Logs:Niahvth and Reisoth's Clutch Hatches
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| RL Date: 18 April, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Devaki, Drex, Edyis, Farideh, Faryn, H'vier, Irianke, K'zin, Keysi, Laine, Lilah, Minara, Quinlys, R'hin, R'van, Schuyler, T'mic, Z'kiel |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr, High Reaches Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's hatching day! |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| From High Reaches Weyr, an Igen dragon lifts her marigold and sunshine voice in a loud hum, in a discordant harmony with the cold, aloof thrum of her mate, sounding more distant to those across the continent and vibrating in the thoughts of many. « They come. They come! » (To all dragons from Niahvth) It starts with Niahvth, and then begins to spread: a low hum that gains in intensity as High Reaches' dragons take it up, echoing through the stone caverns until it's literally impossible to miss. It's time! To local dragons, Knioth joins in his brassy Tenor rising amid the others huming as he settles into the ledges of the hatching grounds. Quinlys must have had some advanced warning, because it's not long after that humming begins that she shows up, hair pulled up into a high runner-tail, heavy boots on her feet despite the summer warmth. "All right, let's go!" she says, all bright enthusiasm as she bursts through the door. "Robes on, boots on, go." Dragonets soon! It's enough to waken licaeth from his doze upon ledge, and have him join in the humming, too, the blue's mential voice as eager as his physical one. « Soon! » He's in need of a happy change of pace, like most of the other Reachian dragons. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) It's time. It's time! Laine's under her blankets, covers pulled to her chest and knees pulled high, pretending like she's not wound tight as a spring, when that hum starts. She flings back those blankets, where they lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and slithers out of bed, where she stands, hopping on one bare foot, muttering, "It's now, it's real, it's now!" Boots? Boots? They're under the bed. Somewhere. She plunges under her cot to seek them out plunks down again to tug them on. And robe? That's produced from somewhere, too, crumpled and rough but unmistakably white. Farideh comes hurrying into the candidate dorms, just after Quinlys, in somewhat of a panic, smoothing her hair down around her ears. She looks oddly guilty, her cheeks flushed with color, even as she moves to her bunk without looking a single person in the eye. It's in quiet that she pulls out her appointed robe, spreading her fingers over it reverently. Her disrobe and re-robe is quick, and after they're all straightened, she sits on the edge of her bed to pull on the thick-soled boots. Then, she standing and looking around at the others, her expression a shade lost. High up on the rim of the bowl, the ever watchful Leiventh adds his bassy notes to the humming, joining into the swelling voices of the Weyr's dragons as easily as if he were never gone. (To High Reaches dragons from Leiventh) To High Reaches dragons, Rasavyth's excitement is there, though off an oddly tranquil and detached sort. Mostly he's excited because those eggs are hatching students and for once, they're going to let him teach. Should the Weyr be afraid? He doesn't think so. But what does he know. Edyis isn't to concerned with modesty stripping the sundress and throwing on the shapeless thing without much to do. Though the anxious shifting and glance to Keysi probably gives away the nervous energy she feels, slipping on the boots. "Farideh come on, line up sweetie." Schuyler's hair is damp, clearly having come recently from the baths but he scurries in as the humming starts and finds his robe tucked neatly into his trunk and pulls it on quickly. He looks around, his usual calm a bit frazzled by the excitement of the moment but he takes a deep breath as he looks around at the group. State the obvious much? Faryn is already moving, because that hum is unmistakeable, weird, and absolutely impossible to ignore. Her bed is already in disarray, multiplied by the quick removal of the clothes that get tossed on the sheets as she dons her robe. She's quick, though; she yanks her boots on already laced, settles into the line of candidates, looking at the ground between her feet anxiously. Keysi is sludging, or perhaps sloshing? through the barracks only moments before the humming and Quinlys arrives, the bottoms of her hide pants soaked from being somewhere. Doing something. Her expression, as is typical, remains unchanged, even and controlled. But at the announcement, at the humming she's paused in every motion and thought. Save the water dripping where she stands. Quinlys' words break the trance first, and she pivots for the basket amongst the horde that press for the gowns in an excellent example of what-not-to-do in a firedrill. Eventually one is taken up, and the effort is fluid as her regular clothing is shed, replaced by the white neutrality far beyond her normal facade. Boots dawned with a bit of an uncharacteristic unbalanced hopping as she's nudged from one side by a panicked younger girl. The glance is exchanged with Ed, but no words come as she chooses quiet in the chaos. Tomic has likewise been hanging out in the barracks. The nerves are there, with this time off. Tomic has been pushing down his cuticles like one of his sisters once taught him, and cleaning gunk out from under his nails, and tucking his hair back behind his ears, and all those sorts of things... for far too long now. But this. This is action, and he's moving. In fact, he hasn't even got his robe down from where it's stuck on his shoulder before he's moving over toward Faryn. Yeah, nevermind waiting for the sands. He's gonna grab at her hand now please. Rafevan has spent most of the day looking grim at best, increasingly so as the day goes on. Nerves have a funny way of doing that to people. He's slow to move--actually, not moving at all for several long moments, just staring blankly at the weyrlingmaster while she tries to herd them up and toward the sands. It's only the nudging of one of his fellow candidates that gets him moving, into his own robe to follow. Now Rafevan doesn't look grim. He looks shellshocked. Quinlys' impatience is obvious; her excitement, too. She gives a quick, probably intended to be reassuring, smile around the room, and then heads for the back, pulling open the tapestry that hangs there, and unlocking the door behind. "Okay," she says, glancing up. "Let's go." From the sands, Irianke appears shortly after Niahvth sends out her call, a half-eaten apple held in one hand. She's dressed for the occasion in a bright yellow, beaded summer dress, the sense that it will happen soon having had her at the ready for the entire day, maybe even since last night. From the sands, H'vier will be damned if he wears his nice riding leathers onto the hot sands, but he at least manages the pants, boots and a loose-ish shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks at Irianke as he comes closer to where Reisoth is sitting, but he doesn't greet the weyrwoman beyond a tense nod for professional appropriateness' sake. From the sands, A crooked smile sways Irianke's mouth sharply to one side at the greeting, or lack thereof, from H'vier. "Come now," she calls out from the position she's taken against Niahvth's warm side, "You'll make everyone think we're having a lover's spat." This is punctuated by a sharp crunch of another bite taken from her apple. Though she's not usually one to show up (at least obviously) for the Hatching before this, Alida *does* make it a point to enter the Galleries as soon as the humming starts, the blonde wearing... holy shit. Is it one of Azaylia's old dresses? It's a little lurid upon her pale skin, with that pale hair, but the long thing does look familiar to those who know how the deceased Weyrwoman dressed: warm tones of golds and sunshine yellows making a happy color pallate on the otherwise silent bluerider. She takes a seat not far behind the row of visiting dignitaries...and just watches...silently. In amongst the rapidly gathering crowd comes High Reaches' Lord Holder Devaki, accompanied by former Igenite Lord and Lady Wulfan and Daroda. Devaki's eldest two children -- heir Vinien, and daughter Sealene, are with him, bouncing excitedly and leaning against the railing to get as close as possible, ignoring their nannies' request to sit, properly, please. The red-headed guard might almost be unnoticed, skulking as he is in the row behind, Raum used to be overlooked. From the sands, Laine's lopsided smile is earnest but terse, flustered, as she follows the straggling troop of candidates onto the sands. Fingers unclasping from Farideh's as the white-robed candidates begin to spread out, she allows herself one fretful twitch at her robes before she bends at the waist, a stiff bow. When she straightens, it's to sweep apprehensive grey eyes across the eggs, then around that loosely splayed group of candidates. From the