Miraneith x Ittisieth NPC Hatching

Ista Weyr - Hatching Galleries
A tiered series of bleachers, their surfaces worn smooth from centuries' worth of use, with stairways on either side for access. There is a broad railing carved from stone to prevent onlookers from falling down. During a Hatching, thick and comfortable pillows in the Weyr's colors of black and orange are brought out to cushion the hard seating, and drudges come and go to bring refreshments to the spectators. A walkway at the top and back of the gallery continues through a tunnel to the west. A brilliant, vividly colored mural is painted across the walls ('+view mural' to see it).

Cenlia grins, "Shardin' right. Ain't gonna let 'em keep me inside when there's stuff I gotta do. Still need to work on that orchard." Though how Cenlia's going to manage planting an orchard with a broken leg is anybody's guess. About X'hil, Cenlia shrugs, "Figured might as well check here, since I dunno where he's got his office at, an' my flits won't leave me alone to go find him." At that, she makes a face. And indeed, her five firelizards are off by the railing, having swooped in quietly a bit after her. The little things might be oddly subdued, no chirping or anything. Though Charmer manages a little croon for the nearest people and waggles his tail. Cen sticks her tongue back out at Fy, 'thbbbt'! "Yeah, well the way you was goin' on, thought something'd jumped out and grabbed ya. How was I supposed to know where yer head was? Weren't not light," though Cen is trying not to snicker. In retrospect, it /had/ been funny. And as for the broken leg, Cen snorts, "Yeah, but I didn't. Felt it when you landed on me." And a snicker, "Think you oughta lay off them boozecakes some." She's teasing, though, eyes sparkling merrily as she tells Raz, "Shoulda seen when we was brought in. Thought that rider that hauled us up was gonna-" and then practically jumps right out of her seat at X'hil's 'CEN!' over there. Cenlia stifles a squawk, and it's a good thing she doesn't actually make it to her feet, as she quickly remembers broken leg. And then the gardener girl looks suddenly sheepish, with a, "Hey," for X'hil and a moment's hesitation before she answers, "Uh, kinda had an accident - fell down." Understatement of the turn there.

From the Sands, A sudden thrum echos through the cavernous reaches of Hatching Grounds as Miraneith, bestirred from one of her brief daytime naps jolts upright, short neck craning suddenly sideways towards one of the eggs half-buried beneath the black sands. There's a snort from the gold, and she moves about ponderously, scraping sand from the eggs with a careful paw. And there there's Enka, hurrying off the wooden platform towards the gold. "Hatching!" there's a pause, and a blink, and an "Oh!" And there she goes, retreating back to the platform as Miraneith finishes uncovering the last of the eggs, and moves up alongside her, humming loudly to welcome her offspring into the world.

From the Sands, Teeter, totter. Teeeeeeter. Twist. That would be the Ominously Flickering Lights egg, just starting to feel out its place in the sand — and its capabilities. A few more wiggling movements are made before it pauses to take a rest.

At the Weyrleader's arrival, whatever F'yr was going to say about their little adventure dies on her lips. In fact, she might even elbow-nudge Cen very inconspicuously, looking for all the world as if she hadn't moved at all. Trying to ignore any other questions as to her own state, or Cenlia's, the brownrider turns her attention to the sands. Just in time, it seems, as the humming starts up and the subject can be changes. "Shells, what luck! Don't have to fight the crowds at least, especially with your bum leg," she tells Cenlia, luckily able to focus on something else exciting like… Eggs! And they're moving now! "Betcha two bubblies that it's brown first."

From the Sands, Griselda slips out with the rest of the candidates, getting into line around the eggs. She takes a very brief bow towards the clutchparents, and glances briefly up to the galleries. A hatching. Again. Sigh.

From the Sands, Haspar makes his way onto the Sands with a careful stride, giving a respectful bow to the gold and her rider as well as the sire and his own. The sixteen Turn old ignores the form of Jammar as the lad nearly dashes past, giving his greetings swiftly in order to get into position at the far side of the Sands nearing his favorite trio amongst the Clutch.

From the Sands, Pallifa's head is moving before she's even past the door, her gaze doesn't leave her son as she spots him accross the clutch from the entrance, even when she bows to the clutchparents. Unwilling to make a scene, she remains near the entrance, her attention on Jammar instead of the rocking eggs for the moment.

From the Sands, S'gam perks from his seat on the wooden platform, jarred by the copper-toned bronze's sudden surge to his feet. It is hard to tell if Itti is staring after Miraneith or eyeing up the eggs, but he's definitely tense along every muscle as he paces around the clutch. Did he just clear away a bit of sand from one of the shinier ones? No, nope, not him. "Easy, there, big boy." A huge smile erupts on Sig's face, excitement clear as he aims a wink over at the scurrying Enka. A warm hand on his hide tames the hovering bronze upon his return, the bronzerider mentally sending the dragon a message: a job well done. Grateful, Ittisieth takes up his own welcoming hummmmmmm.

From the Sands, The Igenite candidates — Sounae, Dzindi, Akhima, and Hriyun — all cluster roughly together, nervous and chatting softly amongst themselves. They, like the others, bow to dam and sire, and are quick to find their places on the sands. A glance given to the galleries is greeted by a cheer from the rest of their clan and, for now, they all seem somewhat at ease. For now.

From the Sands, Selyan is among all the candidates, shorter than most of them but likely twice as excited as any of the nervous lot. He's bouncing in his sandals, the hot sands not stopping him from moving out in the loose semi-circle and giving the clutch parents a bow each. There is a bit of anxiety darting across his face when the rocking eggs come into view, his eyes flicking from them up to the galleries quickly instead. Among the crowds moving in is the Weyrwoman, hollaring his name, but no one else that looks familiar to the lad.

From the Sands, Lairnan is amongst the Candidates who make their way onto the sands, nervous hands pulling at the folds of his white robe. He sketches a bow of some sort in the direction of both clutch parents, stealing a glance towards the gold and her rider for a moment, and then moves towards the other Candidates, now running a hand through his unkempt hair, and swallowing briefly, before he's trying to signal out another Candidate to at least stand nearby.

X'hil's two children, a boy and a girl, are staring in wide-eyed wonder at Cenlia's cast. "WOW! You must be even tougher than da!" the boy says, in a hushed tone. Completely in awe. "He's not even broke a bone." he adds, in a conspiratorial sort of whisper, or at least a 6-turn-old's approximation of same. X'hil seems skeptical about the story, but at F'yr's reaction to the eggs, he does blink, and look to the sands. "Oh! There's Izzy! Wave to ma, kids." he encourages the twins, taking a seat himself.

From the Sands, The Dream So Intense Egg shivers, a gentle and wholly unbidden movement that shakes the sand around it. Then, as quickly as it began to move, the egg settles back into winter-y dormancy.

Razhendi squints at the sands, only to lift her voice in a cheer with her clan-mates when her sister and cousins make their way to the sands. "Sounae-nae!" is called as if her sister might pick her voice out of so many others, her hands clapping brightly together with delight. "She looks so … so /naked/ without her jewelry." Mournful, that.

From the Sands, And yet, there isn't just one of Isica's blood on the sands - Cai joins her fellow candidates shyly, head tucked low in her commonly quiet way. She isn't shy, per se, just unfamiliar and tossed in amongst a sea of people that had had time to develop friendships and create a place for themselves in the weyr. She? She had been here only a few days, swept up in a last-minute whirlwind search, without even a chance to warn her brother. Surprise? Tugging awkwardly on her white robe, the candidate bows towards Miraneith and Ittisieth, then retreats further back on the sands.

From the Sands, Enka grins, acknowledging the accolades of the white-robed Candidates with a brief formal nod of her own — even if her grin is anything near formal — in fact, she's looking pretty chipper and cheeky. There's a grateful croon from Miraneith in Ittisieth's direction as the gold cranes her neck down, watching the wiggly moving eggs with an eagerly protective air of motherhood. "Doesn't this bring back memories?" Enka calls out to S'gam, grinning at the Dragonhealer, as she shifts around on the wooden platform, watching here and there. "Seems just like yesterday that was us." A reassuring smile is sent towards all the white-robed folks, even if a few of them are older than she is.

From the Sands, A single, claw pierces through one of the emulated eyes on the Ominously Flickering Lights Egg, tearing down just a little before withdrawing. The crack is thin … but a sure sign of what's due to come rather quickly. It starts to spin a little, slowly working itself deeper into the sand.

From the Sands, Things are heating up for the Summer Behind Bars Egg, as now it begins to bob as though floating in boiling water.

From the Sands, Jammar gives Haspar a nod as the older, must more serious boy ends up nearby. Pallifa is completely ignored as there is not only motion but _cracking_ and flashes of body parts from the clutch. "Oooh, did you see that!" he gasps, pointing to the Ominously Flickering Lights Eggs with a wide grin on his face.

From the Sands, Lairnan's hands fall away from his hair — good thing he's not tugging on them, else he'd be bald, and he moves forwards, nearly stumbling into another Candidate. Alas, just his luck, it's that Computer Crafter, the one who had such an issue with public displays of affection. "You ok?" comes the Bakecrafter's query, and then a brief nod at Serinan's gesture of assent. "We should stay together," his grin quirks wryly. "But you don't have to hold my hand." There, he couldn't help but snicker. "Hey, one's cracking."

From the Sands, With a quiver and a shiver, One Flattened Granny Egg stirs to life, the permanently flattened figurine on the shell seeming to stir, like one rising from the grave. There's another wiggle of life, and then all goes still — drifting once more into slumber.

From the Sands, Griselda glances up and down the line of candidates, trying to spot Pallifa. The older woman is one of the few candidates Griselda has had anything in common with, being just a few turns younger and also a mother herself. "'S hot, 's /always/ hot. Never gets easier." she mutters, eyeing the eggs.

