Logs:Elaruth and Bijedth's Fourth Clutch - Galleries
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| RL Date: 1 March, 2014 |
| Who: Demedor, Viephale, Hattie, N'muir, Lilah, Elise, Viephale, Reesa, Morvyn, Faye, Zhivka, N'rad, Ali, Aishani, Azaylia, B'rant, E'ten, K'zin, L'sha, N'rov, Vash |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Elaruth and Bijedth's fourth clutch hatches - galleries perspective. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 2, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Vash has been here. For a while, actually. Front row, feet on bench, knees drawn up so she can rest her chin. She's been watching the eggs do scorch all. But toward the end of her vigil, she frowns. Then frowns more. "I think I'm seeing things," she announces to the galleries at large, and slowly unfolds herself to stand. "Thought one of those wiggled or something." From the sands, Fifteen turns to the day that their dam hatched is the day that Elaruth and Bijedth's children have chosen to greet the world, eggs beginning to stir on their carefully constructed cradles of sand. For a little while, the Weyr's senior queen simply watches tiny tremors set shells to shivering, until the pale gold egg tucked into the crook of one of her forearms gives a solid /shake/ and goes still again. It's proof that she just can't keep them any longer, and so Elaruth slowly sits up and tips her head back to let the first notes of her welcoming hum reverberate around the hatching cavern and summon the Weyr to the impending arrival of young dragons. From the sands, It's a snowy day over Fort, the pretty, soft flakes of icy-white floating down a far cry from the blizzard that has frequently visited the Weyr this winter, but the warmth of the hatching cavern is so all-enveloping that it could just as easily be a summer's day outside. At one end of the Sands, Elaruth sits not so far from her clutch, her anxious gaze fixed on each egg as it rocks to life, though she can't possibly be able to keep an eye on them all at once. As the Weyrlingmaster and her team begin to lead the white-robed Candidates onto the Sands, the Weyrwoman steps down from the galleries and approaches her queen, sweeping the skirts of her rich amber dress out of the way as she walks. Hattie runs a comforting hand across pale gold hide, then turns to survey the same scene as Elaruth, eggs watched with a well-contained curiosity. From the sands, There's a whirl of movement from the tunnel leading into the galleries; dragons flying in to land on the ledges above. One doesn't, however: Fort's junior queen Isyath instead banks the other way, and circles down to settle on the other side of the sands next her own, hardening clutch. That she's taken up a position between the candidates and her own eggs is fairly obvious, though the queen herself doesn't seem all that interested in the candidates /or/ eggs. From the sands, Morvyn finds his way from the barracks to the sands mostly due to the press of bodies that are diligently following Reesa out that door. He catches himself when he starts scowling at the crowd of people who are up in the galleries watching and shifts his focus instead on those eggs and their movements. From the sands, N'muir tries to maintain an air of calm as he briskly walks into the cavern and down onto the Sands to join Bijedth, the clutchsire watching his unhatched children with excitement whirling in his eyes. Bijedth's hum is lost in the noise of the Weyr's dragons but for anyone down on the Sands, it is a loud and deep sound. The Weyrleader comes to a stop at Bijedth's side, knotting his arms in front of him only to unknot them and- oh wait no, he knots them again. Ali takes a moment out from greeting arriving dignitaries to look towards the sands, just as Isyath sweeps in. There's a clutch of fingers against the material of her gown, white-knuckled until Isyath settles on the sands. With an exhale of breath, she turns back in time to greet Boll's Lady and Lord. From the sands, Face in the Shadows Egg begins to wiggle back and forward, making that obscure almost-face appear as if it's trying to look around and take in all the sites. It falls still for a few moments, then begins to shift again in earnest, dislodging sand here and there. From the sands, Faye has positioned herself somewhere towards the back of the group of Candidates, though she goes through the same motions as all the rest, her bows to dam and sire brief, but respectful. She keeps her head down and finds a spot on the sands to occupy that's a good distance from the galleries, though not /so/ far from any of the eggs that she's out on an island of her very own. From the sands, Lilah is part of that led-procession of white-robed Candidates, not for the first time. And whether it be age or experience, the Candidate doesn't seem to have any hesitation in where she is going. Clad in fine, soft cloth that must be custom made rather than borrowed, she moves with purpose to put herself nearest the spot where the most eggs gather. From the sands, Reesa's dressed perfectly for the heat of the sands: her light, summery dress and sandals perfect for the weather. Once the candidates are all safely escorted out, she crosses the sands to join the Weyrlingmaster and the other assistants. It isn't so odd to have visiting healers for Fort's clutches, especially given the distance between them. So, that a master of the craft is seated in a middling row in nothing, really, remarkable. He chats, amiable enough, with the person who ends up seated next to him. From the sands, Out of the Ashes Egg doesn't so much as wiggle even once before a delicate-looking bronze comes tumbling out one end. He gathers himself up onto his feet almost immediately, shaking vigorously to free himself of fragments of shell that cling to his lean, dainty body. Wings are hoisted high as he sashays his way out and down the line of Candidates, being sure to make a second pass just for good measure before approaching a young man from the crowd. From the sands, Zhivka is still braiding her hair back as she walks. It only helps her not look huge-eyed and pale if it distracts anyone from looking at her face, but it doesn't take long to finish that. She probably only remembers to bow to the clutch's parents because other people are doing it. "I wonder how many people have thrown up out here," she wonders nervously, staring at the eggs rather than anyone near her. From the sands, Elise follows the rest, looking very stiff indeed, though her bow is... adequate. She takes a place, not near any one candidate in particular, and after a moment gives a backwards look over her shoulder at a particular spot in the galleries, where certain people of note are seated. Whoever she finds or doesn't find, she turns her head on a creaky neck to watch the first dragon hatch. And holds her own hand. From the sands, Essence Egg shivers without quite rocking, as though it doesn't want any attention on it just yet. A moment later, it's perfectly still, as though it never moved at all. Vash slowly sits back down. She wasn't seeing things, then. When Azaylia materializes next to her, she blinks owlishly at the visiting weyrwoman, then nods. "If this is how it starts, then yes, they've started," she answers helpfully. She draws her feet in hard against the ledge below her bench, to make room for others who are filing in to be seated. N'rad enters in a rush and is going to head over to a spot over there when, yeaaaaah, it's the Boll folks. He'll just veer upward to a different spot instead, grabbing a seat at the very end of one of the benches halfway up. From the sands, Demedor is almost trying too hard to be casual as he strides onto the sands, though an awkward wobble in his bow to the clutch parents belies his apparent calm. Wiping already