sands, Farideh keeps close to the candidate in front of her, their fingers already clasped tightly in a simple gesture of comfort. She moves stiltedly, her back straight and her eyes sweeping the sands, taking in as much as she can before it's her turn to bow. It's stiff, her fingers releasing the tanner's while she executes the movement, but once it's completed she scurries to catch back up, almost running into Laine's side in her endeavor to stay close. Her fingers reach for the other girl's then, and the candidate on her other side too, for good measure. A Fortian dragon settles as lowly on the ledges of the Hatching Cavern and as close to those soon-to-hatch eggs as she can, only allowed to do so likely out of the kindness of another dragon's heart, given that she is certainly not the first to arrive as the word of High Reaches' hatching spreads further from their Weyr. Luckily, there are those reserved seatings for visiting dignitaries, and the junior goldrider ends up somewhere near the visiting Lord Holders, settled with a quick smile for the young daughters as she shrugs out of her riding jacket to reveal a soft-grey dress beneath that she folds on her lap, for respect for the room that may be needed around her. From the sands, "I'm quite sure no one will think that," H'vier counters, arms crossing over his chest as his dark eyes shift toward the galleries and then to the candidates as they start to file onto the sands. From the sands, There are cracks trickling down through the patchwork of color on Honey, Pull The Car Over! Egg-- so small, at first, that they might not be noticeable until wider cracks begin to spread down the length of the shell. Egg goo oozes from the open wounds left by the efforts of the occupant within. The brownish-grey crags of Academic Magic Egg tremble in the onset of its own personal earthquake. The shimmers on the shell seem to shift and come alive-- as if by magic!-- when tiny tremors begin to ripple across it, seeking to bring the imagined edifice to the ground. From the sands, Edyis stays close to Keysi as she makes her way once more on to the heated sands. Dark eyes a little wide, her gaze flicking back and forth between candidates and eggs. From the sands, Quinlys leads the candidates onto the sands, her shoulders back and her head held high. She's excited, plainly, but also serious: she moves off to one side with several of her assistants, arms crossed as she waits for the first hatchlings to arrive. From the sands, Keysi draws her head downwards in a deep bow amidst the first group to take that step upon the sands, her respect resolved and unforgotten despite the rush around her. Her strict, intense gaze follows as she raises her head again towards the clutchparents and then the eggs before them. Feet hit the sands, and she moves to the side, out of the main crowd, keeping an eye on Ed with the same intention of not moving far from her. From the sands, Irianke shrugs in a very suit yourself manner and polishes off the rest of her apple as the clutch begins to move. Niahvth swings her neck down just above her rider's and chuffs contentedly, causing the goldrider to have to adjust her own position so she might see both eggs and candidates better. By the time R'hin arrives -- leaning not-so-casually on the arm of one of Savannah's greenriders -- he's just glad to take a seat, the nearest seat, bidding familiar faces of his wing to join them in the upper rows. While it doesn't take long for betting amongst his wingriders to start -- and heat up -- at the arrival of the candidates, the Wingleader refrain, staring in the direction of, but not really at, the sands. From the sands, The hatching begins with a bang: the Water Wins Out Egg explodes in a flurry of shards before the candidates have even made it all the way out onto the sands. The celadon green within takes two step forwards, startles herself with her own wings, and then all but throws herself in Yesia's direction (shoving, forcefully, past Laine as she goes). Does that count as auspicious? With a face not unfamiliar, Iaevri is tucked up in middling seats; better than the nose-bleeds, but obviously not hobnobbing amongst the rich and the (en)titled. Her father sits next to her, the bald bluerider quietly dwarfing his quiet daughter. Z'yi probably has more thoughts on this than Iaevri, but neither of them seem inclined to the act of speaking, instead focused on the antics below. From the sands, Schuyler is counting silently under his breath as he steps onto the sands with the other candidates. Stuffed in somewhere near Edyis and Keysi he is soon separated from them as he finds a spot on the sands, offering a stiff bow to the eggs before he glances around to see where people are standing and then his head snaps forward as an egg breaks open. Raum might just be giving that Fortian rider a leering grin. He's oblivious to the excited squeal from Sealene, whom Devaki pulls into his lap to get her to settle, the girl wiggling into place where she can see the sands clearly. From the sands, Lainemakes space for Farideh with an undignified little shuffle, leaning to bump one shoulder into the other girl's, companionably, reassuringly. Laine drags free hand through her hair until it's standing stark and spiked in every direction, then flattens it self-consciously again--then she's thrust roughly against Farideh beside her when that green shoves past, and gasps a quick exclamation that almost sounds like an expletive: "Yesia!" From the sands, Those slow pulses of ooze through the cracks on Honey, Pull The Car Over! Egg become gushes as, with an audible crack, a sharp wingspar punches through the surface of the shell. Within moments, the rest of the egg comes to pieces around the brown hatchling, who's frozen mid-motion as if he hadn't actually expected that to work. From the sands, ContentsLoyal to the Last BrownHe's all warm, mutable browns, this gangly dragonet-- at once fire-licked and liquid, like the orange glow of a setting sun over a dark, never-still sea. Ripples along his back and sides lend the semblance of a saggy hide, too large for the leanness beneath; as they continue down his belly, the orange tints grow hazier and the true browns starker, deepening further and further down the length of his legs. By contrast, the ripples lighten as they rise up his wings and even his neck, right through the small bubbles that ring the base of his throat with odd, obscure symbols. His face is comparatively plain, with no markings to make him stand out amidst other dragons, though the set of his eyes affords him a determined look. While his limbs and tail may as yet be awkwardly long, with an at-the-ready tension that's nearly ever-present, it's with a straightforwardness that strives to meet the challenges of the world. "Lilah..." Alida murmurs to the Fortian junior when those astute eyes of her take notice of the woman not too far away from her on the same general bench. A head jerk to the side might indicate she should join the blonde. About the same time, green eyes can't help but notice the Reaches Holders a row in front of her...and she winds up staring bullets into the back of Raum's red head...until that baby green explodes out of her egg and hurls herself at Yesia. From the sands, Faryn was quick enough to take Tomic's hand, once she noticed his presence. She gives it a grateful squeeze and then an encouraging tug, albeit with a forced smile as the candidates trickle onto the sands. Her bow is quick, because the eggs are moving, and her eyes are wide watching it, and then a green dragon is there. "No way," she says, staring at the green that throws itself at Yesia. From the sands, Zadkiel is among the others in a sense - but he separates himself early on, removing himself almost entirely from as many of his fellow Candidates as he can. The freshly-washed Candidate is tucked a bit farther back and away, as alone as one can get among so many. His gaze briefly cuts to a collection of black-garbed Igenites in the Stands - but that look is fleeting, for the eggs are far more important to keep an eye on. Given how full the galleries already are, probably no one notices that dirty sailor coming late, not-so-casually buttoning up his shirt as he casts around for somewhere to sit. Drex doesn't seem aware of the precedence of rank normally applied to galleries seating, and strolls for the front rows. From the sands, Even the most sturdy fortress must eventually yield to unrelenting assault. As if imploding, the crags of Academic Magic Egg pulse outward and then in a swift waterfall of shards sink into the sand in utter ruin. Moments later, its occupant is rising from his curl in the wreckage, whole and well and new. From the sands, Fire-Born Vanguard BronzeAll sharp angles and lean limbs, exaggerated further in lanky immaturity, this crimson-bronze dragon is larger than a first glance might guess. Shades of silvered gold highlight where his joints move beneath hide, and wash out the undersides of his great wings. Truer bronze, accented with copper, brindles its way down his neckridges and the trailing edges of his sails like a dark, slowly consuming