From the Sands, Akhmida squirms uncomfortably, glancing to Dzindi and then over to Hriyun with a heaved sigh. She shifts from foot to foot, echoing Sounae's movements — both with a particular kind of rhythm that's just a variation on the candidate shuffle. Sounae cants a look over to a few of the others, flashing a smile to the ones that seem the most nervous. Anything to hide her own nervousness, of course.

Cenlia might have gone on with a wild tale about being attacked by giant wherries or something, but getting elbowed by F'yr reminds her they might also get in trouble somehow, and the girl quickly coughs, attempting to look innocent and settles back in her seat, keeping that leg in the cast stretched out a little. Good thing they've got good seats up front - not much traffic. Nodding in agreement with Fy, Cenlia leans a bit forward, "Hey, yeah, 's good timing that," and she peers down at the sands. There's a huge grin for X'hil's kids, "Shoulda seen yer da rescue me from getting eaten by a dragon once!" She's exaggerating, though possibly not be much. And then she snickers, "He even wrestled a flyin' ovine." Okay, /that/ is definitely an exaggeration. Ahem. Snicker snicker.

From the Sands, S'gam's smirk is sharp and is accompanied by a nod, eyes dancing. "Sure does, Enk. I see a little bit of us in 'em, too. They're in for a treat, methinks." His hands smooth over and over his bronze's headknobs, but Ittisieth already seems a world calmer, aiming a formal, yet somehow fond, noise towards Miraneith. He seems much more interested in her than the eggs - those things were officially out of his paws, starting today. Sig, on the other hand, is just as enraptured by the clutch as the candidates. "Ooh! A cracked shell already!" It's a wonder he doesn't clap his hands. No. No way. "I know that candidate." He squints, and then makes some horribly strangled noise. "That's my sister!" Cue dramatic music.

From the Sands, Spotting Griselda, Pallifa moves a little closer to the other woman, her gaze still mostly on her son instead of the rocking clutch of eggs.

From the Sands, Cai eyes Griselda and Pallifa nearby, but doesn't move near them, hands curving around her elbows in what she hopes is a casual gesture. Just play it cool for now, play it cool… Or, yeah, now that they mentioned it, it was sharding hot in here. Thank Faranth the eggs were enough to provide a distraction!

From the Sands, Selyan's bouyncing has frozen in place at the sight of one of the eggs breaking, aaahing and oohing appropriately with the crowd above. Not that he isn't as nervous now as the other candidates. It had all been a game up until that point where real dragon parts started appearing from the eggs. He wringes his hands into his white robe, the young lad turning to look around at his fellow candidates instead, green eyes focusing on the unfamiliar face of Cai. White robe meant she /had/ to be there. "Hiding?" he calls out to her, trying to grin wide even if he's snapping his attention back to the eggs. Scary things, these hatchings, but he's trying not to show it.

From the Sands, Hriyun would be hiding if he could, but Dzindi keeps a firm hand about the other's upper arm, holding him fast. Dzi mutters sidelong, "Don't go cracking like those eggs on me, Riri."

From the Sands, Enka's reply to the bronzerider is a brief little laugh, the girl's grin wide and cheerful as her gaze tracks over the Candidates, and spotting one, she points. "Oh look, there's that one Candidate who made sweetrolls for me." Sure enough, there's Lairnan, untidy hair and all. "He was very nice. He kept pouring juice for me, just the kind that I liked, and then gave me sweetrolls he baked himself." Now that is something that the goldrider is definitely Impressed with. Miraneith's attention is wavering between bronze and eggs, the eggs themselves still not having broken shell, so garnering the larger of her attention span. "Oh!" Enka cranes her neck, peering around Miraneith's shoulder to try and spot Cai. "Your sister got Searched? Oh boy, that's gonna be interestin'!"

From the Sands, The slight spin of the Ominously Flickering Lights Egg works up into a proper frenzy, spinning so quickly now that the crescent and 'O'-shaped 'mouths' almost appear to be soundlessly crying out. Shards begin to splinter and are rapidly flung away, the crack widening until the shell itself is torn asunder in a violent shower of shards and sand. Left behind is a lurid green dragonet who strikes a pose for all those eyes upon her. Look at /me/!

Flaunt It If You Got It Green Hatchling
All flash and shimmer is this green, both inside and out. From the point of her dainty, upturned muzzle to the tips of her tail, she's clad in a deep, iridescent green of the sort seen only on a few rare jungle avians. Encircling her eyes is a deeper green, nearly kohl-black, that makes the already large orbs into exaggerated caricatures of the same. All throughout is she decorated with glints and shimmers of other colors, like so many accessories chosen to accentuate every detail in garish fashion. Gold baubles at her neckridges and headknobs and scintillating silver looped around her neck like a stylish chain are the most apparent, but with every movement, one will find jewel-like encrustations of color in every crease and along every curve, just waiting to be flaunted. Her wings are especially decorated, narrow panes of green shot through with other colors just under the surface to set them vividly apart. All in all, she's all shapely curves despite her relatively small build, every movement made with extra swing and sway to draw the eye.

From the Sands, Griselda grimaces a little at Pallifa, but it's likely /supposed/ to be a smile. "Hatchings, eh?" she murmurs, talking more to settle her nerves, though she tries to act as though she has none, casting a casual eye over the eggs. And the first hatchling. "Oh. A green. Huh."

From the Sands, Haspar raises an eyebrow as the first to hatch is a green, but Jammar's reaction is rather more…excitable. "Oh, wow! Do you see her!? That's the claw we saw, Haspar! She's a real beauty." He flashes the older boy a grin before sending his mother a wave and pointing to the green. "Can you imagine the fun someone's going to have with that lady?"

From the Sands, The Dream So Intense Egg develops hairline fractures along its glacial surface, outlining each six-sided flake and tracing each peaking iceberg. Though the creature within doesn't appear to be emerging anytime soon, it is a promising sight.

From the Sands, Sounae stifles a bright, delighted laugh for the first to hatch. "She's a love, isn't she? Pretty-pretty, like those avians we saw that one time, yeah?" Akhmida nods her head enthusiastically, the rounded 'oh' of her mouth masked by a hand.

From the Sands, Pallifa nods, "They're mostly the same, though this is the first time Jammar's been allowed out here. Not his first time getting on the Sands, but the first time I haven't been allowed to stop him." The woman who nearing her thirtieth Turn, looks highly unamused as her son gains her attention. "He better not mean he wants me on a green," she mutters.

F'yr is glad that they didn't get in trouble, at least not yet. She doesn't even try to look innocent like Cenlia, in fact just turning her attention away to something else like she had forgotten all about falling and broken legs and scratches. "Look, there's Sig down there, though don't know any of the candidates this time around at all." She seems disappointed by this, pointing at the bronzer and frowning at the rest of the white-robed things. Well, at least she knew /someone/ down there. She glances briefly to the Weyrleader's kids, though she is much more interested in the eggs hatching. "Guess it ain't brown then. But there's /gotta/ be some if Ittisieth's gonna have a good clutch!" The excitement is obvious in her voice, and she gets up from her seat to get a better look, what with people milling around in front and the short girl unable to spot who she wants, whcih is technically trained on the bronzerider most of the time, a wrinkle forming on her brow.

From the Sands, Dzindi snorts, slanting a look to Sounae before glancing at a few of the other girls. "Trouble," is his observation of the green, though his gaze is inexorably caught on her movements. She /is/ eye-catching, even if she is trouble.

From the Sands, Cai's brows both raise in an impressive imitation of her brother. Or, more likely, he got that holier-than-thou expression from /her/. "Hidin'? Shards, no. 'm just…" And yet, she can't seem to find the right words, so the candidate tosses her shoulders and sidles closer to Selyan. "'m standin'. Why, should I be hidin'?" A small smile worms onto her face in spite of herself.

X'hil snickers, and eyes Cenlia. "Hey! I won, too! I'm alive and the ovine certainly… isn't." Not that it was when it /started/ flying, but, details! "And I was shot once! I was /shot/. With a crossbow! I have a scar! …but you can't see it." Because it's on his, erm, rear. Apparently he likes to appear 'tough' to his kids, but it won't be long before they see through his tales, if they haven't already. He frowns down at the sands, idly. "Hrm. A green first. That's… interesting." Wasn't the /last/ clutch also green first? And all chromatic, if memory serves. Hmm. "Here's /hoping/ it's a good clutch." he murmurs quietly, /eyeing/ the eggs now.

From the Sands, Lairnan's gaze fastens briefly on the green dragonet, a grunt of admiration coming from him. "Huh, green hatched first. My brother rides a green." he glances over at Serinan. "Not for me though," a pause, the baker's brown eyes scanning the young man beside him. "Not for you either, I'd say," Of course, judging by the other young man's reaction to certain aspects of Weyrlife, he might not suit. Breathing out in a long shallow breathing, Lairnan inches closer towards the eggs, watching as another cracks. "C'mon," he mutters, low, under his breath.

From the Sands, Griselda gives a slow nod to Pallifa, eyeing Jammar. "Hmm, well, good luck to him, and you. It's only my fourth time standing, fifth hatching. There were two clutches on the sands the first time." she explains. "But… I don't know. Every time, I say never again." she snorts. Yeah, that worked out real well for her the first time, didn't it?

From the Sands, The shell of the Summer Behind Bars Egg seems almost to glow with warmth. How long can it continue heating up like this before it explodes? Cracks are appearing in the shell now, and it almost seems as though steam is escaping.

Razhendi is clapping a bit, eyes raptly fixed on the sands now. "My sister's down there," is tossed out for anyone nearby to hear it, her smile widening little by little as the eggs continue their wobbling and cracking. "And my cousins, too. See?" She points them out excitedly, then it's back to clapping and watching, eyes darting from here to there with delight. Nana Tzizi, meanwhile, occupies herself with betting against uncle Safun; the two are having a nice, heated discussion on which boy will wind up with that fussy green.
From the Sands, Torannic shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other and brushes his dishwater hair. "Your fourth?" he says in a soft-spoken voice to Griselda. "It's my first. I hardly know what to expect."

