Difference between revisions of "Logs:Of Clutch Sizes"

Feeling in need of an attitude adjustment, you push through the double doors and enter the WaveRider. Tillek Hold, The WaveRider Tavern(#614RJM$) You stand in a wide room, carved out of the side of the cavern. The light is slightly dim, as the room is lit mainly by glowbaskets hanging from the beams that cross the ceiling, but it only helps to create a relaxed atmosphere. The fireplace against the north wall keeps the room sufficiently warm, and the flickering glow is comforting. A bar, the top of which is polished stone, runs along the west wall, with a line of stools standing before it. In the northwest corner of the room, behind the bar, a swinging door leads into a small kitchen. Tables of various sizes range around the room, with some on the east side of the room dedicated to various games. A dartboard there is generally in use, and people generally take their seats at a safe distance. The only exit is through the swinging doors to the south, back into the work cavern. A small door in one corner leads into the kitchen, but this is behind the bar, and appears to be intended for employee use only. Contents: Aladrea(#9205PJLace$) WaveRider Dartboard(#10573SV$) cribbage Obvious exits: Out Your location's current time: 14:35 on day 26, month 6, Turn 12, of the Interval. It is a summer afternoon.

Although R'hin is without his knot this afternoon, there's something about the man that's easily recognisable as a rider - his clothing, maybe, or his short hair, or the confidence with which he enters the tavern. There's something more, too, a strength of purpose and an unerring path that implies his knot, even if it's absent. With a familiar nod to the bartender, the bronzerider strides towards a table, eyes flickering around as if searching for an expected person, unbuckling his jacket as he goes.

The afternoon summer heat brings the slightly uncomfortable stifling heat typical for the small tavern at this time. The tavern's nearly devoid of inhabitants, as the tough times for most of the SeaCraft have yet to pass. Aladrea sits at a lonely table on the east side of the room, chess pieces scattered randomly across the board in front of her. She's focusing vaguely on picking them up, moving them, idle, casting slow glances around the room at intervals. She straightens as R'hin enters, like a schoolgirl for the professor, wearing a youthful grin and raising an arm. "I'll have whatever he will." She calls over to the barkeep, who seems to be quite familiar with the woman as well.

R'hin's pale eyes settle on Aladrea with an amusement that curves his lips upwards, pausing to glance over his shoulder and add to the barkeep, "The usual, if you would." His path alters smoothly towards the winecrafter, draping his jacket over the back of a chair before sliding into another. "Craftsecond," the greeting is brief, but tempered by an easy curve of lips. "I trust you and yours are well?" The yours seems to imply her craft as a whole, as if they belonged to her, personally.

Aladrea wears a very, very satisfied grin that answers that question. "Well, I ask the same of you, Weyrleader," She says, voice nearly a tease, as it's reputed to be. It's also vaguely slurred, but only slightly, barely detectable. "All things well in the 'Reaches? I do miss the place..." It might be known amongst 'Reachians and Tillek folk alike that one of their own was Vintner CraftSecond.

The 'usual' seems to be a chilled Tillek white, accompanied by two glasses - placed quietly by the barkeep who offers a respectful nod to both figures, before retreating. R'hin gives the query the due response it deserves, considering for a moment. "Well enough. Nabrimeth's due to clutch soon, which should-- ease some of the tensions about." No platitudes are offered; she is 'Reachian, and he offers her bland truth. "You're always welcome, should you wish to return. I'd not object to a talented vintner close to hand," his lips curve into teasing amusement, his taste for wine and his visits to the Winecraft hall often spoken of.

Aladrea lets out a slight 'ahh' of appreciation as the wine comes, eyes dancing with approval and aimed toward R'hin before moving to pour the wine in the exactly proper manner, movements like second-nature, managing the reverence only a crafter can. Slight concern draws her brows together as he mentions tensions, answering with simple truths of her own. "Congratulations on the clutch, by the by. I had caught word of tensions, but haven't had time to focus anywhere other than the hall. It's a good thing and a bad thing, naturally, and I'd be happy to come back if this weren't the case. But, if my particular aid can be supplied, I'll gladly give it. Even if it's as a listening ear to a weary young man." Here, she fashions a wink, raising her glass for a toast.

The bronzerider does not bother with gentlemanly airs such as offering to pour the wine; he seems content to leave it to the expert. R'hin watches avidly, though not so much that he's distracted from the conversation at hand: "Any Weyrleader that claims there are no tensions is lying," he says with a twitch of shoulders, though the somber words are softened a beat later by the faint smile that follows. "Mm. You may regret that. Does aid include the provision of wines?" It's hard to tell if he's joking or not, though he gives the impression of seriousness in the way his gaze shifts towards her. Reaching for the glass, he lifts it in toast, "To the sharing of aid... and other things." A brow is quirked as if to silently query her agreement to the toast.

R'hin's gaze goes distant for a moment, lips twisting and a brief exhale given. "Ah," veiled relief might be audible in his low voice, "Nabrimeth moves to the sands. Soon we shall see what the future holds for the 'Reaches," he murmurs, the last almost inaudible, as if he's speaking to himself rather than Aladrea. With a blink of eyes, gaze focuses on the woman with a tip of head. "Since we've not had a chance to finish our meeting - would you like to join us in the 'Reaches for the clutching? We'd best-- we'll be waiting, if you want to join us." With a tip of head, he grabs at his jacket and strides for the exit, a nod given to the barkeep on the way past.

Having experienced an attitude adjustment, you decide it is time to leave the tavern. You stride out onto the docks to the north.

High Reaches dragons sense that Leiventh's mental presence is a little distant, though never -too- far from the minds of High Reaches dragons. The knowledge of Nabrimeth's move to the sands reaches him fairly readily, and he adds his encouragement and support to that of Teonath's with a low, bassy thrumming. « We come. »

From the sands> Nabrimeth inspects the hot sands that have been heaped here and scraped into there. Wallows have already been partially dug into the waiting nursery of warmth that will soon house the newest clutch of High Reaches. The queen swings her head back and forth, rumbling at Wrencath in a half-commanding, half-imploring tone.

From the sands> In the galleries, A Igen rider makes their way up the steps, followed by a red-haired man who seems to be taking his time. He purses his lips as he turns towards the gallaries, "Why did we come here again?" He asks the rider idly, "Because my lifemate wants to watch the clutching, after we're done I'll deposit you back at the seacraft with the rest of your folks." Ray lets out a quiet sigh and reluctantly follows the rider up the steps but wanders off to find himself his /own/ seat. Hmph.

From the sands> In the galleries, Caitlyn scuttles into the galleries, trying to look polite as she mumbles apologies and shoves past some people ahead of her - trying to get a seat near the clutchparents as possible. Luckily for her, there's a few seats left on the lowest seating of the lowest tier, and Cait plows her way into one space, grinning widely at Tavrie and S'kris, waving to both of them.

From the sands> On one of the ledges, Whisper light Kaylith lands folding wings to her sides with a soft rustle. Her gold clutchmate on the sands down below given close inspection followed by a croon of encouragement. Shan slithers down an unstrapped side and settles herself into the hollow created by the little greens cradled forearms. Long hair loose with just a light dress and sandals on, it's clear the greenrider left her ledge at first tug of her lifemate's insistence.