fire, sparks extending all the way to his sharp-edged tail. Clever eyes, wiser than such youth should allow, are an intense focal point for his blackened, sharp-edged muzzle. From the sands, Edyis swears a little. Green. But she's looking to Yesia then and there's a little smirk. "Well at least that bet isn't a total loss." She watches as the second on the sands, and the third, careful to stay out of the way. From the sands, Tomic tries to stop, to take a breath before stepping out onto the sands. Faryn tugs him along. He tries to bow, tries to watch, tries to do all the things at once. At least he's still got hold of Faryn's hand, even if he's probably starting to get sort of sweaty already. Minara is in the crush of people still entering the gallery as the eggs begin to crack, and a poke in the back reminds her to keep her feet moving after those first few dragonets begin appearing. With a murmur of apology, she quickly moves higher up, then chooses a seat. From the sands, Reisoth is focused intensely on the eggs and the hatchlings that are starting to break out of their shells, but H'vier glances over at Irianke. His gaze lingers longer than might actually be appropriate, but something there is apparently quite a bit more interesting than the eggs and hatchlings. From the sands, Rafevan's bow is a bare inclination, jangling nerves apparent in his stiff posture and wan, shellshocked expression. And almost at once, there's far too much going on for him to follow, swinging his gaze from green to brown to bronze to every other rocking egg as he clings to his composure to see this ruse through to the end. Fuck. From the sands, Loyal to the Last Brown slowly resettles his wings, slowly, shifts his limbs. If he goes slow, certainly no one will notice that he looked awkward coming out of the shell. Nothing to see here! Only, there so obviously is that he gives up, lacking the patience to see it through when it's not working anyway. He gives himself a shake, as if he can shed the egg goo as one might shed water. It helps, but not enough to keep the sand from sticking to his limbs as he strikes out onto the Sands. From the sands, Quinlys fetches Yesia and her green with an impassive expression, marching them off towards the side of the sands promptly; there's food there. All is well. Moving during a hatching is surely like moving during a movie, and Lilah's cast gaze back to Alida comes with an apologetic smile and a mouthed, "After?" to the bluerider in indication. Her attention turns back to the sands, only noting to the pirate as he joins the first rows, "You've already missed the first Impression. These can go fast, if you aren't paying attention." From the sands, Keysi is struck in her certainty- now uncertainty- as the eggs crack and fragments fall away in all directs. The green assaulting Yesia is given a glance, but no further than that. The brown. Then the bronze. No, the brown. The intensity of her being waits, unnaturally still despite the heat beneath her, despite the anxiety around her. She still has no words except - "In..credible." From the sands, Farideh doesn't expect the sudden jostle from Laine, and makes a small sound of dismay before she rights herself from - embarrassingly - falling onto the sands. "Oh," is quiet, but frustrated, when her eyes lift to Yesia and her new green, "no." From the sands, Fire-Born Vanguard Bronze is in no great hurry to leave the shards of his ruined shell. He contemplates what he can see from where he stands, discerning eyes whirling with calm clarity. Only once he has a promising bearing does the crimson-bronze set out to begin this most important of journeys. From the sands, Walk of Fame Egg comes to life with a violent twitch, then settles into its new place, its blockier white side now exposed to the gallery's audience. A short stretch of stillness is followed by another spastic twitch, almost as if the occupant within is trying to figure out this hatching thing. The Restless Volcano Egg-- certainly living up to its name!-- shudders and rolls, clattering straight into the Vallum Hadriani Egg beside it. Both crack open at once, revealing a green and a blue who find their partners in quick succession. The cheer of GREEN! from the Savannah riders in unsurprising, at least the half that it's coming from, Bristia looking pleased as she and Nita collect several mark pieces from the other riders. From the sands, Laine, catching herself chewing her nails, makes the conscious effort to hang that hand at her side, the other still tight around Farideh's--even if she needs to offer a tug to drag her back up. The tanner looks somewhat dazed, her grey eyes searching out Yesia and that green, then those dragonets spilling out onto the sands. She can't stay still for long--flattening, smoothing at her rough robe, clutching and unclutching it. "Brown," she mutters, then: "Bronze." Like she's tallying. "Green, blue." From the sands, Schuyler's eyes are everywhere, darting across the sands as the eggs start hatching in quick succession. Not knowing where to look next his gaze bounces, brown, bronze, green...blue...his breathing is short as the chaos bombards him. Drex's blank look at Lilah is probably not so much rudeness as a lack of comprehension. "Already?" he squints at the sands, still standing in place, to the booing and sharp comments of those behind him. Perhaps, thankfully, someone manages to catch Drex before he claims one of those empty seats, and pointedly gestures allll the way to the back of the galleries, earning a scowling look from the sailor. He retreats as directed, though not without a look over his shoulder that suggests he won't forget this, missing several more hatchings in the process. From the sands, Edyis smirks a little at Keysi's utterance. "I guess it kind of is." Shifting her weight as the heat causes sweat to bead, Tugging at the fabric of the shapeless garment in a sort of fanning motion. From the sands, Loyal to the Last Brown halts in his path on the sands when something - no, two somethings - shiny catch his eye. He's distracted easily from the boring white robes of the candidates and turns toward his oh-so-shiny dam and sire, so much larger versions of what he himself is. His croon to them cracks his untried voice, but he doesn't let that bother him over-much; they get the point. Now, back to the business at hand: candidates. He makes a circuit of the lot; not many to choose from. Too few, perhaps, as this dragonet's first pass doesn't seem to have yielded results. It's no doubt worrisome, especially given how many eggs are yet to hatch. From the sands, "A green!" Irianke's voice is filled with good cheer when the first Impression is made, and then a second and third, with several more dragons on the sands. "I always enjoy the chaos of this moment," she says amiably to H'vier, ignoring the fact that his lingering stare is anything but polite. See, she'll even shift again and dart a quick, appraisingly smug look his direction. From the sands, Farideh returns the reassuring squeeze and tries, valiantly, to follow the progress of eggs to hatchling, though she looks relieved by Laine's updates. "It's happening so fast," is her answer, brows furrowing sharply in apprehension. "I don't think--" Her eyes sweep down the line of candidates, marking certain faces, before her focus is pulled back to the eggs. "Not a problem..." Alida lips semi-silently over to Lilah, bobbing her plaited head to the junior, then shifting her eyes back to the Sands, where the egg splittings and hatchlings come fast and furious. The bluerider looks caught between a stark kind of pleasure and a subtle sort of melancholy as she watches who chooses who. From the sands, Zadkiel tenses once the hatching is properly underway. Hes in a prepared posture, ready to move if need be. There is no anxious shuffling or discomfort from the heat of the sands; just that watchful wariness of one who is on high alert. From the sands, Jarring whirls of color actually swirl as the egg circles in place, its speed increasing as the energy within aims to spring out. Then, abruptly, it goes silent. Was all that movement for naught? It might seem so... until the tiniest of striations suddenly web across the red-dominated part, and then crumble to reveal a decidedly alert and elegant brown. From the sands, Destiny in the Stars BrownThe promise of elegance radiates from this lean and slender dragonet, lending character and style to his mostly uniform true-brown shade. Built long from nose to tail tip, but average from ivory talons to shoulders, he is a dragon of pleasing aesthetics. Pinstripes of the subtlest of offset browns accentuate each narrow leg and opaque wingsail, drawing attention to the magnetic energy that seems to drive him even while in repose. Chestnut headknobs sweep back from a narrow jawline, shadowing prominent eyeridges that arc over bright, rainbow-prismed eyes, and encroach into the space where deep, blue-tipped neckridges ought to sharpen, giving his noble head distinction from the rest of his shorter neck. It's not there that the bulk of his length is found, but rather in the planes of a torso that will