From the Sands, Yeah, yeah baby — it's /all/ about her right now. Flaunt It If You Got It Green Hatchling takes her time on the sands, hips swinging and tail swaying to some unheard melody as she takes advantage of the limelight. Her feet stomp a little, tapping out that beat, and then her ruby-bright gaze is cast across those poor, fashion-challenged youths just over there. White robes? Puh-/leeze/, honey … that just will *not* do. She stalks right on over to the lot of them, head lifted as she appraises the youths for make-over-ability.

From the Sands, The Dream So Intense Egg twists suddenly, exposing all of its hidden golden gleams in one swift move. Candlelight flickers, promising all the love and adoration of the world before - kkkkkritktch! As though a cutting winter wind had slapped it aside, the eggshell splits to allow a glittering bronze-colored dragonet to tumbled head-over-heels into the sand. He might not be perfect, but for someone, the Playroom's Ragged Fringe Bronze Hatchling would be all they'd ever need.

The Playroom's Ragged Fringe Bronze Hatchling
From the Sands, All flash and shimmer is this green, both inside and out. From the point of her dainty, upturned muzzle to the tips of her tail, she's clad in a deep, iridescent green of the sort seen only on a few rare jungle avians. Encircling her eyes is a deeper green, nearly kohl-black, that makes the already large orbs into exaggerated caricatures of the same. All throughout is she decorated with glints and shimmers of other colors, like so many accessories chosen to accentuate every detail in garish fashion. Gold baubles at her neckridges and headknobs and scintillating silver looped around her neck like a stylish chain are the most apparent, but with every movement, one will find jewel-like encrustations of color in every crease and along every curve, just waiting to be flaunted. Her wings are especially decorated, narrow panes of green shot through with other colors just under the surface to set them vividly apart. All in all, she's all shapely curves despite her relatively small build, every movement made with extra swing and sway to draw the eye.

From the Sands, Selyan has to look up to Cai now that she is closer, his own brows going up. Talking helped to ease the fear of the dragons around him, though his eyes keep darting back towards the wandering green hatching. "Cause I haven't seen ya 'round. Ya must've been hiding." Ah, the logic of twelve turn olds. His face wrinkles, jumping just a little as the next egg breaks and the new dragon appears. "Shells! They're /a lot/ bigger than I thought they'd be. Scared?" This is to Cai now, because the boy's trying not to look it. And maybe seeing if someone else is will calm his nerves.

From the Sands, Haspar lets out a soft whistle as the green wiggles her rump, force of habit, it would seem as he blushes slightly and shrugs in reply to the look Jammar sends his way. Both lads' gazes turn to the bronze who hatches soon after glancing amongst the other youths for the ones who compete for that hatchling's attention.

From the Sands, Dzindi's attention is immediately drawn to the next hatchling, his brows climbing quickly and rather comically high. Hriyun makes a vague noise or another and tries to pull back again, only for the other youth's hand to keep him firmly restrained. "He might be yours, you know. Won't do any good to hide behind Akhmida."

From the Sands, Torannic's steel-grey eyes flick back and forth between the two hatchlings that have already emerged, and fidgets, though he does manage a slight smile. "They're going to get a /lot/ bigger than that, y'know," he says as he watches the remaining eggs start to shake and wiggle.

From the Sands, Pallifa nods to Griselda's words, "I have been Standing since I was sixteen, this is my last attempt." She looks thoughtful, "I'm not quite sure if I would wish my son on the Weyr, but that might solve some of his problems with acting out." A mother can hope, at least.

From the Sands, Sounae does a terrible job of keeping her laughter to herself, shoulders shaking and hands pressed to her mouth to muffle the sound. "Look at that! Natural performers, both of them. He's a tumbler, she's a dancer. Ha!" Akhmida mumbles a reply, her gaze drifting from the dragonets to the remaining eggs with a nervous digging of her toes in the sand.

From the Sands, She might have given up hope. In fact, these candidates are /all/ hopeless, as far as the Flaunt It If You Got It Green Hatchling is concerned. Hopelessly attired, that is. But then her eyes catch and hold on someone who seems to have found a rhythm for her feet-shuffling and she zeroes in on a young, dusky-skinned and dark-haired woman. Sounae is startled at first, wide-eyed and staring until a bright laugh escapes her and she reaches down to sweep some egg goo and shell from the green's neck at some unheard plea. "We'll dance another time, Zabrietath; right now, you need /food/!"

From the Sands, Cai flicks her eyes over the new hatchlings, lips pursing thoughtfully. That green was something else, for sure, all sass and class and fervence, and the bronze didn't seem to be any better, rolling over and over like that. Oh my. "Ah, no, not me. I was just searched a couple'a days ago, and s'been crazy tryin' ta get settled. Sorry I haven' gotten to introduce m'self. Cai." Nod, nod. "Yeah… I am a li'l scared, actually. I been around the daddy, but 's still hard not to think they're too big."

From the Sands, The Playroom's Ragged Fringe Bronze Hatchling picks himself up out of the roll, body giving a jerky shake in an attempt to dislodge all the sand and goop clinging to his hide. Whoops! There he goes, back onto his backside again with a frustrated little growl. Though they're long and lovely to look at, his legs just /don't/ want to work quite right, so the bronze resolves to sit and pout them into obeyance for the time being.

From the Sands, The Summer Behind Bars Egg suddenly stills, and seems to rapidly cool, with a long hissing sound. Finally, the cracked egg shell crumbles harmlessly away, the shell extremely brittle. Left sitting in the wreckage is the Building Blocks of Blue Hatchling.

Building Blocks of Blue Hatchling
Bold blue, perfectly pristine, a primary colour if ever there was one. This dragon bears this colour from snout to tail tip, entirely uniformly, with not even the slightest variation in shade. His hide seems to shine just a tiny bit, reflecting the light at certain angles, but it's still just the one shade. Physically, he's nothing to write home about, settling around average in length, though his build is a little unusual. He's a stocky fellow, compactly built, broad shoulders, wide hips, and a sturdy barrel belly that just about equals both of them in width. His limbs, as well as his neck and tail, carry on this stocky build, being a little too short and snub in places. Every movement he makes is precise, calculated. That is, when he bothers to move at all.

From the Sands, One Flattened Granny Egg stirs suddenly into awareness and the present moment once again, bestirred from slumber and silence, wobbling and shaking with convulsive shudders, a network of jagged cracks appearing along the curving shell, bits of snow-white egg shards raining down on the black sands below.

From the Sands, Torannic's smile brightens a little at the clumsy playfulness of the bronze. "Hey, little fella, I bet you're going to be a ton of fun." He starts to relax just a tiny bit, his trepidation gradually replaced by fascination with the newly hatched dragons.

From the Sands, Griselda raises an eyebrow at Pallifa, and shakes her head. "Ah, I've only been standing a few turns, myself. Still, I likely won't stand again. Think the poor Weyrleader's about had it with daddy duty." she snorts, glancing up to the galleries, though she still doesn't seem to recognise anyone, searching for a longer moment this time.

From the Sands, Miraneith lets out a triumphant warble as both the green and bronze hatch, casting a turn of her too-short neck towards Ittisieth and fluttering her wings a bit. "Oh, well done, Mir!" Enka claps her hands with glee, hoisting herself onto the gold's forearm to get a better view, leaning against the curve of ivory-and-mustard jaw. "The green chose!" Enka's full of glee, cheerful happiness and all that wonderful stuff — which in turns takes her mind off other matters. "And another blue." Miraneith's trill of triumph is quite evident, the gold looking decidedly smug. "They make pretty babies," Enka comments in S'gam's direction. "Nice lookin' ones, compared to …" a pause. Well, er, yeah.

From the Sands, "Perhaps next one, Pallifa!" Jammar calls to his mother before he watches the bronze's most recent flop. "Oh… Poor fellow…" "He doesn't seem to have figured the correct formula of force and motion to move around," Haspar agrees with a nod. When the blue arrives, Jammar tilts his head to look at it then shrugs, gets another wide grin on his face and motions towards his mother. "_That_ one, she'll be a blast, really!"

From the Sands, The Break the Spell egg doesn't so much 'wobble' as it 'sashays.' There simply isn't another word for it. The egg sways once, twice, as though imitating a dancer's hips before settling into stillness again.

From the Sands, Dzindi cheers for Sounae — as do their kin in the galleries — while Akhmida and Hriyun look on with wide-eyed stares. This … was not what they were expecting. Not that it matters much; they move quickly to allow Sounae and hers to depart the sands, only to move quickly back together.

From the Sands, Selyan jerks on his robe down a bit, a little self-concious in the thing. "Really? Few days? Shards." He pauses, looking at all the other candidates. "Ya got to miss out on all those nasty chores and everything! Lucky." Yes, lucky that she didn't have to be around to get used to Weyrlife before being pushed onto the sands, right? Lucky indeed. He lifts his chin, trying to look less scared now that Cai admitted her own fears, and grins. "I'm Selyan! Weyrwoman's nephew. See her up there?" He gives a hearty wave up to his aunt Ysa, where she was with her bottle of wine and placing obvious bets, though scowling down to each pretty hatchling that hatches out. The boy's back to watching those on the sands, swallowing hard at the blue now.

From the Sands, Lairnan's gaze seems to brighten, the sight of the bronze drawing his atttention for the moment as he nudges at Serinan with a droll little chuckle. "Now wouldn't you just like him. Bit clumsy though," there's a snicker from the boy. "Whoops, sorry." And then he's looking at the eggs again, although his gaze does linger towards both blue and bronze. "I hope," he mutters, voice low.

From the Sands, Pallifa nods at Griselda's comment, but before she can make one of her own, she notices Jammar's motion and narrows her eyes. "Is he— He can't be trying to influence that poor blue!?" Her gaze flicks to the blocky hatchling and shakes her head. "Certainly not."