From the sands> Wrencath has hastened his way here on wings that are all atremble at the prospect of what's to transpire. He offers a croon to the queen that is equal parts trepidation and enthusiasm, both terrified and excited. S'kris has taken up a stance near the bronze, shoulder to shoulder with the beast and drawling soft encouragements to the dragon that's positively /quivering/ about the whole thing.

You meander through the tunnel, emerging in an enormous cavern. You walk up a short flight of steps into the galleries. Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#510RIJQas$) Tiers of stone carved benches rise uniformly above the hatching sands, set against both the southern and western walls of the enormous hatching grounds. The warmth radiating from the sands make the cool stone benches a welcome change, especially for sand baked feet. One section of the galleries has been roped off for special spectators, and the seats within have cushions done in the dark blue and black of the Weyr. To the east, the cavern narrows and short flights of steps lead down to the cavern entrance or to the sands themselves. From the galleries, the many dragon ledges are visible, scattered all along the hatching cavern walls.

The cavern which has stood empty for so long now fills with visitors and weyrfolk, dragons and firelizards, all come to get the first glimpses of the gleaming flaccid eggs as the queen lays them.

To see things down on the sands, you can 'view', or to see a specific object you can 'view <object>'. +viewhelp gives you egg specific viewing help. Additional admin commands: lock/unlock sands Contents: Raykini Alacaina Caitlyn Obvious exits: Sands Bowl

Your location's current time: 17:38 on day 26, month 6, Turn 12, of the Interval. It is a summer afternoon.

Alacaina turns about as people rush by. Her nose wrinkling before she steadies herself again. "Wow, a real hatching gallery. I ain't ever seen one before." She blinks and looks at the rows of seating.

Shanlee meanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl. Shanlee has arrived.

R'hin takes the stairs into the galleries two at a time, still unbuttoning his flight jacket as he does so. Pausing at the top after shrugging out of the heavy leather, he runs a hand over too-short hair, pale eyes immediately focusing on the sands, and the queen there. A nod is given to Tavrie if she happens to glance his way, and a quirk of lips to go with it, as if he's aware his greeting might not be particularly welcome. Slower, now, he meanders down the galleries, attention shifting to the occupants, with nods here and there at some of the greetings he receives.

On the sands, Tavrie, clutching her own skin tightly, glances at the galleries and offers a grateful smile to the friends and onlookers. She nods at the Weyrleader when he appears, smile sweet and expression excited.

Raykini finally finds himself a seat and flops backwards in a bored manner, his foot tapping idly in the air rather impatiently. His lips turn downwards in a frown and occasional glances are sent to the silly rider who dragged him here against his will. "I'll be so happy once we're free of Igen ties." Grumbles Ray, shifting a bit in his seat and turning his gaze back to the sands. "'least we're back in the water...that much is good."

On the sands, Wrencath shifts his bulk uncertainly, warbling a bit first to Nabrimeth as if making sure, then to his rider as if the man might have some answer. "Well, go on, now," S'kris drawls, giving a solid swat to the dragon's shoulder before moving away to accept the skin with an appreciative nod and a supportive arm extended to rest over her shoulders, if she permits it. "Ah, thank you, darlin'. Though, I fancy you're going to need this more than me." Wrencath, for his part, remains frozen in place, still wiggling anxiously. Oh dear.

On the sands, Nabrimeth groans with the burden of her heavy belly, movements now taking on a more frantic urgency as she gives up on inspecting the sand and moves from furrow to groove hopefully. The gold can't seem to decide where to begin, though her time appears to have run out. Eyes wide with discomfort or perhaps panic, the young queen scrambles over to a softly rounded out hollow of sand and gives it one last swipe before at last relinquishing the first of her long awaited wonders onto the sands.

On the sands,

                            Mist and Shadows Egg

While this egg's shape is ovoid, as are most, it's the unusual colors and patterning that makes it striking. An ancient, deeply traditional aura shrouds its muted hues of slate gray, while wisps of white intersperse along seams of darkest copper. From the narrowed top, white drifts lazily midst light gray clouds that caress the shell, and as the gray darkens towards the base, the white is replaced with the copper that at first trickled down over ever-widening sides until it begins to settle into precisely rectangular shapes that perfectly interlock with the next -- drawn and measured by the hands of time itself.

A thoughtful purse of lips is R'hin's initial reaction to Tavrie's smile, his own appearing a moment later, though far less sweet. S'kris, too, is given a nod after a moment, though the Weyrleader's attention seems split more between the 'Reachian queen and the galleries' occupants. Moving past a group of raucous Seacrafters, the bronzerider finds a seat near to Alacaina, sliding into the spot without asking. "Ah," he breathes, pleased, as the first egg touches the sands, pale eyes intent.

Shanlee not satisfied with the view from the ledges had urged Kaylith to spare a minute from her watchful stance and drop her in the bowl. Wending her way up the stairs slowly, glancing back over her shoulder every now and then the vestiges of a smile touch her mouth though the fine features are held bland in themselves. Carefully stepping around people gathering quickly, the greenrider offers those she knows a nod and the Weyrleader a smile before settling with skirts wrapped around knees drawn up to watch in silence.

Caitlyn gives a quick sweeps of eyes about the nearby galleries, grinning and waving to R'hin, her eyes passing over some others - polite and happy. Nabrimeth's sounds draw her attention again, and Cait leeeeeans forward to stare at that first egg.

Alacaina's eyes nearly bug out as she looks down towards the sands then gasps with delight at the sight of an egg appearing. Hurried steps carry her to the railing where she grins. "Did you see that? Does that happen all the time? Oh wow!" Who she's asking is unknown since her Uncle isn't with her.

On the sands, Tavrie's attention is drawn back to Nabrimeth and she focuses on the now straining dragon. "Easy love, just let it happen," she urges softly, the wine pressed to her chest more like a child's plush toy than a drinking skin. Tavrie, sidles over closer to S'kris, standing close by him as she watches the gold carefully, eyes full of wonder and love.

Raykini arches a brow when the first egg is laid, he chuckles quietly in amusement at some of the peoples reactions. People were so amusing. He shook his head slowly, instead letting his eyes follow the gold in a rather bored manner. Leaning forward in his seat to get a better look at the newly laid egg, "And I thought I'd seen the last of sand for good..."

"Excellent," R'hin allows, as if he was somehow involved in the process himself. He readily takes note of Shanlee's arrival, pale eyes glittering with pleasure, a subtle tilt of head given in invitation, eyes tracking her for a moment as if waiting to see what she'll do. Caitlyn's smile, too, is noted, and the bronzerider offers one in turn. "Wingleader, so pleased to see an Istan representative here," the words are offered so smoothly it might even be difficult to hear the faint note of incongruity in it. "Our duties to Ista and her queens." The formalities are just that, breezy, without warmth, and over a second later, noting Alacaina's rush to the railing with a bemused twitch of brows, attention shifting back to the sands for a beat or two.

On the sands, S'kris gestures again, motioning the reluctant bronze onward. He's likely just as excited as the wiggling Wrencath, if that lopsided -- if not downright /goofy/ -- grin is any indication. "That first is a lovely one, isn't it? Any idea how many you think she'll have?" Ah, Bitrans. Go figure. He turns slightly to the galleries and tips a salute to the Weyrleader, one that transmutes into a wave for others up there.