one day be graceful, descending inevitably into a sinuous and agile tail. From the sands, Faryn gives Tomic a concerned, sidelong look - all she's willing to sacrifice while there are sharp little dragons wandering around looking for theirs. "Breathe, Tomic," she urges, using her free hand to encourage him, taking a deep breath and then exhaling in demonstration. "It's too hot to not breathe." From the sands, Tomic turns from one dragon to another. His feet, at least, stay firmly planted while his head swivels. Oh right. There's a deep breath. "They're adorable," he decides of all the gooey little guys (and girls) with wings. He swings his arm (and Faryn's?) quickly. "Little itty-bitty wings!" in fact. Another breath. Breathing. From the sands, Now that he's moving, Fire-Born Vanguard Bronze has a considerable amount of deliberation to attend. He carefully avoids the wobbling eggs between himself and his apparent destination to approach, and then pass on, a boy who steps away from him. Not quite right, that one. From the sands, Laine is trying not to hold her breath, really. "Too fast," she exhales all at once, a quick sigh. Then another, "brown," is breathed out, quietly. Then, with a tightening of her hand as though for emphasis, "Look." Because what else can they do? She can't follow them all at once, but that swiveling head seems to indicate that damn it, she's going to try. From the sands, Keysi balls her fingers into fists at her sides as if in resolution. Mind over matter, that. The sweat that drips into her eyes makes her dip her head to shake it, a lock of hair falling from behind her ear to press onto her face, messily. There is one step, just one, forwards as if she wasn't quite content enough standing that far back within the circle of candidates, and now settles in more the front lines of the sparse offerings to the infant toothed beasts among them. Still not far from Ed, she gives by the shorts of nods, "A new moment." Is reflected back on a prior conversation. From the sands, Loyal to the Last Brown was going to look so cool when he took a fast few steps to leap and spread his wings, and land in front of the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman that is his lifemate. He really was... until one talon caught on the sand just as he made the leap and so, with fanned wings only able to make his nose-dive slow-motion, he ends up face-first in the sand before her. Smooth. From the sands, There are holes in their number now, an increasing amount of them; and Rafevan no longer seems to want to be as separate as he has been since his 'search'. He's slowly inching closer to the other candidates, crowding in with the many who still remain, this early into the onslaught. From the sands, Like a spinner's web left trembling with the passage of whispered wind, the delicate, faux fibers of the Wisdom in Words Egg begin to sing with subtle movement. The whole surface is breathing. It's not an even thing, but rather in gasps, as though a corset has been drawn simply too tight around its occupant-- so tightly that hairline cracks begin to riddle what had once seemed a pristine antique. Stripes shift against sand as Carve Away the Mountain Egg moves, an as yet minor slide. From the sands, Edyis struggles to keep up with the chaos, fanning herself a little from her position next to Keysi. at least she was, until something has her looking around, and then she's focused on the brown who has flopped in front of her. "Akluseth?" Those dark eyes fly wide, awkwardly working to help the little beast up. From the sands, Farideh sucks in a breath and lowers her chin, standing impossibly still; standing still will surely keep them from trying to careen into them again. "Look?" She's looking alright, towards that brown that's just face-planted into the sand in front of Edyis. Her eyes brighten and she can't help the smile that breaks on her face. "Edyis, a brown," she says, half-laughing, to Laine. From the sands, Destiny in the Stars Brown collects his limbs, one at a time, and rises from the debris of his shattered egg. A few tiny shards cling to his slick hide, however. Once this is done, the newly hatched brown surveys his surroundings and lets out a testing creel, then seems to frown. Was that his voice? Can he sound so plaintive? He tries again, with a tone that seems a smidgeon more sonorous. Much better. Satisfied that he is himself from head to tail and in voice, the brown sets off, picking his quick way across the sands towards the white-clad candidates. He knows what to do. He was born ready. From the sands, Laine might release Farideh's hand, but it's only for an instant, and because her fist-pumping gesture takes her one step forward with a jubilant whoop. "EDYIS!" She claps her free hand against the back of Farideh's as she regains possession of the former-laundress's fingers, then produces a whistle, high and triumphant, for her friend's Impression. From the sands, Quinlys' smile broadens as she steps towards Edyis and her brown. "Akluseth? Good name, there. Come on-- we've food for you both, just through here." There's definitely more excited squealing from Devaki's daughter at each of the Impressions. Vinien is less expressive, trying hard to imitate his father's staunch, dignified demeanor now, though the boy now and then can't help an envious sort of noise, particularly when he's watching the bronze. A few more marks are exchanged amongst the Savannah riders, as particular candidates are chosen. It seems to range from particular people Impressing, to exactly which color. R'hin's not so interested in the betting this time, largely silent, expression drawn as he gaze focuses down on the sands, eyes narrowing at Edyis' impression. There's more shouts around him, more marks changing hands, some nudging in the direction of the Wingleader.From the sands, Schuyler spares a glance back around to the candidates. He catches sight of Edyis and Keysi and starts to smile when his line of sight is interupted by a brown hatchling nearly tumbling into Edyis. "Yes!" he grins and then hushes himself, turning back to the sands. From the sands, Zadkiel shifts a glance in Edyiss direction, following the movements of one dragonet in particular. Once the revelation is had, theres only a faint dip of his chin and a half-smile - both gestures liable to be missed in the chaos. There. THERE it is... and - even in the midst of all the hatching chaos, Alida doesn't miss Edyis being the focus of that not-so-graceful brown hatchling. There's no cry from the bluerider at the Impression, but a flare of something passionate lights behind green eyes for some moments - makes the pulse in her throat surge - and her hands clench a little before it's time to calm down again. Nod. From the sands, Fire-Born Vanguard Bronze, for all his boldness, isn't one to rush to a decision as important as this one must be. He's looking for something particular, something special. He stops to examine a dark-haired, dark-eyed foreigner, sizing him up. A single glance is offered down the line to another young man as if he might just be choosing between the two. Then, with a touch of his nose to the foreigner's middle, he indicates to those watching-- and perhaps the man himself-- that his choice has been made. Lilah's voice lifts from the front rows in a brief, undignified 'whoop' for Edyis' Impression, her dark gaze following the younger woman for a moment as she makes her way off the Sands. Only after she's disappeared with her new lifemate does the Fortian look back to the Sands to catch that bronze approach his young man. From the sands, Faryn lets Tomic drag her arm, gesturing. "Yes, so cute," she says, but it's absent as the brown staggers, falls in front of Edyis and stares at her adoringly. "Edyis," she whispers, then it's her turn to yank his arm, like an excited child. Louder, "Edyis, Tomic, that brown." She's almost hopping with delight, barely resisting the urge to point, forgetting her anxiety about the event in favor of excitement. From the sands, There's a purpleish tint to the blue that emerges from the Verisimilitude Egg, allowing him-- almost-- to blend in with his shell a little longer. But then he's off, teetering away from the remains of that egg and towards the white-robed candidates. White-blonde Olrina gasps, falling to her knees in front of him; she's crying too hard to say his name, but with his head pressed to her shoulder, and her arms around him, there's no question that Impression has occurred. From the sands, Z'kiel has been watching that bronze for a while now - just as hes done with every hatchling. That wariness resolves into something new in just the blink of an eye. Green eyes widen for just a split second before he sinks to his knees on the heated sand. His hand press to either side of the bronzes and his forehead rests against the egg-slick forehead of Ahtzudaeth. No words are uttered. Eventually, the pair make their way to the Weyrlingmasters - but only after their communion is complete. "Can barely see anything from back here," Drex is grumbling from his seat at the back. "Almost better off going to get an early start on all that