From the Sands, Building Blocks of Blue Hatchling stays quite motionless for a long moment after hatching, one might be forgiven for thinking him a roughly hewn sculpture rather than an actual living dragon. He turns his head slowly this way and that, surveying the candidates, and then stills again, processing this information. The dragon then begins to plod very deliberately out onto the sands.

From the Sands, *CRACK* — the sound echos through the Hatching Cavern, as with a conveniently placed kick, the shell of the One Flattened Granny Egg gives way. A few more kicks, front paw flails, and a lashing of a determined tail, and the youngster within is freed, battling her way determined through the dark prison which had held her encased for so long.

Changed Forever By Oozing Toxic Green Hatchling
Nature's verdant palate seems squandered by the singularly brilliant shimmer of her hide. Yet, while she may well have been found wanting in a panorama of different tones and shading, what hue she does possess is strikingly eye-catching indeed. Brightest neon-green of a shade near glowing bathes a long limbed form; curved just so in draconic chest and haunch. A muddier tint of yellow-green streaks downwards from the bottom of her neck, just above shoulder height, plunges along her underbelly and ends abruptly at the top of her tail. Across this band of yellow-green, shadows give hint to the illusion of armor plating that overlaps each other while a sudden startling shade of dark emerald encases her wingsails. When held just so, the irregular hexagonal and rectangular shapes of that shade of dark emerald, form a carapace — that seems well capable of protecting her back. The only truly unique color about her is the curl of lavender-blue, about her eyes; folded and creased by shadows and highlights, like a cloth mask that finally meets behind her small, nearly non-existant headknobs.

"Huh, guess he would be, since his dragon caught, yeah?" Cenlia leans a bit more forward, but keeps her seat, peering at the activity down below. She absently rubs the knee of the leg in the cast, commenting to Fy, "'Least there's a bronze this time. Gonna win all my marks back?" Griin. "Think it's more like Sir Kinseth won," Cenlia snickers, though there's a lopsided grin for the weyrleader, "Yeah, did get shot," and she can't resist adding, "in the butt." Snerk. "Betcha it'll be a good clutch," Cen says with confidence, grinning at X'hil, "You think Izzy's gonna impress?" And the girl peers back down at the sands, trying to spot Griselda.

From the Sands, Torannic looks around at the other occupants of the sands and then regards the blue, his head acant with curiosity. "What, him?" he says. "Trying to set him up with a particular rider, then?"

X'hil frowns at the latest green, and his eye starts to /twitch/. "Is… that… /neon/?" he asks, in a strangled tone of voice. Oh dear. /Something/ has got him rattled. "I… what? Izzy? Oh. Right. Izzy. Erm. She's got a chance?" he says, though it's clear by his tone that he rather doubts it. "Hopefully not /that/ one, though." he mutters.

Razhendi might well be left without a voice tonight for all that she's cheering. "Sounae-nae!" The dancer, perhaps predictably, breaks into a bit of a dance right there in the galleries, a victorious and short-lived thing that ends when she plunks right back down on her seat. Uncle Safun crows with delight as his bet is won, with Nana Tzizi swatting at him as hard as her nearly seventy turn-old self can manage. As it turns out, she can hit pretty hard.

From the Sands, Cai's face can't help but soften as the first impression is made. Somewhere, deep down in her baker-y heart, the girl was fond of the draconic race. "Not too lucky. It's weird ta come in here when y'already know each other 'n' I'm the outsider." The girl jerks her chin down to show she heard him, eyes already examining the blue and the next green and that awkward bronze. "Weyrwoman's nephew?" A slight frown. "Seems we both got family in high places, then. So ta speak. Huh." She scans the stands, but finds no one of particular interest that she recognizies. "R'lax, they aren't gonna hurtcha if you just stay put," she says comfortingly for the boy's sake.

F'yr glances over to Cenlia, chin bobbing down once. "Well, yeah, but he's there now… Can't hear a thing he's saying up here. Wonder what they talk 'bout on the sands." She cups her hands as she turns back towards the sands and calls out a "SIG!" You know, as if testing to see if, through the insanity, it can even manage to go through. She snorts and shakes her head back to her friend. "You betted? /Again/? After losing your marks to that ugly—" She cuts herself off. X'hil was there, afterall, and it was his clutch. "Oh! That was your sister?" she calls to Raz, grinning widely and turns to the sands to shout out a congratulations loudly. Back to watching the sands. "/Course/ it'll be a good clutch," she says loudly to answre both Cenlia and X'hil, though she doesn't turn back to them. "Ittisieth caught." The gold? Nah, it was about the bronze.

From the Sands, The Playroom's Ragged Fringe Bronze Hatchling sulks, yes, but some things are more important than throwing temper-tantrums. Like, you know, food! Right, time to try this walking stint again. Lurching forwards, the bronze braces on all fours, throwing his checkered wings wide and… success! With a triumphant little bugle, the Playroom's Ragged Fringe hatchling puts one foot in front of the other and begins a slow progression across the sands towards a likely group of candidates. He trots along with his strange, floppy gait, ticking each one off in his mind. No, no, nope, not that one. There is a sniff in Lairnan's general direction, and then a sharp /sneeze/. No, definitely not that one. Seriously, wasn't there a single human out here for him? He had a belly to feeeed. And then— Bingo! This one was /his/!

From the Sands, The Break the Spell egg suddenly, inexplicably, develops a shattering line that daggers right through the mistletoe-green splotch on its shell. It's still impossible to tell what's inside, but it is a safe bet to say it's close to making it's debut.
From the Sands, Hriyun's nose crinkles just a little at the hatching of the latest green, his gaze drawn to the blue instead. Akhmida, of course, is slightly more attentive to the green, her brow furrowed considerably with thought. "Could be yours, Dzizi," she finally murmurs, "she'd need all that armor to protect you from yourself."

From the Sands, Torannic looks at Cai and gives a questioning look. "Really? Not all of us are so highborn. I'm just a simple hold-dweller." His attention is drawn toward the uppity bronze. "This 'un's gonna be a /bit/ of a handful, no doubt, especially if he doesn't keep that temper of his in check." He pauses, looking out at the hatchlings, several of them now, and frowns slightly in bewilderment.

From the Sands, Jammar watches another green hatch as the two males move about the sands, he ignores his mother by now. There's just too much motion on the Sands to play with her head at the moment, after all. Haspar watches the blue with a certain interest, like me might watch a set of gears turn in one of his creations.

From the Sands, Building Blocks of Blue Hatchling continues on his very slow very deliberate path, heading out from his shell in a perfectly straight line, eyes never wavering from his target. He eventually stops at the feet of a young Istan-born computer crafter, and looks the candidate in the eye.

From the Sands, Ittisieth chuffs in reserved pleasure, wings tucked neatly at his sides, though his tail fidgets and flicks none-too-casually at his side. Impressions were finally occurring, and though he wasn't outwardly excited, he was feeding off the gold's energy. "Of course they make pretty babies. Have you looked at our dragons lately? They couldn't make somethin' ugly if they tried." S'gam's vainer-than-vain bronze seemed vastly pleased by this, leaning into Sig's knobscritches with a gentle sigh. "Though if they ever get that bad, I vote we quit," he says with a quick wink. Poor Ella and Kinseth. They'd never live that down.

Razhendi nods enthusiastically to F'yr, her grin almost too-wide with delight. "She always wanted to ride; said she had dreams of it, sometimes. My cousins are out there, too. Dzizi, Riri, and Mimi," all nicknames, clearly, for she points out Dzindi, Hriyun, and Akhmida in turn. She fidgets a little, leaning forward with wide, excited eyes. "I wonder how the others will fare, you know?"

From the Sands, Lairnan has been rejected! Alas! Well, it's not so much an outright rejection — that bronze that sniffed in his direction sure added to it by that sneeze. "Geeze," comes the muttered response, Lairnan making a face. "Who'd he pick anyway?" There's a sudden hopeful glance towards the blue, and then he's squaring his shoulders, stealing a glance towards the wooden platform and the two dragons and their riders there, before he's back to watching the other eggs, which are now starting to wobble and crack.

From the Sands, With another kick or two at the shards of her egg, the Changed Forever By Oozing Toxic Green Hatchling huffs loudly, the sound almost a burp of some kind before she lurches away from the shards, tail lashing the air behind her. Now what was she doing? Oh right! The Candidates. With another huffing croak, the dragonet aims directly towards the assembled assortment of young people wearing white.

From the Sands, Selyan shrugs both his shoulds up high, grinning to Cai for a brief moment. "Nah, it's after Impression that matters, aunt Ysa says. Dad's gonna /freak/ when he finds out that I actually got to stand down here. Though I wish he and Mum were here." And then he really has bigger issues on his hands. /Big/ things, like a bronze hatchling. His green eyes go wide, and he doesn't register the loud whooping from the stands as a Weyrwoman leaps from her seat. It's all about the dragon in front of him. His eyes water, but he doesn't let the tears out. "Course I like your game, Arcolath! We'll both hide and have fun playing games and— Shells, Dad's gonna /kill/ me." But first, food! He gives Cai an apologetic tearful grin before leading the bronze off towards the weyrlingmasters and food.

From the Sands, Haspar blinks once and drops to a knee to better see his blue. "That's right, Cebilokth, I'm Haspar. Well, it should probably be H'par, now… No? What about H'spar?" He laughs, "Well, it is tradition. How about we get you fed and decide in the morning?" Jammar watches the other fellow leave with the blue and gasps, "Um… Congratulations, Haspar, or whatever you end up calling yourself!"

From the Sands, Griselda furrows her brows up at the galleries, not /really/ paying attention to much. Did Pallifa talk to her? She honestly can't say. When she turns around though, she's smiling, albeit a strained smile. "They're up there, watching. Hope they like the show." she murmurs. Is she only standing for them? Possibly.

