "Imali," he quietly remarks. "Here." And to her, he offers his hand.

Imali takes the prooffered hand. "THanks Cyrus." She says softly, turning her attention bakc to the final dragonet...the green..

Soaring Around The World Green Hatchling nears the end of the circle, having now circumnavigated the Hatching Sands. She approaches two, hands linked together and once again, examines each in turn. She does not sit to do so, rather drawing herself up to her full height and gives each face its due time.

Imali draws herself up too. She peers at the green dragon, smiling at her colors and grace.

Piper watches a little thin-lipped at the imminent last-Impression. This is always the difficult part, and she rather self-consciously draws back near T'bay, Sarevith, and Faldaverth.

The brightly-hued, long-limbed Soaring Around The World Green Hatchling marches up to a rather surly looking young man without hesitation and taps her snout into his chest, then nudges him insistently as if ready to get on with whatever great adventure faces them next.

Imali draws away from the now impressed Cyrus and green.

Cyrus trembles. Imali is the first to know it, his hand in hers shaking. He has no smile for the updrawn green, no grace or bravery to meet her with. In fact, it looks very much as if the lad might crumble or cry at any moment, and only fierce determination to be cool holds back the flood. "Hurry," he hisses, urging the hatchling - and then his head jerks back as if he's been slapped. "Lindith," is more a choke than an announcement. R'us' hand falls from Persie's. "Uh. Yeah. I'm sure they'll let us get right on that."

Acadia grins as she approaches R'us and green Lindith. "Looks like you found yourself a lifemate. Congratulations to you both! If you two will follow me, I'll take you to the holding room."

P'ter makes his way back towards the bowl entrance, absentmindedly flicking hatchling goo from his fingers in a spray pattern of stringy droplets, the rest he wipes on his tunic. Seeing the last impression about to take place he breaks into a jog and heads for his usual end of hatching place.

T'bay steps up to comfort Piper, hesitantly raising a hand to attempt to pat her shoulder reassuringly if she's still long enough. "The dragonets made it out of shell, and they looked mostly healthy. That's a comfort, right?" He swallows hard, surveying the sands, and takes a deep, slow breath. "Good thing there's a feast after. All of the sudden, I'm starving," he murmurs.

P'ter clears his throat, "Now then candidates, please make your way over towards me," he makes beckoning motions with his hands. "If you can gather here please .. thank you."

Imali walks over to P'ter slowly.

Faldaverth's enthusiasm for her progeny has not dimmed, but she does have a soft warble for those who haven't Impressed, compassion in her cadences. Piper indeed allows T'bay to give her a pat of reassurance, flashing him a slight smile before eyeing the group who remain on the sandds, "Let's eat, yes. And then Fa desperately needs a bath."

Imali waits patiently, to see what is going to happen.

P'ter smiles gently to Imali and to the others as well, its not often you see the Weyrleader look kindly these days, but this is one of those times, "Now, if you are standing here at this time, that means that your dragon was not on the sands, at this time." He continues, "That does not mean that no dragon will be yours. You are obviously of interest to the dragon's or they would not of searched you, and it usually follows that those searched, are searched again, and soon find their lifemate. It's all part of life here on Pern, the cycle of things as I'm sure you already know."

Imali nods slowly. Sh ehad figured tihs out already, and is looking /slightly/ misrable.

P'ter says "Now, though your lifemate was not on the sands in this particular clutch, that does not mean that we don't want you anymore. You, all of you, are welcome to stay. You are not required to leave, though should you decide in the next day or so that you want to return to the life you had before coming to Fort, you can. We won't hold you against your will, no worries here. But I repeat, you do not have to leave. Should you chose to stay you are more than welcome. We've gotten used to seeing your faces. Shards, I even had time to learn your names, and for me, that's quite an achievement.""

Imali laughs at P'ter. "You can do anything you wish P'ter." Imali says softly.

P'ter nods, "Well in that case Imali, I wish to invite you the after hatching meal that will take place in the living cavern."

Imali grins at P'ter. "I tihnk I'll take that invitation, afte rI talk to my...friends." The last word is siad quietly.

P'ter nods, "I understand that, but don't disturb the weyrlings just at the moment Imali, they'll be overworked as it is. Some of them will probably stagger into the living cavern soon once they have finished there current chores."

Imali nods slowly. "Tha'ts fine." She says quietly, then, sighs. "Can we go now?"

P'ter nods and motions Imali and the others past him, "Your back on your own time Imali, certainly you can."

Sarevith is watching where the young dragons all disappeared, his offspring so quickly hatched and taken away. Mirroring Faldaverth's response, he echoes her warble in lower tones, shuffling slowly toward the shards. He sniffs at them, then heads for his lifemate at the edge of the sands. T'bay pats him and nods to Piper, listening to the soft strains of the Weyrleader's voice, his eyes softening. "I feel like I can smell the food from here. Mmm. And the cider. I'll miss your cider. Fort's is the best.

P'ter nods to T'bay from near the exit, "Of course it is. We have wonderful cider, and the hot springs of course. You should try the two together. Bliss." He walks up and nods his head to the two dragons, "Congratulations on a fine clutch well hatched," he says to them.

Piper smiles at T'bay, "You're welcome to come drink cider here till you're heart is content. You're always welcome here."

T'bay tips his head toward the Weyrleader, acknoledgement and appreciation for the suggestion. "I'd do just that, except the idea of the heat, after the heat of the sands? Ugh." He pauses, listening to the invitation with a slow nod. "I'd like that. Welcome here. I could visit, just check in, check up on the weyrlings, say hello, have some cooki--er, cider. You're welcome to visit Telgar, too, Piper. Master Emne makes fine sweets, as I'm sure you know. You mentioned a bath--are you headed there now? I could have some cider sent if you'd like, if you need rest?"

Piper grins, "You don't have to wait on me," she teases, "But I most certainly appreciate the invite. I'm sure the dragons'll love seeing their papa again," she turns an affectionate glance on Sarevith, who Faldaverth is also regarding quite happily.

After a long silence and very little movement, the queen is once again preparing herself, and as she gets to her feet, Sarevith stands at attention as well, watching intently this curious process.

T'bay grins sheepishly, one corner raising up higher than the other in his sideways smile. "Thanks. I, well, we both, appreciate it. And the excuse to visit the folks here--I have to at least be tossed out of the kitchen again. They love me!" He tugs his shirt down, runs his hand through his damp hair, and moves entirely off the heat of the sands. "All right, I won't. I'll find P'draig, have him bring you something? Unless you're up to the feast. In which case, I'll see you there?"

Piper nods, "I'll try to catch up with you there," she smiles.