On the sands, Here? There? Neither locale seems fitting enough for this egg, leaving Nabrimeth to sulk off to yet another corner of the sands to scrape out a shallow pit for the next of her brood. Her sides ripple with the next wave of contractions and another egg joins its fellows on the sand. With a curious whuffling at the egg, she finally moves on.

On the sands,

                            Line in the Sand Egg

Like an old, ink-stained hide folded one time too many, the surface of this egg is shaded in earthen tones ranging from off-white to pale brown. What appears where and when seem to be as randomly dispersed as the faded and cracked lines spanning the eggs broad width. The impression of sandpaper's rough texture lies in near imperceptible, very finely etched details along the shell's crinkled surface. It seems as if only when those fine points are focused on, do the faded lines reveal a hazy, geometric pattern -- as though it were being viewed from high above. Whatever secret this egg holds is sure to remain so, as only a glimpse of that mystery is relinquished and all too soon reclaimed.

R'hin's tones leave something to be desired in Caitlyn's hearing, the woman not quite able to put her finger on what doesn't ring true, but abiding by the pleasantries, anyway. "Ista's to High Reaches, Sir," is her smooth but slightly hesitant light alto. Golden-brown eyes follow the Weyrleader for a few moments, and then her attention is again drawn away by the second of Nabrimeth and Wrencath's eggs.

On the sands, Tavrie bites her lip, expression still gleeful as another egg is brought forth. "Such a serious set of colors so far, but lovely," she says. No mother or auntie would say any less for their younglings. "I'm not sure how many. I was told that there shouldn't be too many because of the Interval," the woman offers, shrugging her shoulders.

Raykini tilts his head slightly to the side as another egg is laid, listening to the conversations throughout the gallaries rather quietly. He purses his lips tightly together, leaning forward to place his arms on his knees, staring blankly at the newest egg. What was so interesting about them?

On the sands, S'kris cocks his head to a side, studying this latest curiously. "Well, I fancy twelve. Thirteen, maybe? She is awfully, ah ... /large/." This said with a motion to sketch out the shape of the gravid queen. "Or maybe just ten particularly large ones," is his other guess, his lips pursing in thought while he watches and tries to hide the anxiety his lifemate is showing all too clearly.

Alacaina finds the top railing blocking her view so she squats down to peer between the top one and the middle. Half leaning between the two when another egg is seen making her gasp again. Turning her head to look back at the filling benches she's reminded to offer duties. "Lewis hold's duties to High Reaches." she quips with a grin just before turning back to watch the dragons. "They sure are big ain't they?"

On the sands, Dig, diggity, dig! That'd be Wrencath making a few new wallows for eggs, although Nabrimeth doesn't seem terribly pleased by any of them. But, when she feels the next egg coming on ... she just picks one of the prepared places at random and heaves an egg into it. While she lumbers off to find a more suitable spot for her next, the clutch papa is plenty happy to paw sand onto this latest one.

On the sands,

                              One Colossal Egg

Deception plays a key element in this mid-sized egg as a myriad of bronze shades twine across its surface to exaggerate its length and elongate gentle curves building from a deep-hued base cradled within pale sands, to the near dazzling gleam of rich copper upon a peaked dome. Further play of light against so many highlights and lowlights lend the illusion of shadows and movement, and depth and definition where there is none. A series of razor-edged, fine lines streak across the left side while dark striations hint at Igen's windswept deserts or a tightly woven net in which a ruddy sphere is nestled.

Restless, would perhaps be the word to best describe Shan at the moment as dropping her feet back down with a faint slap of sandals, she stands. Moving in R'hin's direction what had seemed earlier to be an invitation is followed as she stops near him eyes flicking to the sands and the activity there then back down again "Mind if I join you?" The greetings going back and forth noted but for the time being not added to.

On the sands, Tavrie nods and then brings the the wine skin up, unstops it, and pours a little of the liquid into her mouth. "I'd almost forgotten just how hot it can get in here. Add in my raw nerves..." she notes sighing. "I would guess eleven, just be different," she offers, smiling at S'kris in manner rather different than her usually sunny and mischevious manner.

Caitlyn oohs loudly at the third egg Nabrimeth produces, enchanted by its colors. One hand reaches out, as if to touch the ovoid, and traces its shape, then the brushes of colors upon it. Wrencath's diggity-digging gets an uncomplicated giggle from the bluerider, her form still leaning forward on the rail for the best view of the eggs.

Raykini wrinkles his nose, "What is it with sand..." Ray murmurs as he eyes the newest egg, "Shards, I'll be happy if I never see the stuff again." Obviously Ray's not amused. Can you blame him after being stuck in a sand-filled area? He gives an impatient look towards the silly Igen rider who'd brought him here in the first place, but the man is talking with someone, so Ray just purses his lips tightly together and turns his attention back to the hatching.

A hint of amusement is evident in R'hin's expression, though he offers Caitlyn an easy smile by way of acknowledgement, eyes sweeping back to the sands in time to catch the latest arrival. More duties offered, and the Weyrleader offers by rote, "And High Reaches' to Lewis." Belatedly, his gaze settles on Alacaina thoughtfully, with a purse of lips. "Tiny, given what they'll look like in another Turn," is his mild answer. Shanlee's arrival is offered an immediate grin, "As if I could ever refuse such an offer?" He gestures to the space at his side, studying her sidelong for a moment, gaze flickering past and only now taking note of Raykini, a furrow of brow given before recognition sets in. "Ah, it's the desert-stranded boat owner. Do you think he managed to find water?" he murmurs to Shanlee.

On the sands, S'kris chuckles softly, glancing from the eggs and dragons over to Tavrie with a slight inclination of his head. Oh, right. The heat! He shifts his feet absently, then, finally, extends a hand for the skin of wine, "It'll be /fine/, darlin'. She's doing fine, he's, ah ... getting the hang of it. You just need to relax, that's all," he drawls as soothingly as he can to Tavrie.

On the sands, There's a disgruntled rumbling from Nabrimeth when the perfect spot for her latest creation is blocked by Wrencath's tail. He finally gets the hint to move when she swats a bit of sand at him and once he's sufficiently out of the way, the golden dam sets about laying an egg -- in a spot that's displaced a good couple of feet from where she'd originally been plotting to lay it.

On the sands,

                        All Your Stones in a Line Egg

If there's one thing to be said about this egg, it's that symmetry is not a foreign concept. Though the egg itself is overwhelmed by the dots covering it, the size, shape and shading of each dot is nearly identical and perfectly aligned with the last. Running in parallel lines, row upon row curves its way across the generous expanse of the shell. The dots themselves seem stronger and bolder than the blue-green mist spanning the void between one line and the next. To where are these lines traveling? A beacon near hidden by the curve of sand, one swirling with colors of passion and steel, every guards best friend in the heat of the moment, that sparkle in their eye and fire in their chest frozen for all time there upon the egg.

Settling, at least for now, Shan once again draws up her knees, heels perched on the edge of the seating. The third egg given careful study before answering R'hin's words and grin with a smaller one of her own "Thank you." Head swinging over to Raykini, a fine brow lifts "Not by the looks of it if he's here." the greenrider offers with a low chuckle "And even further inland." Green eyes snap back to the Weyrleader as she mutters in a low tone "He didn't bring his boat with him did he?" though the hint of mischief in them would suggest she knew otherwise.