From the Sands, Dzindi releases a held breath when the bronze finally makes his choice, then his gaze is cast back out to the remaining dragonets. Akhmida's previous jab is finally returned with, "Maybe she'll be yours, too. Or Hriyun's." There's a wicked grin for the other boy, earning him a half-hearted scowl and then a sigh as the boy's shoulders slump.

From the Sands, Pallifa watches as the blue and bronze both Impress, her gaze settling on her son a moment, then the green, then her son again. "Perhaps I should make my way over there to make sure he doesn't get himself into any trouble?" she asks Grisela and anyone else nearby who might be listening.

From the Sands, Miraneith's heavy tail flipflops back and forth with obvious excitement. Although motherly and protective, indeed almost to the point that it was well nigh impossible to have gotten the Candidates to the sands for the touchings — still, once hatched and bonded, the moment is passed, and she shall soon be free to wander the nights once more. "Couldn't agree more," Enka replies to Sig, her gaze turning towards Ittisieth. "They've got gorgeous babies, but shards, you're so right. I'll take Mir to the dragonhealers m'self if she ever produces a really ugly clutch." Yeah, poor senior dragons, having that kind of a reputation now.

From the Sands, Cai glances over at Torannic. "'m from Ista Hold m'self, I was jus' saying that mine 'n Selyan's families are here, and I guess they're important." Her brother was the rider of the clutchdaddy, after all, and to her, that meant something. "They'll learn control, I hope…" Her mouth opens, ten kinds of prepared to offer a response to Selyan when all of a sudden the boy is very, very occupied. By Faranth… "Uh… Bye! And good luck!" Snapping out of her shell-shock, Cai waves one hand over her head towards the retreating now-bronzerider, grin wide. "Oh, good for him."

From the Sands, The Break the Spell egg is suddenly more of a curtain than it is a container, goo and shards slipping away from a petite form, ten times more effective than any drum roll. Those elicit winter evenings may now step aside: the Irrepressibly Optimistic Debutante Green Hatchling has arrived!

Irrepressibly Optimistic Debutante Green Hatchling
Bold blue, perfectly pristine, a primary colour if ever there was one. This dragon bears this colour from snout to tail tip, entirely uniformly, with not even the slightest variation in shade. His hide seems to shine just a tiny bit, reflecting the light at certain angles, but it's still just the one shade. Physically, he's nothing to write home about, settling around average in length, though his build is a little unusual. He's a stocky fellow, compactly built, broad shoulders, wide hips, and a sturdy barrel belly that just about equals both of them in width. His limbs, as well as his neck and tail, carry on this stocky build, being a little too short and snub in places. Every movement he makes is precise, calculated. That is, when he bothers to move at all.

Long, lean, and luxurious, she is the one they're talking about when they say 'it's not what you know, but who you know.' Delicately-fingered forepaws are stitched with mossy lace while her fine-boned facial features are sprinkled with gleaming darts of fern and jade, only serving to emphasize the come-hither curl of her lips. The overwhelming majority of her frame is ensconced in a velvety pattern of midnight green, the faintest undertones of myrtle and shimmering viridian picking up here, and there, when she tilts her body just so in the sun. Yet for all this dusky glamour, her most defining features are the sensational brocade patterns that twist and whirl across her hide like so many spring buds. They dominate the sleek lines of her chest and neck, tendrils and vines scooping along her stomach and twining around 'ridges and wingsails before blossoming again across narrow hips and making a braid of verdant garden ivy down to the tip of her slender tail.

From the Sands, Changed Forever By Oozing Toxic Green Hatchling knows what she wants, apparently, because she's headed right towards the Candidates with something of a determined shuffle, scooting over the sands with her gaze fixed unwavering upon the particular Candidate she knows is hers. And it's Griselda — one of the oldest of this particular group — that she chooses; croaking up at the brown-haired woman in a rather pointed demand for food.

From the Sands, There's a little bit of movement from Where Others Cannot Tread Egg, though not enough to truly draw the eye. Sure, there's life there … but it's still working out the fiddly bits. For now, there's nothing to see here.

From the Sands, Torannic arches an eyebrow at the others, and at the conversation in progress. "Ugly dragons? Well, not these, of course, but where are there ugly dragons? Is there even such a thing?" He shifts his weight back and forth a few times, and his other eyebrow joins the one as t the latest hatchling emerges. "These ones certainly don't have any shortage of, um, personality."

From the Sands, Pallifa blinks at one green hatches only for the elder to Impress Griselda. "Congratulations!" she offers with a smile, and then she's off, slowly making her way through the other Candidates and towards her son, nothing anchoring her to that side of the Sands any longer.

From the Sands, Griselda frowns a little at Pallifa, a little sheepishly. "Er. If you like." A pause, as her attention is quickly drawn elsewhere. She stares at the croaking green. "Belissimath? I don't know about Selda. But… right. Food. Food for my girl." there's a guilty glance up at the galleries to her /other/ girl, but she shakes her head, and leads the green off to be fed. "Er, later, I guess." she calls back to Pallifa. "Good luck out there!"

From the Sands, Hriyun seems incredibly relieved when the green finds her destined, freeing him up to look at the other eggs and the latest green with a wary look. Can he back up yet? No? Okay. Dzindi slants him a warning look and shakes his head, muttering, "The way you're acting, maybe you should have snuck off to the latrines before we got here. I told you not to eat those fishrolls."

From the Sands, Cai lets out a rather un-womanly snort. "Personality, no. They ain't lackin' in tha'. There's rumors tha' there was plenny of ugly hatchlin's from the last batch 'a eggs though. Could only be heresay, but yanno." She shrugs, the guilty shift of her eyes painly indicating she wouldn't be saying such things if Selyan were still here!

From the Sands, Sneakily at first, almost as if it's trying not to be noticed, Window to the Soul Egg shudders, then wobbles a big long wobble, back and forth and back and forth.

From the Sands, The Irrepressibly Optimistic Debutante Green Hatchling saunters onto her stage, chin lifted high, lips seemingly curled into a smug, pleased expression. She /owned/ this place (or at least seemed to think she did), but instead of striking a pose as her much flashier sister had, she slinks and bobs towards the candidates, as if to charm them right off the bat. Hello, hello there, charming to meet you, oh yes, hi, how do you do! No one will be left unremarked upon, though her internal monologue is all her own, for now.

From the Sands, It's all about the transformation, even if that transformation is taking its sweet time. A crack works its way across the shell of Where Others Cannot Tread Egg, curiously resembling an earthquake tearing across what was once a peaceful countryside. Then, all is still again. Almost, almost, but not quite there.

X'hil /chokes/. "She. She. SHE." He /stares/ down at the sands. "Tell me that wasn't Griselda! Tell me that wasn't Izzy!" Unfortunately, there is no such confirmation. The six turn old girl cheerfully points out, "Mummy got the brightest dragon ever! Almost as bright as gran'ma's!" oblivious to the contradiction.

From the Sands, Torannic chuckles out loud at the green's friendly exuberance. "This one is going to be the draconic diplomat of Ista, maybe? That certainly seems to be her ambition." His eyes scan around the hatching sands, resting for a moment on this or that hatchling, as he tries to make some order out of the apparent chaos of a draconic hatching.

From the Sands, Jammar watches the latest green's display, nodding a greeting to her when she passes his way. He spots his mother anf frowns, shuffling a few steps to the side before he realises that he'd be rather close to the clutchparents if he moved much futher.

That bright neon green has Cenlia snerking, "Looked kinda like yer ma's dragon," commented to X'hil. Oh yes, Cenlia does find it funny. Just a bit. "Prolly complainin' how shardin' hot it is down there," Cenlia offers, in regard to what they might be talking about down there, the gardener girl grinning crookedly at Fy. There's a shrug, "Won mosta the marks back onna bet with 'm cousin, so ain't too bad off." And then a snicker, "Ittisieth? Shards, funny name that."

From the Sands, Enka is quick to applaud all the new Impressions, her gaze turning towards those still unhatched eggs and the cluster of Candidates about them. "Plenty of eggs left," she declares, "plenty of chances for those of them that're left." There's a quick caress to the gold's jaw, Enka leaning against her lifemate for a moment. "Lots of greens so far." Three rather. "All of them look good." And that's the way Enka likes it.

From the Sands, In a fit of true crazy, Window to the Soul Egg rolls itself up and over, making an entire three-hundred and sixty degree rotation before settling again with a gentle crack in it's tippy-tip-top.

From the Sands, The metamorphosis from egg to dragon is nearly complete. With a final, titanic heaving of its placidly-hued self, Where Others Cannot Tread Egg dashes itself to pieces on the sands. Oddly bronze hide shimmers wetly with egg goo and shards and the rather large dragonet takes his time to study his limbs and make sure everything is in full working order before he proceeds with mechanical precision.

More Than Meets The Eye Bronze Hatchling
He is a massive, blocky beast, built as powerfully as they come with a blunted muzzle, a mighty barrel of a chest, and limbs that hide no illusion of their strength. Newly forged bronze covers every inch of him, smooth and unblemished with a natural shine to it above and beyond what one might expect to find. It's his coloration that's a little unorthodox, a curious contrast to what others might construe as a 'traditional' bronze's bronze. His head and forepaws have an odd sheen of blue just underneath, the hue rarely coaxed out properly without a good oiling. That great chest of his, down to his hips, is a deep, distinctly red-bronze with a strange stripe of near-white all but bisecting him below the ribs. His hind legs reflect that strange blue anew, only to quickly give way, once more, to that red-bronze along the length of his tail. Only his wings are true bronze, if cast with a curious shimmer of gold and red upon them — in certain lights one might spot strange patterns skittering across them, only to be gone in the blink of an eye.

From the Sands, Torannic raises both eyebrows at the emerging bronze. "Blessed Faranth, that one /is/ beautiful, in his odd sort of way. Welcome to the world, kiddo."