booze." And yet, he sticks it out, his gaze flickering between the familiar candidates on the sands, arms folded across his chest. From the sands, Keysi moves to the side slightly as there's a movement from Edyis unexpected, her agility quick and nigh as fast as the brown's toppling. Her mouth opens as if to offer her congratulations, but the weyrlingmaster is faster to usher the distracted pair from the sands. There's the hint of a contentedness, be that no more than a brief ease of her expression as she turns the intensity of her gaze back to the wobbling eggs. And then Zadkiel.. the bronze. Followed with unspoken wryness and perhaps even a shake of her head. Igenite on bronze...why doesn't this surprise Alida at all? Whether Zad goes to Igen or stays at Reaches is of little concern to the bluerider right now, just Irianke's reaction to this. From the sands, If there had been any other way, the occupant of the Wisdom in Words Egg would likely have found it, to preserve the ancient beauty of the shell that has sustained her this long. Alas, there is no way around it; the egg begins to fall to pieces around her, hairline fractures bursting like so many seams. In the nest of shards left to litter the sands around her, she presses herself up to stand tall and dignified... or as dignified as one might be expected to manage when sodden with egg goo and seeing the world for the very first time.' From the sands, Selflessness Over Steel GoldShe's just a little thing, this young queen, with a narrow, tapering face utterly overshadowed by wide-spaced eyes; they lend her a look of natural innocence only amplified by the demure and careful way in which she holds herself. Pale, antique gold drapes itself down the length of her childishly round torso, capturing each curve as if carefully tailored. It pools, richer and darker, beneath the curve of her belly, and shades gradually lighter towards the fine-wrought tip of her tail. Her wingsails give the impression of being as fragile as lace, their ivory-gold lengths inclined to drape about her body like a mantle, framed by pinions tipped in pearlescent pallor. "Wouldn't mind that much, myself," Minara says quietly, overhearing Drex. She turns to give him a quick, slightly crooked smile, then turns back to the action below just as Pern's newest gold makes her appearance. From the sands, Destiny in the Stars Brown doesn't quite think first before he acts, running up and down the length of all the candidates twice with his lean little limbs. His creel, the one that started pathetic and then sonorous has returned to pathetic as he tries so hard to find the one, that companion for all time. And finally, he gives up, coming to a stop a short distance from where he started, turning slow to reasses and think this time. From the sands, Laine's breathless. It's all going too fast, but she still manages that tally, in between curt, panting little gasps: "Oh. Oh. Blue. And Zadkiel. That bronze." Then, stunned into a step backward, that next is just a whisper, "Gold." Squeeze. "Farideh. Gold. Look!" From the sands, It's obvious she's not for him, but that doesn't seem to matter to Rafevan: somehow, the gold is his own little safe space, something to watch to drown out the noise and commotion of the other hatchlings traipsing along the sands. He focuses on her, and also deep steady breathes. The only thing giving him color right now is the heat flushing his skin. As the egg hatches what may be High Reaches' next senior queen, Lilah falls silent, serious and attentive. This one she will watch every movement of, between little glances to the nearest female Candidates. From the sands, Schuyler's eyes go to the gold, like everyone else's. But he is quick to look away. If he's impressing anyone today SHE certainly isn't it. The brown, searching, gets a longer look. From the sands, Thrash. Crash. Boom. Carve Away the Mountain Egg splits to shards amid dust-like smoke or smoke-like dust. Quivering on three and then four paws, a dinky blue dragonet surveys the scene and then hops high and far, right over the ruins of his egg... only to crash into the sand beyond. He wallows there for a few moments before stubbornly getting a move on in the same direction. It may even be the 'right' way. From the sands, Praxis of BlueSuch soulful eyes, such a skinny neck and short, shaggy wings: the small blue dragonet explores the world with oddly delicate paws to tip his spindly limbs. Not only is there often a bounce to his stride, there's always a plush warmth to his mid-blue hide; the latter has brownish lowlights that become more pronounced across his wingspan, greenish-brown across his belly like so many grassy stains. The tip of his muzzle is darker, his legs lighter, the curious venturesomeness of his approach the lightest of all. Drex is momentarily cheered by the support from Minara, giving the woman -- who looks vaguely familiar -- a grin. "Could go and sneak a bottle in?" he says, "If you'd save my spot?" clearly he doesn't understand just how fast these things happen. From the sands, Tomic has been tracking the brown, long enough to comment, "Some of 'em are so quick-" But before he can compare this one, there's a gold. He points. With the hand holding Faryn's. "I touched her egg!" Does she remember him? Is he maybe trying to swing Faryn forward and step back? Maybe. Does he see that blue hatch? Umm... From the sands, H'vier won't stare at Irianke's legs the whole time. His gaze ends back up on the actual action of the sands, where they probably ought to have been anyway, to scan both the unimpressed hatchlings and the unimpressed candidates. From the sands, "Oh," exhales Irianke, even knowing. "Well done, my love." And yet, there's a very small amount of uncertainty in the goldrider's dark blue eyes and that look strays to the galleries, as if seeking something or someone, then casts across the way to H'vier. Niahvth, unaware of or, more correctly, uncaring of her lifemate's inward dilemmas, trumpets her pride. The pale, perhaps slightly pudgy in the barrel little gold has Alida's eyes for some moments as she tries to a dignified stance, and then greens turn to the still-searching brown - the woman giving him an absent little smirk for his assessing habit - then jerking her stare to the grass-stained belly blue who just popped out. Oh, those *eyes*. Grin. From the sands, Selflessness Over Steel Gold takes a moment to get her bearings. Sands, shards, candidates, parents-- oh! Candidates. It is, perhaps, the better part of decorum that she should greet her parents first, but the white robed girls, with all their promise, is excitement enough to make her forget herself in this moment. She takes a trio of quick steps onto the Sands, only to stop suddenly and reel slightly. These limbs are more problematic than she gave them initial credit for and her wings spread their lacy sails into a half-fan to help keep her on her feet. Once she's sure of herself and has folded her wings once, she takes slower steps, steadier steps, to bring her toward the girls awaiting her choice. From the sands, Farideh gets caught up in Laine's excitement, turning her head every which way to catch the different eggs shattering and the dragons Impressing. She looks elated for Zadkiel's, now Z'kiel, Impression, and allows a little bubble of laughter, a tad hysterical, to escape. "It's kind of fun, if you forget that-" She can't exacty forget there are hungry hatchlings running around, but with her cheeks pink and her eyes bright, her lips stretched into that happy smile, it's hard to imagine anything but. From the sands, Reisoth has more of a reaction to the tiny gold than his rider, rumbling at her as though in quiet encouragement. Or maybe just in warning not to mess up her choice. Either or. From the sands, Destiny In the Stars Brown deliberates, now that he's had time to think rather than act, and walks the line of candidates slowly. He does not stop, only looking ahead, his steps hurrying as he feels something. Senses someone. By the end, there's a unadulterated joy in his pounding feet and he full-stops in front of a sturdy young woman with short-cropped, glossy dark hair, and crows his delight. From the sands, Faryn's eyes are wide as the gold makes her entrance, and she is probably crushing Tomic's hands now. She stands fast against his attempts to move her, wordless gaping at the small queen until the blue makes his appearance, as well. Zadkiel's Impression, yes, and her mouth is slack. "Tomic, his eyes." That of the blue. Minara can't help but laugh at that as she gives Drex a wider grin. "What, you didn't come prepared?" she teases lightly, though she quickly turns her attention back to the action below, or what they can see of it from up there. "At this point, it might just be a head start in general. Before the rush shows up." From the sands, Rafevan says, "But you guys are going to make me wait until last." From the sands, Despite his somewhat dramatic entrance (crash landing notwithstanding), locomotion proves difficult for the Praxis of Blue; but he's working on it. He teeters towards a cluster of candidates, inspecting each with the