Alacaina is overwhelmed as more eggs are seem coming from the golden dragon, her knees giving out on her so she sits with her chin and arms resting on the middle railing. Legs sliding to hang over the edge of the galleries and swinging freely. "Those ain't tiny." she snickers, still round eyed with amazement over her good fortune to be allowed to join her Uncle on a Weyr visit. "Lizard eggs are tiny. I've seem some."

Raykini seems to hear some sort of conversation and he sits a bit higher in his seat, looking around until his eyes settle on the weyrleader and a certain greenrider. He slowly arches a brow at the two, "My boat's not in the bowl, just to let you know. It's back in the sea." And he turns his attention back to the eggs, frowning inwardly.

On the sands, Tavrie gladly hands over the wine, seeming more and more comfortable as the gold settles into her task and wine warms her belly to match her now warm face -- a rosie blush from the heat off the sand. "Hmm, what do you think causes the colors and patterns?" she queries of S'kris. "Yes love, they are lovely and you're doing superb!" she encourages the gold who has paused to shoot the junior weyrwoman a look.

On the sands, The young queen seems rather winded from the effort, pausing in her crazy egg dance to rest and catch her breath. The reprieve doesn't last long for soon, her sides quiver as the next egg announces its readiness, refusing to wait any longer. With a heavy breath much like a sigh, Nabrimeth gets back to work, depositing yet another egg for Wrencath to settle.

On the sands,

                           Defender of the Sky Egg

Proud in its hushed vigil, this egg that is buried deep within the sands bears the poise and unyielding air of a warrior. Large and well-proportioned at its broad and sturdy bottom, it arcs only marginally toward the contracted point. If one were to dig down a little through the sandy embrace, deep terracotta of a near brown shade would be seen working its way over the curvature and pushing up through its entombment to end in lighter hues. Running from the base, dark striations resembling cracks reach up and out, like fingers reaching for the light of discovery.

"If he did," R'hin answers Shanlee with complete seriousness, "We'll be having flaming practice shortly. I'll have the watchdragon check." A flashed smile, "The Igenites might have the... luxury... of not needing to feel vigilant about their Weyr, but we do not so indulgent." Idly, he rests a hand along the back of the bench, Raykini's offering earning a low-throated chuckle from the Weyrleader. His eyes stray to the sands, keeping track of the number of eggs with an intent sweep of gaze, low exhale given, barely audible.

On the sands, S'kris takes a long swig of the wine, then utters a relieved sounding sigh before handing the skin back to Tavrie. "You know? I rightly have no idea. I fancy it might be, ah ... her diet or perhaps something else." A shoulder rolls, his gaze drifting back to the eggs, "How about you? What d'you fancy makes them such interesting colours?" He's appraising the newest egg with a strangely serious look ... much like the other eggs, for that matter.

On the sands, Grace aside, the gold turns a little more quickly than Wrencath must have thought her capable of and a two way dragon collision occurs. Wings rustle and the gold offers a grumble-growl to shoo the bronze out of her way as she heads to a perfectly round groove she just has to have now. She is just in time to lay a stony egg in the wallow, crisis averted.

On the sands,

                          Stone Gate's Promise Egg

Stone and shadows, shadows and stone -- darkness plays its part as ebon, angular patches of black stand out against the granite patterns of this large egg. Dispersed with green and dawn's fragile rose dust, the rocky look this egg is divided up into solid obelisks of color set in perfect, unfathomable counterpoint to one another. A trailing, silvery mist wends its way among the more unyielding hues, shimmering with the promise of magic and life-renewed.

Raykini snorts quietly at R'hin's words, "I'll be sure to tell father not to bring fish up this way." Ray grumbles to himself, wrapping his arms tightly around his chest and tapping his foot a bit more impatiently as his eyes flicker towards the Igen rider. Nope, Ray's not amused. He moves to fish in his pocket, pulling out something and writes a furious message to himself.

Shanlee offers catches Raykini's words and with the air of innocence itself twists round to look at the portly woman sitting behind them. Perhaps it had been she that would suggest such a thing? The wink cast R'hin's way and his ensuing words if caught by the fisherman likely destroys that notion . "Snowstrike could do with the extra practice. I'll speak with C'len." on words of flaming and boats. The sigh caught by sharp ears brings a sidelong glance from the greenrider as she leans back against the tiered steps "Without hope there is no future." is given in a quietly somber tone eyes now fixed firmly on the sands and the next egg to make it's appearance.

Caitlyn fins the latest egg interesting, not necessarily in it's colors, but the odd 'feeling' it gives - that 'warrior' sentiment about it. Her eyes shift to the human 'clutchparents,' Cait grin widening at Tavrie and Soka, and then the next egg is laid, cooing softly at that streamer of mist.

On the sands, Tavrie furrows her brows and then looks thoughtfully at the eggs. "I would guess that it is probably a mixture of the seasons and maybe her diet? Or perhaps they get more and more colorful with a dragon's age? I've not seen many clutches," she admits. "S'kris..will you...well, be staying here more now that the eggs are here?" she asks him, pointedly not looking at him and wringing the skin slightly.

On the sands, After giving a look to Wrencath that has the bronze cowering yet again, Nabrimeth settles into the task of birthing a rather /green/ egg. With a rapid blink at the ovoid, she peers dubiously at the clutchsire who can only offer an innocent-sounding 'it wasn't me' kind of rumble. She houghs at him with draconic amusement and ambles on, head swinging this way and that in her search for a new egg wallow.

On the sands,

                            Great Rainforest Egg

Green, greener, greenest -- everywhere you look on this smallish, rotund little egg is a forest of green, lit only with the occasional shaft of limey sunlight filtering down from an unseen sky. Moss feathers its way across trunks of ruddy, red-stained cedars, layering fingers of softest green in endless sheets over the wooden foundations. At the apex, the deep sylvan green of old-growth cedar boughs weighs down the shell, hanging heavily dark and wetly jade over the underbrush of fern and forest's fair, fey fir-green floor.

With great trepidation but no sign of anything to drink (which probably means it's already been drunk), I'daur makes his way up the steps to the galleries as the clutching continues onward. He does not look at the eggs, does not look at the dragon parents--he seems almost leery of doing so, and instead limps about toward a seat first. The ones nearest the stairs just won't do, despite being the easiest for the old weyrlingmaster to reach; instead, he heads on across the way until he can plop unceremoniously down.

On the sands, S'kris drags a hand across the back of his neck with a contemplative hum. "Well, I fancy anything's /possible/. The clutch Wrencath hatched from was, ah, /very/ interesting. Plenty of bright colours, as I recall. Perhaps it's to do with the weather, as well?" he wonders, then shakes his head, glancing over at the nervously fidgeting bronze that's trying to stay out of Nabrimeth's way. He answers Tavrie's question with, "Mm? Ah, I fancy we'll be here until the clutch hatches. He's, ah, entirely too terrified to leave the sands for fear of Nabrimeth's wrath."

Pleased, low laughter comes from R'hin at Shanlee's offering, pale eyes glimmering with amusement. "Sounds ideal." Raykini's offering earns a mere twitch of shoulders, dismissive it seems. The wingsecond's quiet words earn a sidelong look, a quirk of lips given as if impressed by the sharpness of hearing - and understanding. "Hope," he answers, in equally quiet tones, "Would be a Pass-sized clutch." Pale eyes find Nabrimeth, and linger there, as if he can judge by the bulk of the queen how many eggs are left to be laid, unhappy twist of lips given.