From the Sands, The Irrepressibly Optimistic Debutante Green Hatchling, unfortunately, doesn't have far to go. While she most acertainedly would have /loved/ to meet and greet each of these darling candidates, she pauses before one girl and particular and can't seem to progress any further. Distress registered on her face for the first and one of the last times, ladies not being designed for such callous emotions, fast-whirling eyes scanning all the faces and humans she had yet to introduce herself to… Bother. Her roving eyes return to her impressee at last, and stay there, though it is /quite/ obvious that, whether her rider likes it or not, they will be knocking on each and every person's door in order to get to know them. Plan on it, Cai!

From the Sands, Jammar's gaze turns to the bronze, not quite realising that the green has paused part-way through her rounds until his mother is at his elbow. He shakes his head at her before returning his attention to the wonderfully coloured bronze. Some things make Candidacy less fun than it could be, you know?

From the Sands, Cai smiles over at Torannic and nods before her eyes return to that gregarious green. "Seems tha' way, don' it? Weyr relations wing fer tha' one, I'd bet on it. Tha' one on th' other… hand?" Her eyes unfocus for a second before they stare blankly, almost uncomprehendingly, at the green before her. "I have to meet the who? And- Wha'? Wait, wait, Ariebth, slow down! One thing at a time. First off, we're goin' to get you fed before you worry yerself inta a tisy. /Then/ ye can worry about makin' pals with everybody." Well! Apparently the green had met her match. With a wry smile over at Sig and Enka, and with a wave to Torannic, the girl had to practically drag the green away to follow the others off the sands.

F'yr pouts a little when her shout doesn't seem to reach, though she didn't really expect it to. She flops down to her seat again for a little while, tired of standing, and looking over to X'hil's reaction. "You alright there? I ain't sure who that is but…" Or right, her eyes stray to the children and then to Cenlia briefly, grin returning. "Probably. Hey! That's a second bronze, right? How many did you bet for this time?" And then she's back to her feet, looking down at the sands as if for a better look of the hatching bronze. "Ittisieth's a /good/ name. Ain't really sure about the dragon too much since Zaru don't like him much… Not that he even liked friendly Inimeth much at all." She steps closer towards the edge of the rail again.

From the Sands, Dzindi gently elbows Hriyun upon the latest egg's destruction, grinning a bit. "Could be yours, too. He's kind of an odd-lookin' fella, though." Hriyun makes a face and squirms again, mostly just wanting nothing more than to flee. He remains silent, watchful, and wary.

From the Sands, Pallifa pauses as the green nears but smiles as Cai Impresses the hatching. "Congratulations," she murmurs before she moves on towards her son. As there is only the bronze out and about, she relaxes, slowly rocking foreward to back in a rhythm learned Turns ago during her first few times on the Sands.

From the Sands, Lairnan's hands are starting to creep up to his hair again, the young man brushing nervously at his unkept locks as if to comb them into submission. Maybe that was it! Why he wasn't getting much more than a sniff and a sneeze. Still, he shuffles his feet a bit, leaning forward to almost nudge Serinan again, and getting a glare from the other candidate. "'Nother bronze," he observes. "Two now. Nice lookin' fella." He does glance admiringly towards the new-hatched bronze, and then he glances away, hardly daring hope.

From the Sands, His movement is slow and methodical, his great and blocky head swinging this way and that with a sense of precision that's at utter odds with his still egg-wet self. More Than Meets The Eye Bronze Hatchling is taking his time but it's all for a good reason … indeed, the fate of the world might well rest on his choice! Certainly it will have an effect on his fate and that of his destined. But who? The gravity of the situation isn't enough to slow him or deter him — onward does he go, each candidate silently appraised through slowly spinning crimson eyes.

From the Sands, The crack atop the Window to the Soul Egg widens until finally, in one moment of perfection, the egg splits, leaving its brown occupant creeling on the sands.

Rebuilding Reality Brown Hatchling
The hide of this large brown seems almost patchworked together. His flat, dark brown shade is covered over with squares, triangles and rectangles of all different shades of brown and red. In strong juxtaposition to this patchwork hide, a large white circle on each hip and shoulder joint, a thin green line depending from each to the knee. Completing the ensemble is a bright blue triangle right in the center of his nose. The separation between each colorful splotch and the dragon's base color is clear and sharp, no blurring or merging. Sharp lines of separation between this dragon's patchwork hide.

X'hil splutters, and /glares/. "No no no, neon /green/. UGH. I just /bet/ Kinseth won't be able to keep his grubby talons off of her once she's grown. Sharding /greens/." Huh. Seems right there like the problem is his /bronze/. But he doesn't actually seem all that surprised to see Izzy on green, it's just /that/ green specifically. "…happy for her, though." he admits, finally. To F'yr, once he's calmed down a bit, he notes, "Er, that's Izzy, Griselda, or," his eyes unfocus a bit as he consults with Kinseth, who likely checks with the hatchling green, "…Selda. And Belissimath? But, ah, yeah. We grew up together. Old friends… And she's the mother of my twins." But it's clear by his tone, and his reaction to the possibility of Kinseth /flying/ Belissimath, that they're just friends now.

From the Sands, S'gam has effectually stopped breathing. Poor Enka went severely lacking in the answer department while the Dragonhealer fell silent, watching, brooding as his sister faced the same sort of gauntlet they had so many turns ago. Ittisieth seems less bothered, shaking away a bit of his stoic outer appearance to sidle a step or two closer to the gold. Though the comings and goings of their children meant little to him, it was a bonding experience none the less. Churrrr. And then: "HOLY FARANTH YEAH CAI!" If you thought he was bad for Ontali, that's nothing. S'gam leaps, bounces, and promptly leaps onto Ittisieth's shoulder to effectively shake the bronze's hide. "Did you see that?!" So freaking uncouth. Someone come sedate him before Ittisieth dies of shame.

From the Sands, Torannic watches the bronze with a steady, reserved curiosity, looking anxious. Then he watches the brown emerge, and he has to smile. "Another odd but pretty one. Hey, little fella. You'll find your match somewhere here."

From the Sands, Rebuilding Reality Brown Hatchling sits down heavily, continuing his creel as if it might bring the candidates closer. After a long confusing moment, he decides to pick himself off the sands instead, testing out his legs as he steps away from the shards of his egg and off towards the white-clad figures of the candidates, his head moving from one side to the other in consideration.

From the Sands, When the brown appears, already creeling Jammar shakes his head, "See, Pallifa? Now _that_ one would fit you." The woman narrow her eyes at her boy and shakes her head, "I take it back. I wish you fully upon the Weyr, lad. The WeyrlnigMaster will sort you out quickly enough." Jammar offers a wide grin, "The WeyrlingMaster can certainly *try*!"

From the Sands, A powerful force inside the Innocently Smiling Egg is enough to set it to tip over, though not enough to crack the shell properly. It jerks over the other way, and soon rights itself as if satisfied with that brief bit of not-quite-exploration. It's not time, not now … but soon.

From the Sands, Party Foul Egg is still. Too still. Then it wobbles, giving one giant shake, as if trying to shake off the booze on its snowy exterior, then lies still again. Waiting. Biding its time until later.

From the Sands, Akhmida keeps an eye on those wandering dragons, eventually just chewing on her lower lip with apprehension. Dzindi's too occupied with keeping Hriyun from bolting that he doesn't notice her taking a step back and away, joining a few of the other girls.

From the Sands, Enka's cheer is probably equally as loud, Enka hoisting herself high atop Miraneith's forarm and shoulder, peering down at the sands with a smattering of applause. Nevermind that S'gam had merely pointed the girl out to her some moments befoe — well, Cai's his family, and therefore, Enka's as pleased as punch for her friend. "WHOO!" she cheers, throwing up both hands in a gesture of victory, only to wobble and teeter herself. "Whoops!" And then she's carefully clambering back down to the ground, and reaching out to offer a congratulatory pat on the back for the bronzerider. "She got green!" Now that, would be interesting indeed.

From the Sands, Steel-bright claws rend through the rear part of the Innocently Smiling Egg, just enough to send a few splinters flying before withdrawing. The resident within remains unseen for now and the egg continues to bide its time.

From the Sands, There. Yes, just over there. More Than Meets The Eye Bronze Hatchling hastens in his steps, kicking up sand as his formerly meticulous methods are shed in a moment of sudden revelation and a surge of emotion. A connection is made, the circuit completed, and the bronze is finally, finally, given a spark of real life. For all of Dzindi's wise-cracking ways, not a single quip comes to his lips when the bronze's eyes meet his. "Who am I? I'm-" he pauses, eyes going hazy before murmuring "I'm Dz'i and I'm yours, Xorionth. We'll do this together, you and I."

From the Sands, Let's get a little hip action going here! with a wiggle and a shake, the Holiday in Paradise Egg does the hula on the sands, the portly blob of flesh-tone and red seeming to shimmy and dance, jiggling and wiggling with the motion of the egg — and then it stops, suddenly still and silent once more.

From the Sands, Jammar and Pallifa both offer a "Congratulations, Dz'i!" at the same time before turning to watch the brown. The older woman is the first to blink, as it were, stealing a sideways glance towards her offspring before watching the hatchling once more.

From the Sands, Rebuilding Reality Brown Hatchling pauses in his search, then takes one wobbly step towards a group of candidates and then another, less tentative, but still uncertain step. Which one, which one… Which will be his world maker? The brown's steps gain confidence as he moves off towards the small knot, realization dawning with each pace closer. Yes, there! /He/ was perfect. The brown stops in front of one tall, older lad. A lover of land and sea, perfection for his grand designs! Tarrik, then Ta'ik, reaches out to steady the brown. "Forcolth? Come on, let's get you fed up before you fall over." And together the pair move off.

From the Sands, And then there were two. Hriyun is released, but too startled by the realization of /how close/ that bronze was that he's rooted to the spot. No shuffling feet for him, just a lot of staring in Dz'i's wake. It takes a gentle nudge from Akhmida to get his feet moving again, though, thankfully, not to take him off to the exit. Fidget, fidget.