sweaty palms on his robe, he hurries to try to keep up with Elise. Still not saying anything, just keeping an eye on her, for reasons known only to him. The first dragon to hatch goes unnoticed, he's so focused on his immediate area. L'sha enters the galleries and pauses as he sees the commotion on the sands already beginning. "Ooh, just in time," he murmurs and looks for a good seat. He finds a small contingent of Reaches riders and heads toward them. He looks a bit surprised to see Azaylia down here and not in the top box, but he grins cheerily and waves to her before he sits. From the sands, Viephale, at first relieved to realize that he hadn't broken any sacred queuing rules, is suddenly a bundle of nerves. At this point, he just follows the candidates in front of him and does what they do. Now is not the time to be making brash decisions about where to stand or when to bow or whom to talk to. He does overhear Zhivka's comment, and offers his thoughts: "Good question. Really regretting my choice of a late lunch at this point." The first impression happens almost before Vie even realizes the egg has hatched, and he sucks on his teeth in surprise. "These things go quick!" From the sands, Judgement Egg gets a hole at its top through which one pale, ineffectual blue foot appears flailing desperately. It takes him longer than it takes his green sister in The Eyes of Rage Egg to figure out how all this hatching business is supposed to work, and while the little blue is still shaking off his shell, the stout green is already tromping over to her girl. With his sister leading by example, the blue eventually stumbles halfway to his chosen one before tripping over his own wing. He keens piteously, and a boy emerges from the line to straighten him out and lead him off without further incident. Spared diplomatic duties, N'rov still can't have been here that long, given the snowball that he tosses from hand to hand... unless it had been quite a big one to begin with, to which the growing puddle between his boots attests. Rather than sitting with his wing this particular time, he's firmly ensconced in the dignitaries' section (if at a place that has a good view but will allow getting out in a hurry after all this is done), and the jacket next to him says he's saving a seat. From the sands, Lila's dark gaze only flicks briefly towards the bronze dragonet that hatches, dismissing it for its color before she returns to watching the other eggs for signs of their cracking. The green dragonet gets more attention, and that's hardly surprising, but she also starts to take a step towards that hatching blue before the boy gets there before she can even get another step closer. Honestly, they've been here all the time! B'rant is seated just behind Ali, the towering young bronzerider chatting it up with whoever's beside him, then leaning down to murmur something to the junior weyrwoman. Rhenth is -- as near-always -- perched on one of the lower ledges ringing the hatching grounds, humming his hearts out with quickly-swirling blue eyes as he welcomes and encourages all the eggs and hatchlings. Cheerful movement is just enough to grab Azaylia's attention, offering L'sha a smile before her head whips back around. "Bronze!" Good luck and all that. Even if he's a frail little thing. Then blue. Green. The Weyrwoman is a bit of a sight, dressed as her rank would expect but leaning forward with a youthful eagerness. "I didn't miss the first hatching, I mean." She explains, distracted. From the sands, It may well be a relief when that unnerving egg that looks like it has a face in it finally splits apart. What falls out of the egg, however, looks like it should be judged by its cover: a skeletal looking bronze rises from the shards of the Face in the Shadows Egg. E'ten makes his way into the Galleries, opting for a spot along the upper rows so that he can observe from the highest point possible. Without using his dragon as an assist. At least, that much is the plan. Instead, he finds himself with at least a couple from Hematite who see to it that he's in good company somewhat close to the railing. From the sands, >---< Unnerving Skeletal Bronze >--------------------------------------------< Unnerving is the first word that might spring to mind when regarding this bronze. He's not a pretty dragon in any sense of the word; the line of his body is thin, almost gaunt, angular lines painting him a manner that almost looks skeletal. His bearing is not so much awkward as /different/, and whatever gets his attention gets his whole, undivided look, one expressed less by the whirl of his eye than the brooding, intent spectre of the dragon as a whole. Painted like a thin layer over his skeletal frame, the overall tone of his hide is a dark, tarnished bronze, broken up by patches of black that appear in jagged, slashing gestures along wingsails and his main body. Wickedly sharp talons glitter wetly and shade to ivory white, stark against the dark hue of him. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< Vash's owlish look is shared toward L'sha, then she blinks once in vague recognition. With all the activity on the sands, though, she can be forgiven if her attention scoots that way rather than being social. Seeing as that's hardly one of her strong suits anyway. From the sands, Morvyn looks towards Viephale, "At least when it's quick we don't have to stand around in the heat forever." He tugs at his robe which feels far too tight and near his neck. He steps a few feet off to put distance between himself and the others. That bronze catches his eyes at it hatches and stalls any further movement. From the sands, Elise gives Demedor a doubletake when she realizes he's there, and a small nod too, but really she's far too distracted by everything /else/ to be of much use socially. She doesn't jump or twitch with each hatching but she does twist her fingers together over and over and every time she swallows it's with some difficulty that might be more than just the dry heat of the sands. From the sands, Zhivka glances over at Viephale and offers him a smile. It's a nervous, slightly terrified smile. But still a smile. "I'll hope neither of us add to the number." Then her huge eyes are back on the eggs. Well, they're really on the hatching eggs and what's coming out of them as her hands wring little handfuls of robe by her hips. From the sands, Fluff White Egg explodes quickly into a million scattered shards by its occupant - a rather knobby, homely blue hatchling. But where he lacks beauty he appears to have brains, and centres his focus towards the far end of the line before he has hardly had time to dry his wings in the open air. A few experimental steps are taken and he's off, ambling awkwardly but with a determined pace towards a tall girl at the end of the line. It's always a rush to try and get everyone seated in the right spot in time. There's some missed - people seated in the wrong spots, or further than they should be - but it's far too late once the first egg hatches. Ali's quick to rush down to claim her own seat, looking a little harried, not the least bit due to Isyath's presence on the sands, as well. She half twists to lean to hear B'rant, smiling quickly in response. "It does make quite a difference," she's agreeing, her gaze flickering between Isyath and the increasing number of hatchlings. From the sands, Demedor's gaze is drawn upward by the arrival of this second bronze at least, though by now there's so much going on that it doesn't hold his attention for long. "See that? /That/ is sharding scary," he tries to tell Elise, though she's likely not listening. "Y'all are crazy to want to ride these things," he mutters, glancing at the bronze again. That masterhealer seems to lean forward as his eye catches on someone Standing on the