On the sands, After a few moments of consideration, Nabrimeth shuffles on over to another stretch of sand and starts shifting sand around. When she realizes Wrencath is busy admiring the other eggs, she croons imploringly to him and then a bit more insistently when he doesn't hustle as quickly as she'd like. They confer for a moment and then he's backing away, with the gold finally pushing the next egg out with a grunt.

On the sands,

                          Remnants of a Tragedy Egg

A rich base of gravelly tan coats the shell of this small egg from pointed apex to rounded bottom. All along the surface are lines of deeper brown, creating the illusion from a distance that this might actually be a stone egg. Criss-crossing those detailed lines are sharply defined lines of black, which might make one think the egg is cracked. These lines grow in size and number towards the bottom of the egg, where the base colors are consumed in hues of red and orange, sweeping up the lower half of the egg like the tongues of a blaze.

Alacaina's jaw would drop were her chin not still resting on the railing, for the rainforest egg leaves her spell bound. "Oh! I could stay here forever just watching that one. I wonder if Uncle Fron would miss me if I didn't return to him." So engrossed is the with the one that she misses the arrival of the other.

Caitlyn blinks at the leafy greens of the newest egg, her lips curling into a pleased smile as it brings to mind not only Ista's jungles, but the forests of Lemos. Her own railing perch allows her to overhear Alacaina, to whom the bluerider murmurs, "He likely would. But it's lovely, like you said."

On the sands, Tavrie smiles to herself, nodding silently. In answer to what though -- who could tell? Shifting from one foot to another, the bubbly woman lifts a brow and grins. "That egg looks as on fire as my feet feel. I knew that I should have worn thicker boots," she mumbles and then grins sheepishly.

On the sands, The fight has to be at least half-way over by now and Nabrimeth, despite the splendor of motherhood and the glow of her hot hide, is seeming to droop a little. Wrencath croons softly, offering another depression. With a sniff, the gold shifts over and gives it an approving glance before taking care to deposit another egg -- to the victor go the spoils.

On the sands,

                             Buried Battles Egg

Like the sunlight reflecting off a guard's shield, this egg makes a bold statement of power. A wash of hammered copper covers the shell of this colossal egg. Clusters of bronze and copper are scattered over in a seemingly random pattern and from far away could be mistaken for dents and bulges. In the upper part of the shell, a splash of sanguine red pigment drips down towards the base of the egg.

Raykini just settles into silence, ignoring the leader's words and tontinues to look at the sands with impatience, wrapping his arms tightly over his chest as he finishes writing down a quick note to himself. He eyes the new egg, frowning, "It looks cracked..."

Caitlyn quirks her head to peer at that false 'crack' down the next egg, examining it closely, then whooshing out her breath at the hammered copper of the next ovoid, where her eyes are now riveted. "Oooh, *pretty*..." she croons again, grinning at the gold and bronze parents.

The return from Raykini earns him a pretty curling of Shan's lips into a smirk of a smile that then slips off him and wanes at R'hin's reply. Conversation kept low "No Sir." the formal titling used "Hope is taking what you're given and making it work." The entrance of I'daur has not gone unmissed and in an attempt to lighten the Weyrleader's mood "Think he's here to see how many headaches he's likely to end up with this time?" a lift of brows in dry amusement.

On the sands, S'kris shuffles his boots just a bit, then stretches his arms over his head with a faintly audible series of pops. "Mm-hm. Well, I fancy it can't be /too/ much longer, can it?" he drawls, sliding a look to Tavrie. "Although, if there's, ah, anything I can do to help your poor feet, I'd be willing to assist in that regard, darlin'." The next egg is noted, his attention briefly sliding to the galleries and with a wave aimed for the finally recognized form of Caitlyn.

On the sands, The young queen is rapidly tiring out, sluggishly moving from one part of the sands to another to lay the next of her clutch. A shallow hole is scraped out and Nabrimeth hunkers down, encouraged by a low warble from the wary bronze nearby. She's slow in moving from that spot to the next, with Wrencath left to handle the deed of shoveling a bit of sand atop it.

On the sands,

                              Cursed Beauty Egg

Settled in the sands like a long-lost gem, this magnificent blue egg shies away from the stony features that seem prevalent among the other eggs. Its shell is predominantly a shade of deepest midnight blue, draped in a cloud of filmy gray. The egg seems to have captured bits of starlight in its shell, for it flashes brilliantly, dazzling the eye. The shape, though in reality quite normal, almost appears cut and polygonal -- much like a diamond cut from the rough. An aura of mystery and suspicion settles around this egg, personified in the one, giant black streak that runs like a crack around the middle of this gemstone egg.

"Mm." The non-commital murmur is R'hin's initial response to Shanlee's words, though expression eases slightly, especially as yet another egg is deposited by Nabrimeth onto the sands. Shanlee's comments draw his attention to the Weyrlingmaster, and a little grin appears. "Undoubtedly," he says, trying to catch I'daur's eyes before offering the other bronzerider a respectful nod. "The last group had quite a few, or so I hear." Teasing drops into his voice, though he's not looking at Shanlee as he says it.

Alacaina lifts her head to nod quickly to Caitlyn then looks back towards the sands and blinks in surprise at the numerous additions she's missed. "Ohhh!" is about all she can utter as her eyes flit from one shell to the next. So much beauty is hard for the girl to take in all at once.

On the sands, Tavrie rolls her shoulders and laughs. "I'll be fine, really. I don't mean to whine," she comments, shaking her head. "Poor Nabrimeth, she's already exhausted. Let's see...that is ten? I can't imagine the really large clutches when this is so hard," she says, sighing.

On the sands, Tired and cranky, Nabrimeth moves to check a few of Wrencath's new wallows. The first receives a snort and is passed by, but the second isn't so lucky. Growling, the grumpy gold claws at the depression in irritation and then snakes her head around to glower at Wrencath's retreating haunches. If he doesn't look, maybe she can't see him. Nabrimeth grunts and then caves to her first impulse, leaving in her wake another egg. That'll teach him.

"If you mean weyrlings," drawls I'daur, in answer to words about him. His mouth quirks to one side and he offers Shanlee and R'hin a nod of his own in greeting. "I'm leaning to... thirteen, fourteen. Around there." The guess offered after he finally takes a look at the sands and the ten eggs spread across it so far. But, dryly, he adds, "If you mean headaches however many weyrlings will give me--can't count that high." Snort.

On the sands,

                             Mystery's Blood Egg

Wrapped in a shroud of creamy white, this egg is at first glance rather nondescript. Only upon further inspection would the rust-colored markings along its surface become apparent. Sponged along the shell's surface, these muddy-red shapes are faint and their edges soft. From far away they might come together to make an image, but of what or whom, it is up to the viewer to decide.

Caitlyn barely sees S'kris' wave to her from the corner of her eye, the woman starting a little, then tossing the Fortian bronzer a huge grin and big wave. She gives him a thumbs-up, and then another little gasp is given to that gemmy blue egg, Cait's gaze mesmerized as her eyes drink it in. "Beautiful," her tone mimics Alacaina's wonderment, and only Nabrimeth's laying of the next egg distracts her from the blue one for a few moments.