Yes, there's more Igenite cheering. Razhendi's throat is already so raw from it all that all she can manage is vigorous clapping that will, no doubt, leave her hands just as sore. Nana Tzizi is smugly looking at uncle Safun, a withered hand held out for the marks owed on /that/ bet.

"Greens… can be alright, sometimes." Though the look on F'yr's face is that she agrees with X'hil. Sharding greens. "They're pretty at least." And that's about all she likes about the dragons. She blinks down to the sands after that last green Impressed, tilting her head suddenly at S'gam's reaction. Did she catch that shouting? Perhaps. "I think Sig's /sister/ Impressed!" she calls back to the other two, though she sounds uncertain about it. "He never told me he had family standing." Either way, he was cheering, she knew no one else on the sands, so she whoops loudly, pumps her fist, and shouts off 'Congratulations!' for them down there.

From the Sands, As there is a lull in the activity, Jammar relaxes slightly, rolling his shoulders and swinging his arms about. "Well, mother, four more changes for you, eh? I'm just getting started, I'll let you know. One way or the other."

From the Sands, A large cracking sound echoes around the cavern. It takes a few moments to realize that it came from the Party Foul Egg. A giant crack now splits the egg, a tiny muzzle prodding at it occasionally though the egg remains still.

From the Sands, S'gam's smile is bright as a flame, eyes flying over towards Enka. Further celebratory dance maneuvers are in order before a well-placed 'I will sit on you' threat from Ittisieth introduces some modicum of sanity. He, too, slides down from the bronze's shoulder, accepting that pat and returning the joy with a quick one-armed hug. "Ain't it great? Means she can stay in the weyr here, least for a little while! And maybe she'll be a little less practical with that kinda green to care for." His eyes dance even as he takes his arms back, folding them over his chest in a powerfully proud stance. Bring on whatever else the clutch had to offer. He could take it now! Even the impression of that brown, which would surely make F'yr happy. Huh. He supposed she was here, and with a squint, smug brown eyes set to searching, ineffective though it may be.

From the Sands, Lairnan almost … almost reaches up to push Serinan forward, but he restrains himself at the last minute, choosing instead to clap in good-natured cheer at the Impression of the bronze. "Four left," comes his voice, rather strained, as he shifts back and forth, trying to find a comfortable place to stand without getting sand in his sandals. "You feelin' good about your chances, Serinan?" There's a sound from the other candidate, although hard to tell what it is.

From the Sands, Akhmida plucks at her robe, owlishly looking at the eggs and whatever all else is left. Hriyun seems reluctant to move much, as if his feet might well just run off with him if he wasn't careful. Not quite as entertaining to watch as the others with them were, really. Downright boring, these two.

From the Sands, Innocently Smiling Egg will have more than its two front teeth to worry about in just a moment. It's still for a heartbeat, then two, before abruptly toppling forward and shattering into a heap of shells and egg goo. Only a portion of the shell remains intact — this shell-piece rests directly on the head of the resulting mottled green, who immediately crouches, as if attempting to stay out of sight.

Knowing Is Half The Battle Green Hatchling
Simultaneously large and compact, this stockily-built green carries herself with a no-nonsense air that's made manifest on her hide. A tactical mottling of matte khaki, olive, forest green, and sage coats every inch of her, from slightly blunted muzzle to tailtips — the mottling itself is seemingly without rhyme or reason, but when viewed from afar, it would be easy to imagine just how easily she could blend in with any bit of foliage. Her neckridges are slicked back and sleek, her body naturally designed with a slightly lower build than others, all of it with that selfsame sense of purpose. Her steel-hued claws are sharp and curved, weapons to be employed only when necessary … but without hesitation. Only her wings are spared from mottling, if only just barely — those sails are a plain forest green with a twist, with just a bit of patterning in a lighter hue to it to set any light shining through to produce a dappled effect, not unlike light through trees.

From the Sands, Merry Insanity Egg gives a little bit of twitching, a little bit of life seen, and then holds still. Perhaps it was all an illusion as it does not move for a very long time, yet when it does it is with such vigor, rocking and rolling onto its side, that no one could mistake it this time.

From the Sands, Enka's beaming smile is certainly a match for the bronzerider's, as she scoots a little closer to Miraneith once more, but doesn't use the gold as a viewing platform to observe the hatchlings and the remaining eggs. And then she's back at S'gam's side, grinning up at him. "It's wonderful," she comments, drolly. "Y'know, havin' family around, though it were an awful shame none of me brothers got Searched." There's always next time though. "And her gettin' to stay on. Two riders in your family now." That's quite a track record so far.

From the Sands, With a resounding CRACK that echos through the air around it, the festive egg is suddenly rent asunder, paradise shattered as large spiderweb cracks begin running up and down the length of the Holiday in Paradise Egg, and a piece of skin-toned shell pops right off, leaving a narrowed, grumpy looking eye in it's place — glaring out.

From the Sands, Pallifa watches the green as she crouches near the shards of her egg and shakes her head slightly, "She'll have to make her way eventually into the world…" Jammar glances his mother's way and nods once in agreement before looking at the green again. "Yeah, there's still enough of us left for her to find someone," he agrees.

From the Sands, Sneakily does Knowing Is Half The Battle Green Hatchling make her way around the sands. The shell-helm remains firmly stuck in place, shielding her from view — or so she thinks — but also serving to block her vision as well. After a long moment of meandering and a near collision with a wall, she reaches up to scrabble at the offending bit of shell and lift her head to get a better look at those badly camouflaged figures. Really? She has to pick from /them/? She cants a look back to her dam rather dubiously. Can she get some /new/ orders, please?

From the Sands, At last, the hatchling within finds purchase on the edges of the crack, forcing it apart and shattering the egg into a bazillion tiny pieces as it's great occupant emerges in all its resplendent glory.

Gotta Catch 'Em All Blue Hatchling
Flat matte blue coats this scrawny blue's hide along his middle, down his forelegs, and up his neck. Just a single, un-varying shade of bright, clear blue. A paler blue begins where the bright blue ends and trails down his rear legs and his tail. This pale blue is as flat and boring as the brighter shade, sectioned only by a few thin lines of near-black trailing from his waist down to his rear ankles. A thin line of clear yellow spans his waist, bisecting him perfectly. His rear paws are nearly white with thin black lines making regular patterns. His forepaws are an odd, dark green-yellow with a thin strip of lighter green around both wrists. His forehead is the oddest place, however. A white diamond is centered perfectly on it, a bright green stylized C or something similar with a flat bottom and triangular look centered in the white diamond.

From the Sands, Hriyun watches the green for a little while before his attention strays to whatever's left. Uncomfortable is a serious understatement, even if things have been moving at a rather steady clip. Too hot, too much chaos. "You'll get back to your archery soon," Akhmida attempts to reassure with a thin, tired smile.

From the Sands, Miraneith gives a warbling grunting sound in the direction of her green daughter, the gold sticking her short neck downwards and whuffling at the sand. The meaning is clear, a pointed glance in the direction of the white-robed candidates. Choose one, the gold's gesture seems to say, the dragon suddenly lifting her head away. Out of sight, out of mind, it seems. The young green's going to have to make her own choice.

From the Sands, Jammar blinks at the blue, looks at the green, black to the blue, then just looks at the green. Maybe if he doesn't acknowledge him, the strangely coloured hatchling won't come his way?

From the Sands, Torannic chuckles in amusement at the green. "Hey, girl, come and trust someone." Then his attention is drawn toward the blue. "Another good looking one. You folks were right, these are all unusually beautiful hatchlings, even if a bit unusual. Especially being unusual." He looks at the parents, giving them a quizzical sort of look.

From the Sands, There's a grunt and a flick of her tail in lieu of a salute to Miraneith. Displeased, yes, but … she'll make the best of these would-be-recruits as her superior insists. Knowing Is Half The Battle Green Hatchling stalks her way along the line, her pace set at a relentless march that doubles back once she hits a patch of girls. Back it up, back it up! What's that? She cranes her head up to peer at one of the heavier girls, leaning in close as if to say: You. Yes, you. You need some work … but you'll do. Akhmida blinks slowly at the green's closeness, a blurted, "Yes. Yes, um. Ladjeyth. But you still need to eat something, or you'll just be all skin and bones!"

From the Sands, Holiday in Paradise Egg won't stay together much longer, a new series of volcanic tremors shudder through the shell, the spiderweb cracks growing and growing, flakes of shell falling free, as bit by bit, the hatchling within works its way free. There's a sudden split in the shell, a head pushing through, and then with a shrug of massive shoulders, out stamps a grumpy looking hatching. Or well, not quite stamps — more like flops. But he's on his feet not long after, making muttering sounds as he stalks forward towards the white-robed Candidates.

Feeling A Bit Under the Weather Blue Hatchling
With his sire's lean and lengthy frame mated to the pudgy gawkiness of his dam such a combination has created a truly unique beast indeed. A short blunt muzzle, upturned just so, and crowned with thicker than normal eyeridges accompanied by a permanent sneer of upper lip have gifted this dragon with an eternal scowl. Long in limb, he seems to have inherited the too-short neck of his dam, that sits balanced upon a compact cobby body gifted with a prizefighter's chest and meaty haunches. His tail is long, whip-cord like, but perhaps that is the only lengthy part of him besides long well formed legs. Large for a blue, indeed a giant amongst his color, he's massive in form, stout and strong, but perhaps lacking in weight, although he's certainly muscular and stoutly built. Storm-blue; the tint of sky as the clouds begin to gather stains his hide — highlights and shadows giving hint to a seemingly furry appearance from blunt little muzzle, past small rounded headknobs and all over the rest of his blocky frame. His wings, billowing formations of cumulus streaked over wide wingsails, are colored a darker grayish-blue — a perpetual little raincloud of gloom that seems to hover over him when held aloft.