sands, older eyes squinting as if to be sure they see what they see. N'rad is looking just a little star struck at the moment, but it's not the visiting dignitaries, or even the resident dignitaries. "Is this what a real hatching is supposed to be like?" he questions the person next to him, though he doesn't look away. Poor guy's own memories are a wee bit skewed after all. From the sands, Faye is only sneaking quick glances up at her surroundings every now and then, hatching dragonets eyed oh so briefly before she inevitably darts her gaze back down to the pale sand at her feet. She knots her arms, their angles and her pointy elbows making her seem simply a pale tangle of lines. From the sands, Every time one of the dragons claims a candidate, one of the Weyrlingmaster's staff moves forward to collect them. Reesa makes the most of her time on the sands, swaying out to greet each new pair and direct them safely off. From the sands, Essence Egg slowly begins to shake and shatter, piece by little piece. There's no sign of a paw here or a tail there, but the whole of its pale-gold form starts to take on a life of its own, as though breathing in and out. As it seems to inhale, shell expanding outwards, finally and all at once a dark, shimmering body bursts free, sending shards scattering all around. From the sands, >---< Heart's Incandescence Gold >-------------------------------------------< Power defines every curve of this young, dark queen, her molten gold hide brushed with swathes of rich bronze that ripple across her robust form in wide, generous strokes. She's no delicate creature, her copper-kissed shoulders broad and hindquarters powerful, her shadowy, aged-brass limbs promising a heavy, confident step. A blunt, square-set muzzle leads to a heavy jaw and relatively short neck, her sharp, slim ridges smudged with charcoal that glimmers with hints of sunshine-bright gold. Those broad shoulders of hers support heavy, almost opaque, roseate-bronze sails, their spars a little shorter than one might expect from her size. Her paws are substantial, yet delicate things, tipped with flame-touched claws the same shade that envelops the tip of her lithe tail. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< Not long behind the Reaches' Weyrwoman, but definitely not /with/ her, Aishani arrives in white fur and gold dress, though the fur isn't long for the heat of the cavern. She takes her time in taking in the crowd before the scene on the sands, and with an excuse to eschew diplomacy, she limits it to brief smiles and briefer nods. Above her pay grade. She's not slow enough to leave that seat by N'rov too long empty though, lest the crowd get restless. "What did I miss?" she asks, by way of greeting. From the sands, Lilah's gaze slides towards Demedor, but instead of replying, she simply decides to move on her place in the sands. She circles the eggs to be closer to Faye instead, though she does not say anything in greeting. From the sands, Viephale has no choice but to dismiss any plans he had for vigilance; if a hatchling's going to maul him, he's just going to have to accept it, because things are going too quickly for him to keep up. Realizing his fate is out of his hands seems to calm Vie somewhat, and he crosses his arms over his chest and redirects his attention to the other candidates. "Y'don't think it's a nice change from all the snow?" he asks Morvyn, tone light but a little wobbly. When he turns back to Zhivka, he offers words of encouragement. "If you blow, I'll spill my lunch too, so you won't be embarrassed. I'm a good guy like that." Solidarity! From the sands, Elise surprises Demedor, then, by replying. "Then you're crazy with us." She includes a glance over at him, a small smile, but with the collective gasp going up for the hatching of the gold from that egg her attention is likewise snatched up. "Oh..." So that's what that looks like from down here. B'rant gives Ali a quick nod and an honest smile, his gray eyes glinting keenly. And then that bronze pops his egg, the skeletal fellow giving the rider pause to stare for some moments. What's this, though? A breathing egg? Oh... Oh! And she's finally out, the new little queen giving B'rant and Rhenth reasons to cheer and bugle their joy. Quick snippets of calls are aimed at those around the human part of the dragonpair: "Another gold for Fort!" From the sands, Zhivka doesn't look back over at Viephale. Too much moving might just makes things worse. But she does have a giggle for what he says, if pitched a little anxiously. "You are," she agrees, sincere despite the circumstances while her eyes try to see all the things at once. Is fainting allowed? N'rov greets his girl with a quick grin, shuffling the snowball to snag his jacket up out of her way; there's no fear of a pond disturbing her shoes, not when the heat's drying up the snowmelt nearly as fast. "The usual. A few hatchlings, a few Impressions, and yeah, /their/ gold-looking egg is for real." Not to grumble or anything, though at the time the little queen had hatched, his expression hadn't changed particularly. From the sands, Unnerving Skeletal Bronze straightens from the shards of his shell, spreading his still-wet wings wide. The noise that comes from the gaunt bronze is not a creel or a croon, but something deep and faint, like it's just on the edge of hearing. He pushes forward, moving abruptly, glistening sharp talons indent the sand where he walks, his head swinging back this-way-and-that, looking intently in the direction of the candidates - the movement of his skeletal frame almost hypnotic. From the sands, Demedor shakes his head dismissively at Elise. No, he's not crazy. This isn't really happening, right? The gold's sudden appearance has him taking an involuntary step backwards. "Here we go," he murmurs, about to add something else but then shutting his mouth again, the words apparently forgotten. "Better get up there and grab her, Elise." L'sha laughs and cheers as the first Impressions are made, then cheer louder as the gold hatches! "I knew it," he whispers to the person next to him. On the ledges above, Rillaeth trumpets her congratulations and encouragement to the sands below. From the sands, Morvyn is focused on that bronze and not at all on the gold, yet he still manages to hear Demedor's comment and tosses a quick glance over his shoulder. "I don't think that'd be wise," he drawls, looking towards Elise before he does another quick sweep of all the other candidates. One gets a longer look than the others and then once more he's frowning towards the bronze, his arms crossed tightly in front of him. N'rad's question catches enough of Azaylia's attention for her to give a breathless laugh, "Well it certainly isn't a fake one." Oblivious nature aside, how could she know? There's a sharp intake at the sight of the little queen, nostalgia bringing her hands to her lips. It's so wet and slimy! Aw. From the sands, The Black is the New Black Egg stirs. It wobbles. And then it splits down the side and pops into a scattering of tiny shards. Within the remnants of the egg rests a dainty green, her fine shaped muzzle dappled in lime and giving her a bejeweled appearance. She does not move from her position, choosing to look out at the Candidates before her. She takes her time, looking stately in her assessment of those gathered before her. Finally one tall man drags her from her 'throne' and sends her trotting in his direction, her tail held up so as not to touch the sand. She tilts her head up and trills a demand at Morvyn. "Me?" the harper's voice is incredulous as he kneels down to look at the green before him. "Elsyth. Yes. I understand. I'll go by M'vyn now. I'm glad it pleases you." More than a little dazed, the tall man stands and escorts the dainty green off the sands. Rhenth is beyond