On the sands, S'kris reassures Tavrie with, "Unless she's got another ten ... eleven, now, hidden away in there, then I suspect she won't have to keep at this /too/ terribly much longer. Then she can rest. At the very least," he glances to Wrencath, then Nabrimeth, "she'll not ever go hungry while she's here. Wrencath assures me she'll have naught but the finest beasts to eat." Caitlyn's wave and thumbs-up is caught, eliciting a low chuckle from him and another of those lopsided grins of his.

On the sands, Tavrie beams and bobs her head. "I'm glad that he seems so committed to helping her," she notes. "Well, that was my guess, elven...but she doesn't look ready to quit yet, does she?" Tavrie notes, furrowing her brows and then snapping her fingers. "I guess I would lose the bet," she offers, sparing S'kris a grin. Then, she turns to glance up at the stands again, searching for more familiar faces.

On the sands, Sand and eggs are all over, and now one egg is taking the sand theme to heart. With the scrape of a talon to carve a narrow canyon in the sand, Nabrimeth settles a reddish, dusty-looking egg onto the Sands, pausing to look it over with a mother's critical eye before rumbling a soft approval and encouraging Wrencath to see that it is properly cradled.

On the sands,

                            Sandstone Frieze Egg

Rough-edged in appearance, though realistically as smooth as every other egg, this sandstone-colored egg is about average in size and seemingly unremarkable. Nothing particularly discernible for shapes and sizes jump out from its dust-hued surface, though there's a sense of shadow and light. The hot, hazy light of a midday desert is conveyed in the varying hues, from the near black of deep-carved shadow to the washed-out ruddiness of sun-baked sand. Standing out just a little in a smoother slant of dusty red, long columns of color stretch from the narrow apex to the broader base, lending a sense of relief to the seemingly carved surface.

Caitlyn tears her gaze away from covetingly enjoying the blue egg to see the newest orb settled, and her lips quirk into a wry grin. "Lots of sandstone color in the clutch, so far..." she murmurs out loud. "Looks as if they were made in Igen, instead of High Reaches." A soft chuckle.

Raykini wrinkles his nose slowly as he leans forward to eye the eggs, a comment by someone causes him to frown. "They do look like they're from Igen." Ray agrees, and he'd know. He'd just been stuck there a few months.

A sly look enters Shan's eyes at I'daur's guess on clutch size "Care to take a bet on that?" pause "I'll go twelve. Loser buys the whiskey." wink. Then slips her focus back onto the sands a grin appearing for R'hin's last. "Heard they were tee-totallers and a bunch of Class A riders." battling to keep her face straight for the total turn-around of the truth as she doesn't dare a look at either man right now.

On the sands, S'kris considers, "Thirteen, I think. Wrencath's guessing, ah, much higher-" of course. He shakes his head, then continues, "Good thing we're not betting marks or anything /seriously/. Much as I would prefer to, of course, but that scarcely seems fair." He winks to Tavrie, then glances over to watch the queen and see if she's got any more eggs to show the world.

On the sands, Nabrimeth reels with the contractions that are urging her onward. She scans the sands for a suitable spots and moves right into the center, hissing Wrencath out of the way. Here, she strains, stretching her neck out to fix her eyes on one of the other eggs as if setting her sights on a goal. Then, with a shudder of relief, she leaves behind a rather bulky egg. Nabrimeth snorts at it, seeming a little put out, though one might swear she has a draconic grin on her face.

On the sands,

                              Guiding Light Egg

Large and sturdy by comparison, this egg lies nestled as if it had risen like a beacon from the very sands themselves. The unusual length would give it an almost cylindrical shape, except for the fact that the base is still indeed wider then the elegantly tapered tip. Wide, robust and washed with touches of sea-blue that splash up both sides, the egg is wrapped in hues of pale stone that provide a foundation of unyielding steadfastness. A bright glow, much like that of Rukbat on water, intermingles with whites that follow the curves inward toward an apex burning with the resolute promise of safe harbor in the fiery reds and sultry yellows that rest upon it.

There's a faint, tight reluctance in R'hin's acceptance of I'daur's assessment, apparently putting enough stock in the Weyrlingmaster's words that there's a trace of resignation in his response, "I hope for our sake, you're wrong. Regardless, I'll buy you a drink, in pre-etemptive thanks for the headaches to come." A faint twitch of lips at the bet, and the greenrider's words that followed. "Mm. Even in candidacy," R'hin's voice is even in equal measures, though he doesn't bother to hide the grin that curls his lips.

"Ain't been to Igen. But sand is fun to play in." Alac snickers back to the voices behind her. Though as another egg is placed on the sands she forgets what ever she was thinking and just stares at it with an unblinking gaze.

Raykini shrugs his shoulders, "I was stranded there for a few months after they rescued us from a storm. I know what Igen looks like." Ray murmurs thoughtfully, "We're finally back at sea, however. We're all happy to be back on the water." He eyes the newest egg, "That's a rather nice egg."

I'daur frowns slightly at Shanlee's offer, then offers a wry smile. "Fine. I guess I'll take fourteen, then, since. What if we both lose? Buy our own?" He shakes his head, then just has to snort again at Shanlee's words. "Only 'cause they couldn't hold their whiskey," is his take on the last clutch, dryly offered to the greenrider. And to R'hin: "Hope for your sake, Weyrleader, and the Weyr's--not mine." A trace of a smile for that agreement: it's just not easy for him to get so excited about the prospect of a huge clutch, however much he knows it's needed.

Caitlyn smiles at Guiding Light egg, finally done (at least for the moment) with drooling over the gemmy blue egg. A quirk of head this way, a crane of neck that way, and she murmurs to Alacaina's words, "Like the beacons on Tillek's shores."

On the sands, Tavrie looks away when he winks at her, smiling out at the eggs now dotting the soft sand. "Excellent, hon," she urges the gold. "Almost done?" she purrs. The young woman watches the tired gold carefully now, a hint of worry hidden on her face behind that smile.

On the sands, Nabrimeth pauses a while after her previous egg is laid, the gold resting quietly. Wrencath dares to wiggle closer to her, extending his neck so that he may gently rub his cheek against his mate's neck. The tired young gold gives a soft croon, a wuffled sigh, and then once again moves off to another patch of sand. The bronze hurries before her to dig a quick depression, his tail smoothing it just so -- and with a low grunt, Nabrimeth hovers over it, depositing her final token of fruitful union onto the hot sands.

On the sands,

                              Undying Love Egg

A near perfect oval, this moderate-sized egg is a study in pristine perfection. Upon the upper two-thirds, a background of lazy sky blue dominates, while the lower third of the shell is held by shades of pine, soft mauve, and reflective azure. These hues develop into shapes that hint at shrub-dotted terraces split by a long, rectangular, reflecting pool and paths. Dominating the tranquil scene is an edifice of incipient, antique white which rises gracefully into the heavens with soaring columns at its four corners. Central ramparts rise proudly in gentle lace to a curved, spire-topped dome.

Caitlyn sighs at the seeming prefection of the blends of tones in the final egg, her smile tranquil and happy in beholding it. "Mm, nice to rest your eyes on that one..." she murmurs to no-one in particular.