eye of an impatient naturalist, but they're all a 'no.' Just... no. From the sands, Laine freezes. She tips her head, as though listening, then her fingers loosely fall away from Farideh's. Then she reaches, almost as on instinct, for that dragonet, a movement that sends her teetering into the brown, hands curving around him, seeking out neckridges, headknobs. "Lifreyth," she gasps. Everything else? That just disappears. "Aint never been to a hatching before," Drex replies to Minara. "Don't see what all the fuss is about, really. Don't seem that impressive." At least from the little he can see from back here. From the sands, Rafevan, contrary to popular opinion, does not want to be last. Or first, or anywhere in between, because judging by his present expression, he's really regretting the deal that led to his being here in the first place. He swallows hard when he catches Laine's impression, though no actual congratualations makes it past his lips. From the sands, Quinlys, having made her way back from the barracks, is pretty much immediately in motion again: this time, to aim for Laine and that second brown, her expression more cheerful, now. "Laine! Well done. He's no blue, of course, but-- he'll do. Guess there is a bit of blue on him; maybe we'll call him honorary. Come on, we've food and oil and everything else you'll need over here." From the sands, Tomic at the very least sees that little blue's predicament. "Oh no, did he fall over?" It's reason for another step forward, back to be side by side with Faryn. And those eyes? Well. Tomic squeezes both the hand that's holding the other candidates, and his other one too. From the sands, Keysi's stern gaze falls to the young gold briefly. Very briefly. A deep breath, and she continues her resolution to be still, immobile, unmoved by the rising heat beneath her booted feet and suffocatingly around her person. There, the brown- Faryn. The blue- Laine That's enough to take her away from the gold hatchling, most certainly. Unable to clip her words this time a "..wow, congratulations!" though perhaps too hushed to be heard from the distance she stands from them across too many (yet so few) other bodies. From the sands, Rolling like the ocean, the Vibrant Reef Egg is thrust top over bottom as the hatchling within forces it into motion. The crack of egg shell is unmistakable to those close enough to hear it-- but the egg is not yet broken. Soon. Wall Egg and Orthodox Egg shudder into each other, like one solid structure toppling into another; the egg-shell carnage is inevitable. Both reveal greens within, greens that scamper off in different directions. One's quick to find her weyr-born mate; the other is slower, meandering aimlessly-- and increasingly piteously-- before she finally collapses into her chosen boy. From the sands, Selflessness Over Steel Gold pauses just before a spindly-limbed, red-headed girl with freckles. Both girl and gold shuffle back a step in concert, as if startled by one another, but when the gold takes another step, it's to angle away from the young woman who is left disappointed in her wake. A glance back that way does little to make it better, however apologetic the gold might be, it only briefly reignites the girl's hopes, only to have them snuffed out as she stops out of arm's reach of another young woman, who is, alas, also not her intended. This is what she must do to find her, though, so with admirable composure and dutiful step, she carries on. From the sands, Schuyler had his eyes on that brown when he finally made his decision and cheers as he looks into Laines eyes. "Laine!" he bounces on his toes, shifting slightly closer to get a better look. From the sands, Farideh stiffens when the brown comes bounding up to them, but looks doubly concerned when Laine's fingers slip from her grasp. She looks just as shocked when the short-haired former-tanner reaches for the hatchling. "Oh, Laine, congrats," is her ecstatic cry, the fingers of her now free hand curling into her palm, and whomever is on the other side gets their hand crushed unrelentingly. From the sands, Laine only has eyes for that brown, but she stumbles upright, to direct a dazed, wild-eyed look up at Quinlys and produce a disconcerted smile. She repeats in a low, fiercely proud voice, "He's Lifryeth." Then, quietly, she laughs a bizarre little laugh. "Oysters?" But she nods--and follows, making sure that her free hand can still press against the brown's head. From the sands, Praxis of Blue ventures on, past the enormity of Mom and Dad, and towards those other white-clad thingies. Movement is a little better, now, wings drawn back and tail outstretched, legs managing to work in concert. Still... wouldn't it be nice to have a white thingy of his very own? Minara chuckles again, leaving left to watch a brown impress to a familiar face, only to get nudged back into her poorer vantage point again by her other neighbour. "I don't know. It's exciting. Turning points for all those people. And the Weyr. I mean... it's nice, you know?" she muses, glancing quickly at Drex before again focusing on the sands. "Life after... the other... thing." Laine to a brown. Again, not a surprise to Alida, the woman's head bobbing once to herself as she watches Quinlys lead the new pair off the Sands, the bluie's mouth twisting into a rough little half-smirk. The gold's testing of who might be her lifemate evinces a few squeezes of fingers to dress-hidden knees, but they relax as the ivory-wrought one continues on. Roving eyes flick back to the new blue, and he has 'lida muttering to herself, "Go get 'em, killer." Snert. From the sands, There's a sound coming from inside the Serenity Midst Verdant Greens Egg. It's a thump. Then another! But it subsides once the shell cracks along a rolling zag. Or is that a zig? Either way, all is serene again inside of the lush egg. For now. The undulating green ribbons on Dance of the Spirits Egg begin to move in earnest, to a steady pulse that is practically an expression of the beating heart within. On every fourth shudder, the strength of the hatchling's resolve must flare for that's when the cracks spread, in lopsided rings. The audible splitting of shell away from itself applauds the end of the dance as a blue bows out of the shards and within moments is claiming a partner for the dance of life. Drex gives Minara a kind of bemused look, like he either doesn't understand, or doesn't agree with the whole concept of turning points, mouth twisting into a frown. But then, perhaps that's just his default face. He squints at the sands, and seems to recognize one of the recent impresses, muttering, Laine, under his breath, along with Itsy, and a snort. From the sands, Quinlys returns again, a skip in her step. It's as plain as anything that she enjoys this part of her job, no matter the seriousness she aspires to. As she passes, she gives one-armed J'vain a thumbs up: so far so good! From the sands, Irianke moves again, for real this time rather than a simple shift. Some part of her dress falls from where it must have been accidentally hitched up, thankfully out of view and a glance back and an absent hand pats it back into place. She takes steps to her dragon's side, a hand reaching out to touch Niahvth, just as Quinlys returns and the warm smile on the goldrider's face diminishes fractionally. From the sands, The Selflessness Over Steel Gold is apologetic as she turns away from yet another girl. How many times, now, has she approached with that tentative stride and then shied away? It wears on her, now, those mantled wings hugging closer to her frame, those steps more careful than ever-- careful, and yet also tired and unhappy, and so very lost. Only a few steps more, however, and she halts again, this time in front of a brunette with short hair and hazel eyes. Her chest seems to catch, her breath withheld, as she turns fully to the candidate. For a heartbeat, she is absolutely still, before her bejeweled eyes begin to whirl into the rainbow that signals fulfillment: it is done. From the sands, Tomic keeps on cramping back on Faryn's hand. "He's doing better, I think." Did he miss that little gold, whose egg he touched, impress? Umm... "Itsy?" Minara asks more loudly, giving Drex a curious look before craning the other way to watch Laine with her new 'mate. Attention naturally swings back toward the tiny gold, of course, as she seems to make her choice. "I like the blues, personally," she comments, sitting back again. Drex doesn't seem aware he said that aloud, given the startled look he gives Minara. "Aye. She's my partner. You know her?" he squints at Minara for a moment. "You seem like her type." You know. A girl. From the sands, Faryn is probably not the person to have in control of your hand, truly. If she were giving birth, she would not be squeezing Tomic's hand more erratically or with any more force. "Farideh," is her next, for the gold's choice, and her smile is wide, apparently unsurprised. "Shit. Wow." From the sands, With a final shuddering jolt, the Vibrant Reef Egg is thrown against the sand, upon which it shatters like glass. Left in its wake is a spindly bronze, egg-wet