excited, beyond joyful at not only the sight of the new dragonets, but the new little gold, as well. His basso voice manages to creak higher into the baritone range, and his towering forest grows instant fruits and pinecones that stretch towards the sunny sky. « Welcome, little ones! » He's /still/ uncle to every dragon under a Turn, it seems. (To Fort dragons from Rhenth) It's very possible that Ali was holding her breath momentarily, and she exhales sharply enough to be heard nearby B'rant cheers after the queen hatches. Her gaze follows it, chewing her lower lip, only flicking away across the sands to settle on Isyath briefly. "That's not what he meant, I think," Vash supplies for Azaylia, though she does not go into detail just then. The sands. They are too entrancing. Oh, and the eggs, too. And those slimy things. Candidates. Plus, hey. Dragonets. From the sands, Faye must notice Lilah, if only in the periphery of her vision, yet she doesn't really look up at /her/ either. She gives a tiny nod to acknowledge her presence, but that's all she - and anyone - gets, until... there's M'vyn and that /green/. The dark-haired girl /stares/, lips parting to say /something/, but nothing happens. And she looks back down, shoulders hunching. From the sands, Elise backs up a step too, actually, and maybe even edges closer to Demedor while also giving him a look like he /is/ crazy. "You don't just grab them, not unless you want bad bad things to happen to you. Especially not her... not her." Morvyn's advice is taken, then, obviously, and then he's being chosen. She stares. "Congratulations," she says vaguely. He was just there! And now... he's not. But in the best way? And then she looks all the way down at Faye, for some reason, and quickly away again. From the sands, Heart's Incandescence Gold shakes each paw as she steps away from the remains of her egg and looks back at all those shards blending in so nicely with the pale shade of the sand. Unlike /her/. She gives a quiet sigh and sits down right where she is, regarding the nearby Candidates with her head tilted. No rush. When she finally decides to move, she heads straight towards the young people there for her inspection, clearly expecting them to get out of her way, should they need to. Her study is an intense thing that is given all of the Candidates, not just the girls. From the sands, Lilah tips her chin back as well, and seems content to leave it at that. That is, until she catches sight of Faye's expression, trailing her gaze to Morvyn--M'vyn. "Everything ok?" she questions almost in a whisper of the other woman. Late. This is hardly representative of the "Best Behavior" that is expected of K'zin as a guest of Fort, but the bronze pair popped into the sky and the bronzerider is breathing hard when he climbs into the galleries. At least he must have hustled to get here. Rasavyth's brilliant bronze wingsails snap closed as he assumes a place as low on the ledges as he can get, hiding the bright shade in favor of his dull cloak. There's a croon toward Isyath on the sands before he lets his voice join the other dragons. From the sands, Viephale finally has some attention to spare to the hatchlings, seeing as how the other candidates are becoming less and less interested in maintaining idle chit chat on the sands. His gaze lingers only briefly on Fort's newest gold before it's drawn to the skeletal-looking bronze. "Shells, he looks /mean/. But... weirdly cute?" He squints. The adrenaline must be messing with his man-emotions. From the sands, Demedor is gaping in slack-jawed astonishment right now. One minute, Morvyn was there, talking to him, and the next he's just...gone. One of /them/. Despite having seen other impressions, this one is somehow more immediate. It's as if he's only just now realized that this could happen to /him/. "Right, I guess...not," he replies to Elise, then reaches out an arm as if to grab hold of her. Protect me? The gold's emergence has Aishani's fine brows arching, but that's the only real shift to her own features - her interest is more on the candidates now, dark eyes assessing. Which one. Even if her shoes won't get wet, she crosses legs away from N'rov and his depleting snowball. "Who's that for? And there'll be more hatchings." Easy for her to say. "Do you know any of them well?" The girls. Obviously. Her gaze flickers to Ali, then Hattie down on the sands. From the sands, Unnerving Skeletal Bronze Hatchling comes to a halt, and yet his head turns, and turns, and /stops/ dead. He's seen something that's caught his eye, and it gets his undivided attention. He's looking at a boy that resembles him in an odd manner; similarly gaunt, meeting hazel eyes with whirling ones. /He/ doesn't go to the boy: the boy must come to /him/. At Aishani's question, the master healer in the rows behind them seems to be leaning forward more. If the old man, Caiketo, were to lean forward anymore, he'd probably fall comically, but he seems interested in this question, at least. "Mmmm." Clearly Vash has rubbed off on the visiting Weyrwoman, given her social nature is put on hold. But who could blame her? The other dragons earn some of her attention, and she'll cheer for those who impress. But much like everyone else, she's curious to see who the next junior of Fort Weyr will be. From the sands, Faye makes the kind of sound one might make when being suffocated, the squeaky noise all that she can manage for Lilah, though she nods several times in quick succession to try and make it clear that she's /just fine/. Everything is /fine/. Now, if only she can remember to breathe. From the sands, Tears in Rain Egg seems to have been taking its sweet time cracking, and the brown that emerges from it isn't in any great hurry, either. In the time it takes him to wind his way towards the semi-circle of candidates, the Plague Egg has hatched and impressed a small-even-for-a-green hatchling to a scared-looking Holder girl. The brown finally chooses an older craftbred boy. He can't help but notice not only Ali, but Isyath as well, and after a few chuckles with those about him and a quick flash of exchanged marks palmed over by one man to B'rant, the young man slowly seeks to settle a large hand lightly upon the junior's shoulder, and give a gentle squeeze of understanding and support. And then that regal little green is finally choosing her favorite, and their bonding -- as well as the bronze's pick -- give him (and Rhenth, as always) reason to clap and croon. "Well? No. Crossed paths with? Yes, you can't avoid them." N'rov must resist the temptation to flick water at those legs of Aishani's; "It's for 'just in case.' I think you'd be happier if you didn't /officially/ know," easy for /him/ to say, especially with that grin. He doesn't seem to notice the master's interest, or at least, not yet; if Caiketo does fall, that's likely to be another story. From the sands, Zhivka's fingers crumple up the fabric of her robe and she doesn't say anything else for now. Possibly because she's looking a little off, a little unwell. But she's going to be stubborn, she won't let herself succumb to that. Not yet, anyway. Later is always a good time for that. L'sha grins and applauds as a green Impresses to M'vyn. He looks up to the ledges at Rillaeth, remembering the joy of his own Impression. As he looks up, he notices Rasavyth, so he looks around the galleries for K'zin. He gives the bronzerider a wave as he notices the late arrival, then his attention returns to the sands, particularly on what the gold is doing. N'rad draws in on himself, shoulders hunching slightly as he continues to watch the activities below, to the exclusion of all else. He barely even budges when some doddering old woman jabs her cane on his foot. Leaning to the side to keep watching, he just waits for her to get a