"My hope -is- for the Weyr," R'hin responds to I'daur, though mildly enough, as if it should have been something fairly obvious. He leans forward as Nabrimeth deposits her next egg, brow furrowed, falling still as he waits to see either from the queen or her rider whether another egg will be forthcoming.

The dark red head nods in solemnity to the Weyrleader's last "Gonna be a hard act to follow." Shan swallows down the laughter threatening. R'hin's return to I'daur bringing a sidelong flick of eyes between him and the weyrlingmaster, the restlessness of earlier returning. Dropping heels to ground once again, instead of moving the wingsecond leans forward, elbows on knees and chin cupped in hand murmuring a count of the eggs nestled on the sands. Back to I'daur "Done. Because in all honesty I don't think I earn in a turn what it would take to supply your illustrious self with whiskey." pause "Sir." the last tacked on with what could be a salute his way and a cheeky grin to follow. Green eyes roll at the last from the man "Lightweights." she snorts to losing one's liquor as faint color touches the pale cheeks.

On the sands, And as soon as it appears to be over, Wrencath dares to slink over to where Nabrimeth is and stretches his neck out again with a nervous, imploring warble for the young gold. Offering support or comfort or whatever else she may need. S'kris, for his part, lapses into momentary silence when it appears to be done, before a low, awed whistle slips past his lips. "Fourteen. Fourteen /lovely/ eggs, darlin'. They did well, didn't they?" He offers a one-armed hug to Tavrie, mouth gone all smiling and lopsided again.

Alacaina leans over the middle railing, to better view all the eggs for a moment and starts to count them. Losing track she instead sighs wistfully. "Wish we could go down there to get a really good look, but Uncle Fron said its forbidden."

On the sands, Nabrimeth turns slowly and begins to heap sand on this newest egg, her sides rise and fall with heavy breaths. Nudging it over a little to balance it better, the queen moves carefully into the midst of the eggs and settles herself wearily into the sands before stretching up to nuzzle Wrencath gently. Then, she lays her head down on the sands, laying quietly in the midst of her work with a pleased look on her masked face. Tavrie laughs and returns the hug S'kris wraps her into with that one arm, then she slips out carefully to Nabrimeth's side, rubbing her muzzle. "You were wonderful. Congratulations, Nabri," she says softly. Then, Tavrie returns to S'kris. "Had we better thank people for coming?" she asks him.

The slight exhale R'hin gives as he leans back into his seat would probably be missed by most, though the slight tightening of expression could be noted. "It seems you were correct, Weyrlingmaster," he murmurs, gaze flickering over the sands again as if to perform another count, with no differing answer.

"Didn't mean to imply otherwise, Weyrleader," I'daur notes, more sincere in tone for that moment as he looks to R'hin. He studies the younger bronzerider a moment before letting Shanlee call his attention back to her. "Don't spend /that/ much." Pause. "Well, s'not like I'm spending it on anything else," is his amendment to that statement. And then: "Fourteen," he says, just a little smug.

Raykini lets his eyes rest on the last and final egg, "Fourteen, eh?" He shakes his head and turns towards the Igen rider, frowning to himself when the man is /still/ talking. "Suppose I'll get another ride home..."

Caitlyn nods distractedly at Alacaina. "Mhm. They're too soft to be touched well right now. And Nabrimeth's likely in no mood after going through that all. Can't blame her." She looks up at the gold, expecting another egg (not hving counted), and blinks in a bit of surprise to find the gold done. The bluerider's finger points at each egg, tallying up the count, to find fourteen. A wide smile. "Good number for an Interval." A sudden frown. "An Interval with Thread." Grump.

On the sands, S'kris watches Wrencath wiggle his rotund self a bit, then poke his muzzle at this egg or that with a look occasionally spared to the gold to make sure she's content for now. The rider laughs softly, then glances at Tavrie with, "I suspect it wouldn't hurt." He turns again, glancing over at the galleries and calling an amiable, "Looks like that's it, y'all. Thanks for, ah, keeping us company out here, as it were."

Straightening back up as all the eggs that were likely to be laid have been, Shan's face reflects what might have been the cause of the previous restlessness. Barely spoken "Fourteen." her tone matching the tightness of R'hin's features is quickly schooled into one of wryness for I'daur's smug expression "Gotta find yourself some good trader contacts. Make the mark go further." a wink delivered. Twisting around, she catches the faints shadowed form of her little green who'd been watching the proceedings from the ledges. "Speaking of drinking." the greenrider stands to her feet, slim hands smoothing unwrinkled skirts leaving the rest unspoken.

An easy nod is R'hin's acknowledgement and acceptance of I'daur's offering, though his wordless attention seems to be on the sands, gaze distant for time. S'kris' words refocus his attention, and he rises, voice raising to call down to the pair, "A fine clutching, Tavrie, S'kris. My compliments to your dragons." A tip of head in particular is offered to Nabrimeth, and if there's a trace of dispiritedness in the gesture, he hides it well.

Alacaina heaves another wistful sigh as Caitlyn's words echo the strict warnings her family gave her. "It Ain't fair." she pouts, her arms lifting free of the railing to cross over her chest. Feeling sassy, she shoots a look towards the Riders down on the sands and calls back. "Your welcome." Least her manners are in tack. "They are real pretty eggs."

On the sands, Tavrie laughs warmly and shakes her head at his manner of thanking them. "The speech of a future weyrleader," she mutters, though the arch of her eyebrows hints that she must be joking with him. Turning to the stands, she waves simply, keeping quiet after such a stirring pronouncement as S'kris'. At R'hin's compliment, Tavrie lowers her gaze and then looks up again to meet the Weyrleader's. "Thank you, sir," she says, seeming to offer him more in genuine feelings than just that simple thank you.

Caitlyn looks up to R'hin as he speaks to the quad of 'parents,' studying the man for a bit. Again, there's something in him she can't quite put her finger on, but the Wingleader leaves her curiosity unspoken, for now. Her gaze travels back out to Tavrie and S'kris, the short woman snickering at the bronzer's usual vocal delivery - her smile all for the humans out there on the sands. "Good going Tavrie, Soka! And Nabri and Wren, especially!"

Shanlee's response to the thanks given by S'kris on behalf of himself and Tavrie is unspoken but shown in the warm smile sent her gold clutchmate and the dip of head the bronzerider's way.

On the sands, S'kris looks almost horrified, albeit in amused fashion, and rests his hands squarely at his hips as he looks at Tavrie. "Now, darlin', don't be saying /that/, y'hear? Weyrleadering is not, ah ... well, entirely too much work for the likes of me." He looks momentarily pitiful at the very idea, then his gaze slants back to those in the galleries with a proud grin. "Thank'ee, darlin'," is called to Alacaina and, likely, Caitlyn as well, with another quick salute tipped toward the other riders.

Holding the goldrider's eyes for a moment, R'hin gives another nod to Tavrie, as if her words deserve particular acknowledgement. "I'm sure the cooks have been hard at work while we've been watching, if any of the visitors would like to join us for something cool to drink, and a decent meal. And that's for the clutchparents as well-- assuming you're willing to leave the sands?" a slight curve of lips, and a tilt of head is given to the pair on the sands. His gaze sweeps over the crowd, and if he notes Caitlyn's look, there's no visible response from the man.