and startled, his wings caught around himself like tangled sails. From the sands, Salt-Sea Crusader BronzeA hint of gold marks the undersides of this spindly bronze's wings, visible when he holds them just so, then gone again like well-hidden pirate plunder. His talons are a treasure, too: elongated and wickedly sharp, honed and hued like ancient ivory. Otherwise, though, he's dark; the semblance of sea salt encrusts the burnished patina of his hide, its deep, rusty hues drawn down between the jagged breakers of his neckridges, emphasising youthful scrawniness. There's a keenness to his narrow-set gaze, and determination in the blunt line of his chin; though he may never be powerful in body, the hardy expanse of those water-dappled wings promises eventual agility in flight. From the sands, H'vier's eyes follow the little queen. It can't be any surprise that this one, of all the hatchlings, is the one he's most interested in seeing Impress. When he realizes to who she's Impressed, however, his expression is unreadable. U mad, bro? From the sands, Serenity be damned, the hatchling trapped inside of Serenity Midst Verdant Greens Egg doesn't have the patience to remain there anymore. A pale brown muzzle pokes through the cracks first, followed soon by the rest of his small body tumbling onto the sand with a graceless squawk. It begs the question: why was that egg so large? From the sands, Mysteries of Harmony BrownSoft-brushed sorrel smooths over this sleek and diminutive brown, who's further dwarfed by the dark wingsails of a dragonet half again his size. His short, stubby muzzle and expressive eyeridges are a paler brown, as are small crescents on his cheeks like old battle-scars; his headknobs are paler likewise, while darker smudges down his neckridges make them seem more curved than they really are. From chin to pale-banded tail, his underside sinks into the near-black shared by his wings, those dark hues offset that much more dramatically by the contrast of near-white talons; equally dramatic is the immoderate intensity of his predator's bearing, pure and palpable in youth. From the sands, Farideh, in the wake of all of the other Impressions, has been watching quietly, gripping that poor candidate's hand on her other side too tightly. She has been smiling, unconstrained, but there's something-- a flicker-- a worry-- and her smile freezes, her head turning, slowly, towards the gold staring at her with whirling eyes. Her mouth opens to emit words and yet none come, until-"Roszadyth," she breathes aloud, reclaiming both hands and taking tentative steps towards the gold. "Have you?" Her cheeks are still flushed, but her expression is that of adoration, one hand stretching to reverently touch her lifemate's jaw. From the sands, Schuyler is watching the whirling chaos around him silently. As Laine heads off, he gets a view of Farideh...just in time to see the gold pick her. "No...way...Yes!" he cheers for her, a broad grin on his face, forgetting, perhaps, for a moment just what impressing that particular gold means. From the sands, Quinlys is in too good a mood to be bothered by Irianke, even if she'd noticed that fractional diminishment (which she does not seem to have). In the end, she's glancing after that new queen, and then staring, pointedly, as the queen choses her mate. "Igen," she says, more neutral than dismissive, as she hurries towards the pair. "Farideh. And, uh, Roszadyth? Congratulations. Come this way." From the sands, It could be comical, the itty bitty blue dragonet orienting on the big strong lunk of a candidate, but it's also very clear and no mistake: that short tail curls and the Praxis of Blue Hatchling hurries in a series of hops to clutch at that lunk's... ankles. His. From the sands, There goes the gold. Rafevan's bright eyes track her, while he rubs one sweaty hand across his sweaty face. Oh. Oh. For one brief moment, he manages something other than numbness in response: that's a ghost of a smirk hovering around his lips as he watches Farideh with her new lifemate. Lilah's expression is a thoughtful thing, considering of Farideh, even as she leans back to watch the rest of the hatching. From the sands, Even with the hubbub of the hatching, it'd be hard to miss the gold's Impression, and Irianke waits, breath held, when... Is that sudden relief? Another glance shoots to H'vier and then just as quickly to Quinlys and that ever so neutral statement. The woman's dark head of curly hair lifts just a little higher and her breathing, what's visible from the way her shimmery dress moves, is more even-paced now. From the sands, Keysi is caught back on the gold with a sidelong glance as she pauses so still before someone more than familiar. "Farideh." The healer's words are hushed. Disbelief? Approval? She's unreadable. But her body finally wins slightly over her resolution as her feet move her from their deepening spot in the sand to find a new spot for the illusion of a second of relief. It's almost as if she has a moment of waiting, but not really. Stare is turned to the bronze, then the brown that follows. Studious and stern. From the sands, Salt-Sea Crusader Bronze gives a shake to one wing to discard the last remnants of his shell, and, shifting left, finds a higher perch on the mound of eggs from which to surveys the landscape with a careful eye. That he's on the small side for a bronze seems not to bother him in the slightest; he knows his place in the world and where he belongs, and he knows, too, sire and dam, with a near inaudible noise directed their way. Clearly, he's spotted a likely place to find his treasure, because shortly after he's up and moving, heading unerringly towards the semi-circle of white-robed candidates at a good, fast, almost frightening pace. That's what he's supposed to do, right? All ahead! From the sands, No longer an example of perfect lines and angles, the Monument to Perfect Lines Egg spirals into a chaos of uneven cracks as first a green wingspar punches through the surface and then the thrash of her tail is through. It takes some moments of struggle against the once-perfect cage but then the fierce green has pulled herself out of the shards to wiggle free of the detritus and begin her search on the Sands, one that ends with finding her lifemate. From the sands, Mysteries of Harmony Brown is quick to right himself, sand and green shards of shell sticking to the egg goo of his hide and wings in ways that makes them tic with unconscious vexation. He doesn't ultimately focus on that, though, setting out on dark limbs to stalk his way toward the first of the white robes in his path with an impatient rumble. Oh yes... even with the little gold's Impression... Alida still is not surprised...though she is a bit disappointed. A small shake of the bluierider's pale head and a shrug that could easily be interpreted to mean her caring less follow Farideh and the new queen being led off by the Weyrlingmasters, and she's quickly enough all eyes for the grassy blue. *His* destiny is not set, like the 'poor' little gold's...and his upcoming choice more 'personal' for the Glacier wingrider, in a way. Blink. T'mic? He chose the nanny? She had him pegged for a green. Okay; first surprise of the day, and it has the blonde smirk-grinning to herself. Good choice, young blue baby! But, oh man... there's another bronze breaking shell, followed near-instantly by a brown... a brown who looks rather heartrendingly fetching, for some reason, to Alida's gaze. "Lovely..." she murmurs as her eyes watch him closely...inspiring a silent chide and ruffle of featherless wings from Ilicaeth. Silly, jealous dragon. From the sands, Farideh is enraptured by her new lifemate, so much so that it takes a few moments for her to recognize Quinlys and blink. "Roszadyth," she repeats, for the bluerider's benefit, and nods her head stiltedly, distractedly, willing going wherever the Weyrlingmaster will lead them. Drex frowns. Maybe he doesn't see it, or doesn't comprehend what he's seeing, until the whispers of his neighbors clues him in. "Farideh impressed the gold?" he blinks uncomprehendingly towards the sands, having missed the moment. From the sands, Salt-Sea Crusader Bronze slows as he nears a cluster of girls. Surely he's not interested in them, but it doesn't stop him pausing to inspect them for a moment, before discarding the thought. No, no, no. Girls, girls, and more girls. No, they don't belong. This won't do at all! He has a more lofty, important goal in mind, and it's past time to get on with the job. His pace has slowed to an uneven, wavering sort of back-and-forward, an almost stark contrast to his speedy movement of earlier, going agonizingly slowly. From the sands, T'mic just stops. Right there. He's forgotten to breathe again, for a heartbeat. Two. And then he gasps, and tries to bend down, except there's a blue around his ankles. So instead he falls back onto his bum, with his one hand still clutching at Faryn's, and the other still closed. So in the end, when he just leans forward, he's forehead to forehead with that little dragon. "Jorrth." Amazed. "Is she?" Minara asks, and while her head turns