move on already. From the sands, Caught By the Sun Egg shifts uneasily, a little tangle of hair-like shell falling down its curve. From the sands, Lilah doesn't seem to believe her, her gaze lingering on Faye in what might be concern for the Candidate. And it's only reluctantly that she drags her gaze away, giving Faye that bit of peace from her prying study, to return her attention to the eggs. The eggs that are, unfortunately, more important than Faye at the moment. Overwhelming, her touch is, in response to his croon: a mixture of endlessly-reflecting joy that spills over the Weyr as a whole, of anticipation (not wholly her own), and impatience intermingled. (To Rasavyth from Isyath) From the sands, Demedor's grasping reach for Elise ends in an indistinct flailing as he fails to connect, then steps away from her, entranced by something. "Thrakth?" he croaks, disbelievingly, then again, "Thrakth," this time with utter certainty as he hurries to embrace the gaunt bronze on the sands. His. From the sands, Elise's reaction to being grabbed is /not/ a squeak or a yelp, thankfully, because she internalizes her startle. It's rather an inward gasp, one hand going to her mouth to cover it and stop any sound from escaping, her other hand moving to Demedor's arm to try to loosen it. "It's going to be okay," she lies, and just then that bronze is upon them both. She /pushes/ his arm away and practically jumps back, losing her footing and sinking down into the sand and then finding it quite hard to get back up again. "I'm sure you make every effort," Aishani says dryly, though whether the tone is for N'rov's bare resistance or supposed avoidance, hard to say. As interested as she is in the look of the potential goldriders, she doesn't yet notice the eavesdropping healer. "Just in case of..." A pause. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't want to know anything officially. Though I was curious which one you'd have laid odds on. Difficult to tell by looking at them." But she'll try, narrowed gaze and all. From the sands, The Treasure in the Trinket Egg falls backwards and shatters with a sharp /crack/, releasing its bronze occupant to the Sands in a tangle of limbs and wings. To add insult to his already undignified entrance to the world, the Emotional Equilibrium Egg that he lands next to promptly implodes, its pale brown occupant sending shards every which way and all over his sibling. The bronze creels squeaky, off-key outrage and darts forward to shove at his brother, who tries to roll out of the way and ends up submitting beneath the threat of teeth and claws. All of this is observed by the quiet arrival of a petite, well-proportioned, rosemary green from The Girl in the Glass Room Egg. She slips away and soon finds her chosen one right at the edge of the Candidate group, while the bronze darts off, determined to beat his brother to the best of the group. In the end, the brown Impresses first, thanks to a Candidate who inches forward to check that he's okay, leaving the bronze still roaming. More Impressions are always welcome, and serve to distract Ali momentarily to perhaps some benefit- she keeps breathing, anyway, B'rant's hand on her shoulder and subsequent clapping spurring her to do the same. But her eyes, inevitably, creep back towards the tiny queen. Vash takes a quick, deep breath and lets it out in a huff. "These dragonets are extremely inefficient," she comments in a low voice, shifting on the bench as if uncomfortable. "Can't their tiny brains just reach out and grab people?" Because that's surely how it works in Vash's world, right? She turns to frown slightly at Azaylia. "Are your dragon's dragonets like this, or do they know what they want?" From the sands, Deme--D'medor has completely forgotten Elise's existence for the time being. Sorry, but his mind has just been hijacked. He can't help himself. "D'medor," he repeats, rolling the name around on his tongue experimentally. "I guess I am...that...now." It's as if time has slowed in the reverberations of his Impression, for it takes Demedor a few moments to add, "Shards! Yes, food. Where can I find food?" He casts about himself rather stupidly, having forgotten any kind of instructions they'd received pre-hatching. From the sands, Heart's Incandescence Gold dismisses one of the girls closest to her with a quiet, regal huff and flick of her sturdy, untested wings. Not right. She continues on her journey and pauses at the feet of a young boy, to sniff at his feet and take a testing, experimental bite at the hem of his robe, but neither satisfy her, and she's soon on her way again. There's no hurry to her step, her body carried low to the Sands to revel in the warmth and dry her hide all the faster, and when she meets up with the redheaded girl, it's as if she chose her at the very start and only now feels the need to make her decision obvious. She bumps into her legs and settles herself down at her feet, curling close, possessive. From the sands, "D'medor," Reesa's approach might easily be missed in the whirl of noise out on the sands, the greenrider's voice soothing as she seeks to gain the new weyrling's attention. "This way. He'll be hungry, I imagine." She gestures, and moves towards the exit. Caiketo does not end up falling, leaning back once again only to resume muttering to himself. It could be any old man, slowly losing his mind. And he may be. One of the perks of Rasavyth's mutable mind is that he takes overwhelming well, embraces it, even. So as her feelings wash over him, he revels, and then reflects, heightening the feelings adding sparkles of his own oozy touch back, though he is not impatient. He just got here! The feeling isn't put into words exactly, but as pleased as he is to see new dragons finding their mates, there's a part of him that seems quite certain theirs will be somehow better. (To Isyath from Rasavyth) Azaylia gives a sudden burst of laughter that has her hands slapping over her mouth. Luckily, like most of her sounds, it's fairly quiet. "Vash." You're terrible. "They're just babies." So yes, they're allowed to be inefficient. Though her eyes flick over the dragonets and their lifemates, "Uhm. Some. Some do. I don't... quite remember." But then, her breath is stolen as the gold finally, /finally/ impresses. From the sands, Finally the Caught By The Sun Egg tears fully open, a tangle of red and gold and brown about wet dark green and chartreuse; fragments cling to the dragonet's still-damp hide as, with barely a brief bright-eyed glance to assess the other players, she bypasses even Bijedth to make her own gamble. She doesn't have a lot of direction yet, though; a flutter from a candidate's robe affects her path, or possibly even a handkerchief in the galleries that's more sensed than seen, as well as voices raised or whispered. From the sands, Lilah wasn't watching the gold, if truth be told; her gaze having caught on that quiet, rosemary green with interest. And yet, when the dragon is too close to ignore, that is when dark eyes fall on the queen, a quick mix of emotions ranging through the Candidate's expression, though mostly /love/. "Of course, Eliyaveith," she murmurs, reaching out to touch the dragonet's jaw lightly, as if she can't believe she has managed this. From the sands, >---< All In Green >---------------------------------------------------------< She might seem all chartreuse claws and even sharper teeth, not only the spikes that adorn the little dark dragon's webbed paws nor the hooked ridges that swoop down her spine, but the semblance of more equally-bright skewers along the trailing edges of each narrow wing and even the jutting joints of her hocks and fetlocks. Her shoulders are the bulkiest thing about her, though her eyes are large beneath sprawling eyeridges; perhaps the eeriest, however, is how all those illusionary and not-so-illusionary claws are tipped with the exact shade of ichor's liquid green. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< From the sands, Non-Conformist Egg spills out a pale looking green, moments before its neighbor, the Survivalist Egg cracks apart to reveal a dark shaded blue. The pair wanders around near the eggs for a bit before finally toddling towards the candidates. Kandan, one of the more lecherous candidates whom many expected to impress bronze, finds himself with a wide-eyed stare at the pale green hatchling, while the blue locates the dark-haired weyrbred girl to his left. "El... what? What is it?" N'rad asks, looking around at those nearby. "Did you guys catch that?" He bumps the shoulder of the brownrider in front of him. "Did you... oh wait, I can ask Maldoranth. Sorry." He's new to this! Just... he'll hunch over and blush now. Quietly. From the sands, Eliyaveith tilts her head into the touch of Lilah's fingers along her jaw, then gives a quiet, adoring croon. She might stare up at her forever, though soon she's up and pressing herself against her girl's ankles, trying to encourage her to take steps towards... wherever the smell of /food/ is drifting from. From the sands, Reesa returns once D'medor and his bronze are safely off the sands; one of the other assistants moves off to meet the newest brownrider. It's towards Lilah that she heads next, seeking to get the girl's attention with a hand on her shoulder: if her expression looks set, that can clearly be excused by the growing heat of the sands. "Lilah? This way," and she's gesturing. From the sands, All In Green may think she knows where she's headed, but her siblings disturb her; she keeps a not-very-careful distance from green and blue, which prolongs her path, though at least she can take advantage of all the lingering fuss about her golden sister to venture under the metaphorical radar. The name of the newly-Impressed bronze dragonet finally makes its way up to the tier B'rant is on, and the young man gives a bit of a brow-lofting as he rolls it around on his tongue. "Thrakth? Somewhat odd name..." Shrug go strong shoulders. With the Impression of the dark queen to her chosen comes more clapping plus a bugle from keyed-up Rhenth, likely mixed in with more of the same from others. Up to N'rad in the row behind him is called, "I think it's Eliaveth... No wait; Eliyaveith, Rhenth says." Grin. From the sands, "I think it's--," Lilah starts to answer, but then Reesa is there with it. The woman just nods, and nods again, before following Reesa off the sands. She remembers, once, to glance back towards Faye, checking on the woman, before the pains of hunger grow too distracting. From the sands, Zhivka is watching the last of the eggs and the last of the hatchlings but at least it seems like she's more relaxed now. Maybe not in the best way possible but she definitely doesn't look like she's going to throw up or faint anymore, so that's always a plus. From the sands, Viephale steps /away/ from the impressions happening nearby. "Thrakth?" Was that the name? And then the gold-- "/Her/?!" Vie is slack-jawed in disbelief for a matter of seconds before he composes himself with a shiver. "Faranth help us all," he mutters, gaze sweeping the sands to survey the remaining eggs and bondless hatchlings. That's when he notices that Elise is still sprawled out on the ground, and being the 'good guy' that he is, he moves to help her up. "Best to stay on your feet at times like this, I reckon," he muses good-naturedly to the other candidate. From the sands, The stocky, chrome-dusted blue that spills from the Selfish and Brave Egg takes little time to make his decision. He slowly and deliberately rights himself, then casts his gaze out to scan through the Candidates before him until he locates the one that he wants and starts on a direct path towards them. He's met halfway by Faye, who bends down to gather him to her, mindless of the marks that egg fluid leaves on her white robe, nor the red lines that soft claws draw upon her skin. "Jynth. No, it is not me-- I did not mean to-- Yes, I am your... Nala." Up in the galleries, there's some commotion from the visiting Bitran contingent, a member of which points towards Faye, now /Nala/, as she turns her face from the crowd and holds Jynth to her all the more tightly. L'sha joins the uproar as Lilah impresses the gold, putting two fingers in his mouth to add a short, shrill whistle to the din. Rillaeth bugles again to the new gold pair, then goes back to adding her rumble to the hum of the rest of the gathered dragons. Caiketo frowns, and mutters as Lilah Impresses, "What was she even doing on the Sands." From the sands, Elise is still trying to regain her footing but shaky legs and shifting sand are not making it easy. Thankfully there's Viephale, just in time, though she's distracted by Faye's Impression, down the way there. Still, she takes his hands and rises, lifting an appreciative smile up his way, then looking up at the galleries, then out at the fragments of shell littering the area. "I might throw up," she tells her hero, quietly. Well, of /course/ theirs will be better: on that point Isyath agrees immediately, though- her thoughts slow and stretch curiously towards the little queen. Can they hurry up /their/ clutch, too? She certainly has no wish to linger on the sands (despite the fact that duty has almost exclusively fallen to Elaruth.) (To Rasavyth from Isyath) "Oh," Vash comments quietly, as one by one the older eggs crack open, leaving the newer eggs to themselves. Whatever her comment was for, Vash does not explain. She'll just sit and squirm on the bench. From the sands, Finally! The All In Green Hatchling's head turns, the twist of her neck awkward but her large eyes brilliantly certain as they seek a tall, lanky young man's hazel; heedless of those about her, she shows her hand in a fast pivot towards him and his curly hair... and that's when another dragonet slams into her, the pair going down in a tumble of claws. And /ichor/. And a shrill, prolonged shriek. From the sands, The bronze from the Treasure in the Trinket egg manages to drag himself free of the tangle he and his green sister have made, leaving him to stagger off across the Sands, inchor streaming from the claw marks raked across his hide. Perhaps desperation finally pushes him to choose /now/, and he collapses in a heap at the feet of the nearest (most convenient?) boy. Deep Within the Mountain Egg shatters down its middle, splinters of shell crumbling out from the jagged crack until a grimy brown head emerges from the hole he has made. He chirrups loud and proud, greeting the world with excited tones. Once he has the rest of the egg smashed to bits and pieces, the brown vocalizes his mixed emotions with bright, curious trills and confused mewls as he parades the line of Candidates, a happy bugle announcing to all when he finally finds his chosen boy. From the sands, Elaruth lets out a piercing shriek on the heels of her daughter, unfurling her wings to stretch them wide, as if she might launch herself in her direction, but Hattie turns and sets both palms down on hide to still her. "/No/, you mustn't!" Despite giving a sharp exhale, Ali doesn't look any less relieved once the queen Impresses. Her gaze flickers towards Isyath, then back to the sands, straightening to clap and cheer. /That/ -- that mutter -- Aishani heard that, by her expression, the quick flick of a glance over her shoulder. She's clearly looking and listening for some reaction, as there always is one, but Caiketo's tone more than words is off-note enough to have her ask, generally and with another flickered look, "Should she not have--" with that shriek from dragons cuts her off. From the sands, Nala keeps the tangle of cornflower