"Speaking of drinking," agrees I'daur, as he looks out on the eggs one more time. "There's fourteen of them. Fourteen." And despite his lack of enthusiasm, there's an echo of an 'only' in the latter, as he purses his lips and then stands quickly, one hand reaching to the back of the seat in front of him to steady himself.

Alacaina starts to snicker, her brief disappointment of not being allowed near the eggs passing when the rider from the sands calls her darlin. "Ain't never been a darlin afore! Wait til I tell Uncle Fron." Happily she jumps up and skips towards the short flight of stairs leading back down into the bowl. "Uncle Fron! Guess what! He called me Darlin!"

On the sands, Tavrie grins broadly at Caitlyn. "Thanky ou," she says and then jabs an elbow in S'kris' direction. "I think that Nabrimeth is ready to rest for a bit so it would be a good time to go and get cooled down," she tells him. "Coming?" is tacked on.

Caitlyn sighs at the sight of a clutch being guarded by proud parents, smiling up at the inner ledges, when a certain blue is perched, looking out over the scene. A gentle smile, a nod, and she looks back up at R'hin, giving him a decent smile. "Thanks for the invitation. I think I might just sample some things. Came up here all suddenly, after all."

On the sands, S'kris oofs loudly, staggering with exaggerated pain at the elbowing. "I think you might've cracked a rib, darlin'," he complains with a laugh, rubbing at the spot. Wrencath looks up, utterly concerned, and is soothed after some silent reassurance from his lifemate. "Ah, and naturally, darlin'. I've also got to see about, ah, commandeering one of the guest weyrs while we're here, too, I suspect."

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

Raykini pushes himself slowly to his feet and stretches, standing on the tips of his toes briefly to give one last look to the sands before stuffing his hands into his pockets. The riders on the stands are given a slight frown as the fisherman heads out, time to find a way home, how fun!

Caitlyn giggles loudly at Tavrie's elbowing of S'kris' ribs, the bluerider finding the gesture quite humorous for some reason. She waves to both of them again, calling out, "Meet you two for food!" then shuffling off with the others who take their mass exodus from the galleries.

On the sands, Tavrie laughs more softly and nods. "I, err, yeah...guess so," she mumbles, attempting to gather his arm in hers and lead him off the sands. "Rest well, Nabrimeth. I'll be back soon," she tells the gold, who appears to be asleep.

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

Slinging his flying jacket over one arm, R'hin offers the other arm to Shanlee, pale eyes gleaming. "Might I accompany you, wingsecond?"

On the sands, Tavrie heads up a short flight of steps to the galleries. Tavrie has arrived.

On the sands, S'kris heads up a short flight of steps to the galleries. S'kris has arrived.

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

S'kris walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance to the bowl. S'kris has left.

Turning to R'hin, Shan dips her head down "Thank you for the company." faint disappointment touching the light tone though a smile is summoned "Think I'll get some food to go." giving that she wouldn't be joining the others in the living caverns. Then up to I'daur "Picked something up the other day you might like. I'll drop it by your office when next I get a chance." A last lingering look to the sands and the greenrider moves to make her way back down the stairs.

"Ah, it seems I'll miss out my chance to tempt you into a dance. Disappointing," R'hin clucks his tongue, but seems in good spirits nonetheless as he keeps pace with the greenrider, heading for the stairs.

You walk down a short flight of steps and head out through the entrance to the bowl. Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#880RIJs) Standing on the western side of the bowl, the high crownlike spires of the Seven Spindles on the north wall tower magestically above the roughly ovoid bowl floor. Near you, a large boulder stands, placed almost exactly in the center of the bowl. This side of the bowl is busy with the constant flow of residents and visitors around the entrance to the living cavern to the southwest and the lower caverns to the west. To the north, the large opening on the upper wall leading into the hatching grounds catches your eye. Directly below it, the ground entrance to the same area seems almost tiny. Northwest, the weyrs belonging to the junior queens of High Reaches are accessible from a short set of stairs and a path of carefully laid black marble leads from them to the entrance to the living cavern. To the south, a few ground weyrs remain unoccupied, in case any visiting or injured dragons need them.

The evening is mostly hidden behind dark clouds that cover the sky, though when the clouds clear briefly you can see the stars. The smaller Belior is a nearly full waning gibbous while Timor shines brightly as a full moon. It is raining heavily, the water coming down in torrents. A light wind blows and the summer air temperature feels comfortable. The ground beneath your feet is wet from the last storm. Views: Junior Queen Weyrs Contents: S'kris Tavrie Kaylith Leiventh Kintryth Obvious exits: Lower Caverns Living Cavern High Ground Ledge Hatching Grounds Guest Weyrs Eastern Bowl

Shanlee comes out of the entrance to the hatching grounds. Shanlee has arrived.

Caitlyn wanders out of the lower caverns. Caitlyn has arrived.

From the sands> In the galleries, "I'll be there," I'daur tells Shanlee wryly. "Come by--whenever." A shrug, and then as she leaves, he glances ou just once more to the sands and the clutchparents, and then makes his slow shuffle down the stairs again, too.

S'kris arches an eyebrow at Tavrie, his expression curious at ... something or another. When she hangs her head, however, he ambles a bit closer to her, leaning in to drawl something to her with a hand lightly aimed for her shoulder in comforting fashion.

I'daur comes out of the entrance to the hatching grounds. I'daur has arrived.

Kintryth croons a little to the proud 'parents,' the blue lowering his nose to whuffle at them a little, then quirking his great head as if listening. Crazy dragon.

Tavrie blinks up at him again, a sweet smile playing on her lips with a hint of sheepish amusement lingering just at the edges. The woman bites her lower lip and tucks some blond hair behind her ear, seeming to think before returning the soft conversation.

Shanlee heads towards the eastern side of the bowl. Shanlee has left.

Caitlyn appears from behind her blue, having been scritching an unreachable spot on his hindquarter while the others fanned out of the Grounds. She hangs back while Tavrie and S'kris speak with each other, unwilling to break up the moment, golden-brown eyes searching those that walk by, namely Shanlee and I'daur. The woman smiles to the Weyrlingmaster, sketching him a lazy salute.

S'kris arches an eyebrow at something or another said to him by the weyrwoman, then he shakes his head, a reassuring smile in place. He mutters something in response, his head lifting and tilting back toward the sands they'd so recently left. Kintryth's attention isn't utterly ignored, either; the rider chuckles, waving to the blue ... and his rider, when he espies Caitlyn.

Tavrie smiles at her boots and then looks up, seeming to notice the hot breath of the blue as he relays his own greetings. Tavrie laughs and makes a playful shooing gesture at him. "You are quite the love," she notes sweetly to Kintryth before continuing on toward the living cavern, oblivious of anything else for the moment.

I'daur's path is relatively certain as soon as he exits the hatching grounds, though the crowd clustering outside throughs him a bit, unsurprisingly. He slows further, skimming his eyes across it slowly as he starts moving around the circumference of it. The salute thrown his way earns, though, an automatic, though equally lazy, salute. It's only afterward that he actually /looks/ at Caitlyn and offers, "Bluerider," in greeting.

Although R'hin's initial path carries him towards the living caverns, he slows and pauses half way there, with a faint little frown. A roll of eyes is given skywards, and with an abrupt turn on his heel, he heads instead for the Weyrleader's ledges across the bowl, stride and sharp movements telegraphing unhappiness.

You walk towards the eastern side of the bowl.