marginally toward Drex, this time her gaze remains focused on the action below. "I don't know her that well. Just helped her out with a mattress," she explains distractedly, voice trailing off a little before she grins at something, craning to the side for a brief second before once again settling. "Okay, note to self. Next time 'Reaches has one of these, if 'Reaches has another one of these, what with the curse and all, I'm bringing wine or something." From the sands, It's another of the weyrlingstaff-- J'vain, in fact-- who heads for T'mic, his nod approving. "Well done, lad," he says. "Come on, then. You and Jorrth will want feeding, and we've food set aside for just that." From the sands, Schuyler isn't distracted by the impression of the gold for long. He turns back to the hatchlings on the sands, the bronze and brown and a little green (who quickly impresses) draws his attention. From the sands, Jorrth nudges his head, hard, against T'mic's. Yes. Yes. From the sands, Rafevan, tracking Farideh for a moment longer, finds his attention jerked back to the present dangers when a flash of color catches the corner of his eyes: that bronze, heading in waaay too fast for comfort. He finds himself stumbling a step back, away, just in case; but fortunately the creature slows down enough to allay the worst visions of terrible maulings in the smith's head. Whew. From the sands, Having clearly not found what he was looking for, Mysteries of Harmony Brown continues on his search for the one who will be his. He lunges at a girl. She shrieks. He moves on. He snaps his tiny jaws at a boy. He doesn't shriek, but he does look wary. None of these candidates are right. But he will keep looking. From the sands, Faryn notes two things at the same time. The first is that a blue dragon is staring at Tomic - T'mic? - with deep affection, and the newly-hatched bronze is running for the circle. Appropriately, Faryn relaxes her her hand, as to let him go as to make sure she's able to get out of the way, if the bronze keeps barreling forward. Her gaze is roving now, though, tracking who remains. With nowhere to put her hands now, the herder balls them into fists and presses them to her thighs. "Congratulations, To--T'mic," she says, though she's not sure he'll hear her. From the sands, The Salt-Sea Crusader Bronze careens forward a few steps more, struggling against his newly-hatched weakness to keep this peculiar momentum going. Stumbling, he stretches out his wings to balance himself, claws grasping at the sand beneath; it's in that instant-- as he half-turns-- that he sees, properly, the one he's after. Lunging forward, he tilts his head back to stare, resolute, at the one he wants. Who needs a craft, when you can have him? From the sands, Keysi is lost from the bronze, knowing better and finding her interest in its movements only necessary for making sure she's not in it's path. Her penetrating focus settling on the annoyance of the brown in its webbing of goo, then the intensity he himself exudes as he not only approaches, but stalks amongst the candidates. She finds herself a little more, perhaps, readied and not as grounded given his testiness of the others amongst the line. One can't exactly battle a dragonet. From the sands, T'mic, at some point, had to relax both those big hands to grab hold of that itty bitty dragon head. Faryn is free. And he gets up, and follows after J'vain, even if all he says is, "And T'mic." Grin. From the sands, Deliberate steps carry the Mysteries of Harmony Brown along his chosen path. And then he pauses, intensity holding his diminutive body at attention as he lifts his head to look at a brown-haired, blue-eyed healer. He stares, dark wings mantling clumsily in an effort to make himself, well, bigger, more intimidating! Then he charges with a creel that was probably imagined by the hatchling to be much more fierce. "Yes," Drex slumps down into his seat, looking grouchy. "Definitely lots of wine, if I have to do one of these again," is replied morosely to Minara. From the sands, Rafevan's lips move but no sound comes out except a wheezing breath, the wind knocked out of him in one fell swoop. The best laid plans have a way of going sideways, and with one lurch of Vadevjiath's mind into his--. Rafevan can only grit his teeth in answer, reaching out one hand to brace against the jagged neckridges, anchoring himself there. From the sands, Bang goes the Reaching With Futility Egg, shattering as it smashes up against the last remaining egg-- Throw Away The Key. The blue and green within the pair of eggs get tangled as they escape, making it quite impossible to see which came from which egg. They move off in tandem, finally making the final Impressions: the green to a girl from the Seacraft, and the blue to Paz. From the sands, Keysi is down on one knee, as if struck, though nothing actually touched her. Visibly, anyway. A breath is taken, a gasp, her eyes narrowed until the pang of realization hits her just as hard. Succeeding the immediate lost of lung capacity is an appropriately breathless "Neianth." Her hand not upon her knee reaches to touch the muzzle that had previously so willingly warded off candidates with tiny teeth revealed. Without hesitation, without another thought, her fingers upon the tiny brown's still-gooey hide. A moment, despite the hunger. From the sands, Quinlys returns again, blue-eyed gaze sweeping the sands. She's looking a little hot and bothered, now, her runner-tail rather limper than it was to begin with, but her smile is undaunted. She and a handful assistants head towards each of the final Impressees, congratulating them one by one and them leading them all off towards the barracks. Rafevan to the bronze, and Keysi to that 'pretty' (okay, Ilicaeth, not *handsome*, like you!) brown...no surprises to Alida, once again, though the latter pairing gets the woman's own benediction with a decisive nod. From the sands, And then there were none. Irianke looks at the shattered remains on the sands and then to the candidates remaining. "Thank you. Thank you so much for doing our eggs the honor of Standing." A hand gesture indicates Niahvth, Reisoth, herself, and even H'vier, then it turns broader to encompass the galleries, maybe indicating the Weyr itself. "Not every clutch carries your lifemate, but sometime, soon perhaps, you will find yours." There's a gentled kindness to her already warm voice. "Join us in our hatching feast," is said louder for the audience as much as the candidates left, then her voice lowers, "If any of you would like to talk, my time tomorrow will be for you." With the betting having wound down at the impression of the last dragon, Savannah's riders are already starting to rise, eager to skip the after-hatching speech as they are to secure a decent table in the living caverns. R'hin's moving along with his wing, albeit slowly, navigating the steps carefully until he reaches the top. Lilah stands as those final Impressions are made, to join those that are already stirring to exit the galleries. And all of the advantages of those first rows of seats disappear, of course, where the wait to get out is made much longer. From the sands, Faryn is gazing quietly at the shells left on the sands. No dragons. But her eyes fall lightly on Quinlys' retreating back, her smile wry, but not exactly happy. She doesn't say anything though, not to a soul, as she retreats back to the barracks. As the number of potential impressions dwindles to two, then one, then none, Minara's been edging toward the front of her seat, preparing to leave... right along with everyone else, of course. Good time to stand and stretch, at least. She gives Drex a lopsided smile and gestures toward the steps before she starts making her way down with the inevitable slow wave of people. She's not lingering for the speech, either, Alida rising from the stands to shift herself - with apologies - between folks lingering, so that she can find the spirits and food before others, a nod to Lilah given. A quick glance about secures the bluerider a look at ragged R'hin, and a brow raises before she's moving out. Devaki and his companions seem content to wait, Sealene and Vinien pointing out their favorite dragons (Vinien's is the last bronze; Sealene's is one of the pretty greens); while Raum leans towards his Lord, and mutters something. With a nod of approval from Devaki, the red-headed guard begins the treck up the stairs, expertly pushing his way through the crowd with the air of someone used to doing such. Drex isn't keen to linger, either, though it takes Minara's gesture to get him up and moving, sticking subtly close to her like he's relying on her to be his social guide as to what happens next. From the sands, H'vier lets Irianke do the talking. As soon as she's done and the remaining candidates start leaving, however, the bronzerider does the same. Evidently he doesn't want to hang around to chat with the goldrider now that it's all over. Reisoth will stay awhile longer, at least, his gaze still cast in the direction the hatchlings have gone to eat their first meals. |
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