blue that is Jynth in her arms as she moves quickly across the Sands, under the direction of one of the weyrlingmasters. Ebeny doesn't look at all /happy/ that the girl is carrying her new lifemate, rather than allowing him to walk, but given how tightly Nala's arms have twisted around the blue, and that there are little rivulets of blood from claw-scrapes across those slim arms, it's plainly not a matter for /right now/. To Isyath, Rasavyth's thoughts move in another direction. Not toward the little queen already hatched, but curiously, toward their dark-gold egg. The egg he's not been allowed near, then it broadens to all the eggs he's not been allowed near. Their eggs. And to that point, sensation comes, willingness to guard the eggs, to be with them when Isyath doesn't wish to be, or when she wishes for him to join her. As soon as Elaruth is off the sands. As soon as he's allowed onto them. Whoa! The shrill call from that little green makes B'rant wince and duck his head some, but when Hattie has to restrain Elaruth from coming to the rescue, he near-halfway stands, readied to do something... to bolt...if needed. Poor Nala and Jynth's Impression is almost missed in the small tizzy, though gray eyes do manage to notice such from their corners. Up on the ledges, Rhenth's hum and croons alter into a creel for that injured and bawling baby green. Azaylia is on her feet, hands gripping the rails as her face twists into a mask of pained concern for the green. There's nothing to do but /watch/ and that's the worst part. Calls from behind have her sitting rather suddenly, fingers wringing the fabric of her skirt. It's okay. It happens sometimes. ...Not that it makes it /really/ okay. That swear from N'rov belongs more on a Southern Boll dock than in the dignitaries' section; he glances away from Aishani to Ali and then to the sands, getting to his feet to see better, not that Vhaeryth can't still see best of all. From the sands, E'lai seems to finally be getting the hang of this hatching thing, now that the whole affair is winding down to a close. "You'll have to get in line," he jokes to Elise as he rights her. "Zhivka and I have first dibs." He seems about to add another smart comment when he suddenly turns, eyes locking with that of the green hatchling coming his way--and then he's tumbling down to her, pulling her away from the bronze, her pained and fearful shrieks mingling with his own hurt, confused cries. "Ziluyth! Ziluyth! What's-- Oh, shards, oh--Ziluyth!" For now, he is inconsolable. From the sands, Elise is grinning, if a little uncertainly, at Viephale's joke, until that green comes careening towards them both. This time she does verbalize a yelp, jumping out of the way and then lifting both hands to her mouth when the two hatchlings collide, and... E'lai's distress takes a turn. She's horrified, clearly, stuck in place, even if the sands are burning her feet. From the sands, Ziluyth might be more noticeably grateful for E'lai's rescue if she had more sanity left to her just now; as it is, the green smears of ichor show up /really well/ on his robe. From the sands, Well, even Reesa's not game enough to get involved in the midst of a bundle of claws and shrieking dragonets. She stands /well/ back until the dragons sort themselves out, before finally approaching E'lai. "Let's- we'll get her off the sands, and have a dragonhealer see to her. I'll call E'ten-" she says, in an effort to soothe, but really just seeking to get them off the sands as soon as possible. She's waving for some help, and if they have to carry the hatchling off, well- they will. When N'rad sees that ichor, his face turns just about the same color. There's a moment. Then another. Then the bronzerider bolts for the exit. A wash of something calm and sure and in control sweeps across the Weyr from the other queen on the sands. Underneath it is a sense of joy and delight today is /not/ a day to be fighting, clearly. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) From the sands, Zhivka is too busy staring at everything to really /react/ to any of it. She might notice Viephale with a hurt dragon. She doesn't seem sure it's his at first, but saying its name must clue her in. She doesn't say anything or move, though, just stares like she's not really there. It takes time for K'zin to slowly pick his way to where Ali is in the crowd, because there are niceties to be exchanged some with Fortians, some with 'Reaches folk, and some from elsewhere. But eventually he slides onto the bench one row up, not intruding on the weyrwoman's watching, but there. Ali, strangely, is /not/ watching the sands - though not so much from squirmishness as /concentration/, her eyes closed as she exhales. Isyath's restless pacing on the sands goes still, while the junior's fingers press sharply against each other, concentrating. He's not as old and experienced as Isyath, but Rhenth is a natural at this, and when the gold offers calm, he too joins her in emitting reassurance. All /will/ be well. And if that little green is watched over with extra-special care by 'uncle' Rhenth in the coming days...well, that's just as natural, too. (To Fort dragons from Rhenth) Aishani's hand takes N'rov's as he stands, likely as much to stop him from going anywhere right away as anything else. Her expression is grave, brows drawn together. Her gaze shifts up to the ledges and beyond, chewing on her lower lip. That anxiety begins to ebb as Ali concentrates, Isyath stills. From the sands, The dragonhealers in the galleries aren't often /needed/ at this sort of event for the task(s) that lie ahead of them today, but there's movement in the rows of seating and several folk with the right knots are headed down towards the Sands. Ebeny's return from assisting other new weyrlings is grim, her face pale, but she doesn't seem panicked in the slightest. "The bronze," she's instructing one of the healers. "Don't try and take him from his rider or we'll just do more harm than good." Seeing that Reesa's got everything else in hand, her focus is for the little bronze and his tearful new weyrling. From the sands, E'lai repeats Ziluyth's name over and over and over for what seems like an eternity before Reesa's words finally break through to him. "Her eye--" The curly-haired, ichor-covered lad looks up to Reesa tearfully, his fingers tracing his own left eye, his free hand comforting his upset little lifemate. "We can't /see/. It's--" He starts to choke up, then throws himself back around the green, gone back to repeating her name, though this time at a soothing murmur instead of an alarmed scream. They're probably going to need help if they're to get off the sands any time soon. The wash of calm and control that flows across the dragons of her Weyr extends further now; Isyath's joy and delight spreading across visiting dragons. All will be well. (To local dragons from Isyath) E'ten presses his lips together, already moving away from his seat and the riders that are making room for him to go and assist. With that measure of room allotted, he's moving for the walkway with few words in apology to those non-Hematite riders. Vash's feet scuff on the ground as she watches the developments, big eyes following the dragons, dragonets, dragonhealers, and new dragonkeepers. By now, her squirming has taken on that definite look of 'gotta visit the latrines', but she's sticking it out. Tired and stressed (and upset to see her babies go) though she may be, Elaruth's presence settles not over the entire Weyr, but gently and soothingly over her newly-hatched children, attempting to shield them from anything /loud/ or upsetting that could unsettle them. Her touch is an insubstantial thing, light and soft, yet it serves well as a warm, comforting blanket for any who seek it. (To Fort dragons from Elaruth) Rhenth -- humming reassurance down to the bronze and green dragonets injured on the Sands -- finds himself darting a quick glance at not only Elaruth, but Isyath, as well. To both queens he tries to offer support in a low and throaty croon. Ah...Ziluyth cannot see from one of her eyes! This fact upsets Rhenth, but he holds on to the calm and discipline Isyath offers, trying to aid the junior gold while trying to contain his own unhappiness. Yes... Elaruth does the right thing... for her children...for /his/ neices and nephews. B'rant's settling back down to his seat when E'ten heads down to take care of the injured hatchlings, but the bronzer shifts restlessly in place, his gaze jerking back and forth between Rhenth, Elaruth, Isyath, and the Sands. It works; N'rov starts to move down the aisle, then at the inevitable tug, looks back at Aishani. After another moment of just looking, he steps back to her side to put an arm about her; it's E'ten's movement towards the exit that loosens a fraction of the tension in his jaw, though, far more than what the queens do. "Glad that didn't happen to ours," he mutters, low, before the next few words escape back into vehemence. L'sha gives a horrified gasp as the message is relayed about the hatchling's eye. He stands to get a better look at the sands, tears welling up in his eyes. Rillaeth gives a soothing croon to the green as she's taken off the sands, her eyes whirling in distressed shades of yellow. From the sands, N'muir begins to head for the injured weyrlings and glances back as he does, pausing as he takes in the scene of Hattie with Elaruth. His pace slows and he moves towards those who /haven't/ Impressed rather than those who have, lifting his hands to draw attention. "For those of you left here," N'muir calls out, "please stay and enjoy the feast and return to the Candidate Barracks tonight. If you want to Stand for Isyath's clutch, you are welcome to do that. If you decide not to remain a Candidate, you're welcome to make a life for yourself here at the Weyr or make arrangements to return to where you came from. It's up to you." Short and crisp, and not too sweet, but then he /does/ have two injured hatchlings to deal with, and he quickly turns away from the Candidates to jog over to E'lai. "We should get them off the Sands." Whether he's talking to Reesa, the dragonhealers, or E'lai isn't made clear. "To the infirmary, if we can. Do you want me to carry her, or...?" As if he couldn't notice, "She has it, Isyath has it." Though Aishani is likely likewise eased by E'ten heading out to take care of things as well. The echo of 'can't see' reaches her and she winces faintly; wherever Iesaryth is, there's no comment. Ruefully, for N'rov's comment, "Luck of the draw. The more hatchings, the more chances of... something." At least it's over? Pluses and minuses for those on the sands. With N'muir's word of 'release' comes B'rant's jerk into action; the young bronzer getting to his feet and moving crisply from his seat in the galleries to the stairs. Long legs finally hurry him at nearly a jog out into the Bowl. From the sands, Elise looks sick. It might have been the sight of all of that green ichor on E'lai's robe or the hatchling screaming or the new weyrling screaming or just the combined everything of it all, it's hard to say and also very easy to understand. She can wait just long enough for N'muir's words and then she's turning to stride as quickly out of this place as she can, and once she's out of sight, or so she hopes, she's running. From the sands, Zhivka doesn't actually move until one of the other girls, even smaller and quite a bit younger than her, passes by her and takes her hand to tug her along. Together they walk back to the barracks. Probably the barracks. Azaylia lingers, complexion drained and yellowed from the tail end of the hatching. She'll stay on, even after the candidates and new weyrlings have left until otherwise prompted. Once snapped out of her stupor, a shaking hand reaches for Vash, "Let's... I need a drink." Relief floods Vash's expression as she realizes people are leaving. "Remind me to wait for the dragons to announce the hatching next time," she murmurs to Azaylia as she gets to her feet. "I shouldn't have had all that water before I came here to eggwatch." She watches impatiently for those nearer the exit to get a move on. Gotta goooo. Isyath finally resumes her back-and-forward pacing as things ease - and the last of the candidates head off the sands. Finally, Ali stands, if a little unsteadily, looking for B'rant perhaps but finding K'zin instead there, with a surprised- and pleased- exhale. "K'zin, did you see-" she stops, looks over her shoulder, then exhales. "He should be able to join her, now. Elaruth will be- it will be fine. I don't know if I should-" her gaze flickers to the sands, towards the retreating Weyrleaders, then back. "We should do the rounds at the caverns, if you're game? Get you some practice, for next time," she says, with a rueful, if faint, smile. "Yeah. Good for the rest of them," N'rov says. Vhaeryth's discomposed but less troubled than some, already stretching in his spot on the ledge up there, eager enough to have done. He scans the rest of the galleries, gaze pausing briefly and then lengthening with the lift of one brow, before saying to Aishani, "I suppose so. Here's hoping they'll have a whole lot more, minus the 'something.'" "Some, but not all," K'zin's smile is rueful for a different reason as he answers the junior. Rasavyth wastes no time. As soon as Ali's words get into K'zin's ears, the bronze is spreading wing and gliding down to join Isyath on the hatching sands, his touch suddenly all the more excited. Sure, there's been tragedy, and that's a shame but he's getting to see their eggs for the first time, and there's an element of fatherly pride as he draws up near the pacing gold. « Would you like to introduce me? » It's not exactly a quiet question and he doesn't much care what dragons overhear, but the question is for the dam. The bronze's rider steps down over the bench carefully, easy grin for Ali and a chivalrous offer of his arm. "Let's. I'm great at being arm candy." The last is said lightly, perhaps trying to ease whatever residual tension remains from the events of the hatching. That part, he saw. "It would only stand to reason that after an incident, there'd be less of a chance..." Aishani's entirely serious about the actual chances of harm or lack thereof in the future, but she eventually gets the idea and finishes, "Indeed." She's briefly distracted by the ichor still splashed on the sands, missing N'rov's glance as she suddenly recalls, "The girl who Impressed the gold? Is she particularly offensive or did you basically avoid her as well?" Once she notices K'zin's presence with Ali, she's not surprised. Isyath doesn't seem quite so /excited/ as Rasavyth about eggs. They're not doing anything /interesting/ like Elaruth's were, after all. She paces around the outside, and there's no protectiveness or protest at the High Reaches' bronze's arrival. « They will not do anything for some time, » she advises him, though not really in an attempt to dampen his enthusiasm so much as an impatience for something /else/ to happen. With a last look over her shoulder at the pair of dragons, Ali's grinning, if faintly. "Just don't stop too long, or they trap you," she's telling K'zin, along with some other suitable advice as she slips her hand into his arm and follows the departing crowd. "Very offensive," N'rov tells Aishani. "She has red hair, didn't you see? Come on, let's go." He doesn't forget his jacket, but then he escorts her out, quick about clearing the way; if they can't beat Ali and K'zin out, they'll still get to fresh air soon enough. |
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