From the Sands, "I bet they will next time. Dragons know better'n we do - this just wouldn't've been their time," S'gam says with a firm nod, leaning one shoulder against Ittisieth's foreleg casually. "Yeah, two riders claimed by Ista, too. Mum won't know what to make of it. I bet she's around here somewhere, sneaky woman. It musta been short notice and all, but seriously, no one dropped a note." Not that he's miffed, but he was just realizing how surprising the whole ordeal was. "But ah well." Amused eyes watch the interaction between Miraneith and one of the green hatchlings, a slow grin spreading. "Shards, it's gonna be great growing up with these kids. I'm going to feel really old-" a pointed look towards the junior's stomach "-what with all that'll be going on these next few years, but it'll be worth it." Think positive!, he convinces himself, aiming the same feelings out towards the remaining candidates. It wasn't over yet!

From the Sands, Merry Insanity Egg's manic dance has not let up at all, surprising that there had not been any cracks formed at all. It nearly hops in the hole it had made, pushing sand out of the way and finally rolling out on an impact course for another egg! It stops short, dropping into another wallow, the action forcing it to suddenly stop. And then with a mighty CRACK the egg starts splitting right down the center.

From the Sands, Gotta Catch 'Em All Blue Hatchling stumbles slightly, then turns towards the gathered candidates. Who will be his starter? Which one? He looks more closely at a few, then goes back to surveying the group as a whole, more like options for dinner than candidates for impression.

From the Sands, Pallifa shakes her head slightly at the latest blue. "Only one brown… You don't often see that," she murmurs, mostly to herself. There's a grin that flickers over her face as she notes that not only has Jammar begun to rock with the heat of the Sands, but that her boy has taken up his mother foreward and back motion instead of the usual 'jig'.

From the Sands, Hriyun's left all alone, his hands knitting in his robe and pulling a bit. More fidgeting ensues, though he's long past the point of holding his breath about the proceedings. The other candidates are now being watched as much as the other denizens on the sands, with his mouth distorting a little bit with thought.

From the Sands, It's hard to miss the pointed look in the direction of her mid-section, and Enka can't help but bring her hand in that direction, her smile somewhat sheepishly watery. "Shards, just thinkin' that by the time Mir's likely to fly again," the goldrider comments rather dryly then, "these lot'll be all grown up, and there'll be an awful lot of changes." Like namely offspring. She nods then. "Oh yeah, maybe next time, although knowin' one of them, he wants to be Pern's greatest Harper Master, doubt he'd stand even if they asked him to." she grins. "Your ma'll be awful proud, havin' two with dragons in the family." She glancing towards the remaining candidates, watching the green choose. "Seems like that batch from Igen's gettin' picked an awful lot."

From the Sands, Stomping grumpily away from the remains of his egg, the Feeling A Bit Under the Weather Blue Hatchling casts a scowling visage towards the white-robed Candidates. There's a long suffering sigh that wracks that cobby little body, a shudder through his very frame as he sends a growling query in the direction of his parents. Why does /he/ have to do all the work of choosing?

From the Sands, Lairnan's eyes seem to light up, the appearance of two blues — one looking sullen and grouchy, and the other an odd mish-mash of colors, but still pretty despite this — cheering the young man up considerably. "C'mon," this time, he latches a hand on Serinan's arm. "You'd better get into a better spot, or you'll miss 'em." He points at the blues with his free hand. "Last chance." And with only one egg left, it's a last opportunity indeed.

From the Sands, The hatchling inside Merry Insanity Egg refuses to be kept locked away! The canyon right down the center of the egg is not revealing, but it continues to grow, pushed from the inside. The whole egg pulses, pushing outwards, relaxing, outwards, relaxing, until its occupant grows weary. Again it falls quiet, gathering up its strength or considering a new direction to go. The time wears on for a little while until finally, the whole egg gives a great shudder and explodes outwards, the two pieces flying away as the obese hatchling flops ungracefully in a tired heap.

Chubby Chatterbox Brown Hatchling
Round is the proper word to describe this beast called a dragon, barrel body so large that his legs are generally hidden underneath, almost nonexistent. Floppy belly, short stubby rudder-like tail, and stocky legs, seen only when they manifest under his body during the rare times this roly-poly brown decides to move. A uniform chocolate, smooth and rich, melts down from a blunt flattened muzzle to the very tip of his forked tail. Curved jolly belly is outlined by lighter mocha, highlighting his paunchiness and echoed again on his wide overly large headknobs and each of his feet. Each wingspar is drenched in dark bitter coffee, standing out against the lighter sails dwarfed by his body, accentuating his rotund size. Large expressive whirling eyes dominate his wide face, distracting from the upwards friendly curl of his dropped-maw, nearly always open to the world as if ready at any moment to make noise or chatter away, mental voice or not.

From the Sands, Suddenly, Gotta Catch 'Em All Blue Hatchling gives a loud creel and moves down the line to the sullen outcast standing separate from the others. Placing one paw on the boy's foot like a trophy won, he bugles his success. Now they'll find everything together. Serinan hadn't really been paying attention. The ritual of impression seemed unnecessarily complicated and he'd rather be back at his computer in the barracks. So the blue touching his foot catches him completely by surprise. First he yelps, trying to leap away instinctively, then he nods, relaxing into his new lot in life, "Yes, Ashath, I'll be your R'nan. Let's get you some food."

From the Sands, Jammar grins as one of the blues Impresses at nearly the same moment as his mother lets out a soft laugh. "There, at least two browns is a proper mix, I'd say," Pallifa offers, glancing towards the downcast blue before looking towards the chocolate brown.

From the Sands, Work, work, work, that's all it is, stomping and carrying on across these dark sands. All he wants is /foooood/. There's another grumpy sort of growl, the little blue looking adorably whimsical and cute despite his sullen demeanor. But there! He's found something. Or someone. Lurching forwards, the Feeling A Bit Under the Weather Blue Hatchling is met halfway by a tall Candidate with unkempt dark hair and shoves his short muzzle towards the young man with a clear growl that's a demand for food. Lairnan wavers a second, hands starting to creep upwards towards his hair again, fingers twitching. He's glancing away suddenly, brown eyes roving around the sands for a moment, but never quite latching onto anything, but then a second growl and a nudge draws him back to the blue, and he's reaching forward to caress thick eyeridges. "Yes, Inizituth. You don't have to do all the work of eating. I'll feed you." L'nan declares, his choice firmly made, and he moves then, seeking to lead his new lifemate off the sands.

From the Sands, Trannic nods to Jammar. "Yeah, there had to be at least one more brown in this batch. Anyway, who's gonna get this last of them?"

From the Sands, Hriyun shifts his weight, his eyes falling on the brown at long last. With the others Impressed, the rather rotund fellow is the only thing left for him to watch. He continues his restless fidgeting, his natural calmness having long since been burned away by the heat of the sands.

From the Sands, There is no movement at all from Chubby Chatterbox Brown Hatchlings. Is he playing dead or actually— No wait, there's a wiggle. The brown slowly, carefully, places his feet under himself and slowly pushes up off the hot sands. It's surprising that his short legs can even manage his bulk and yet not only do they hold him up, but they start moving him off towards the white-robed figures with an awkward wobbly gait, gaining momentum as he gets used to carrying his weight around.

From the Sands, Enka hands are a flurry of glee, the young woman's applause for the two blues and their choices, although she twists her lips into something of a wry smile. "Shards, that one guy," she nods at R'nan as he moves of the sands. "He got a dragon. Huh, didn't think he would given how he was so uptight about people touchin' hands and kissin' in the living caverns." she snickers, noting the grumpy-looking blue found a partner. "Oooh!" she cheers, glancing briefly at S'gam. "It's that guy, the one who made the sweetrolls. Lairnan. Err, guess he's L'nan now, maybe." she grins. "I'll have to ask him what the recipe is, because they was /good/."

From the Sands, Pallifa watched the sullen blue find his match and nods to herself, looking to the brown. Either this one is her match, or she's going to be able to find another occupation in the Lower Caverns which will allow her to keep an eye on Jammar. For his part, the lad has stopped his rocking, his gaze on the shattered shells for a breath before he settles on watching the brown make his progress towards the remaining Candidates.

From the Sands, Chubby Chatterbox Brown Hatchling wobblewalks his way down, pausing only when he realizes that the candidates were few… and standing further apart from each other from the gaps made after those Impressed walked off. He hovers uncertainly there for a moment, feet disappearing as he lowers his bulk down to the sands, a low rumbling coming out from him. And the rumbling does not stop, as if echoing the fact that his stomach was empty and hungry. His head lazily moves, big eyes staring directly ahead until they lock on a target. Onwards! Amazingly the brown can /move/ when he's made up his mind, bellyflopping in front of Hriyun. The brown's alone, he's alone. They're perfect, right?

From the Sands, S'gam looks a little worried around the edges about all of those changes, but there's also resolve in his deep-seated confidence stance. "It'll be a good time, then, this next little while. We're going to have ourselves a lot of insanity to deal with, though." He eyes that watery smile and matches it with one that is wide and, hopefully, comforting. "Ah well, least maybe one of the others will be willing?" He realizes he knows very little about her family, and resolves to ask at a more convenient time. "She will be, though, yes. She's good people, my mum." As for the group from Igen? He shrugs, knowing well enough that when it came to dragons and Impression, fatalism took hold. Three, two, one… and then, at long last, even the tubby brown impressed. "Yeah, I recognize 'em. Suppose we'll get to know 'em even better now, so you'll have ages to ask him 'bout it. For now… for now, a job well done." His hands press against Ittisieth before he offers Enka a hug and Miranieth an incandescent smile.

From the Sands, Hriyun is plenty prepared to take a step back when that handsome brown lump of a dragon totters his way towards him. Eyes widen and Hriyun, now H'un, can only just barely manage to murmur in a voice that's little more than a whisper, "It's there. Meat. I'll feed you, Nykamath. Always." And then he's silent again, foggy-eyed while the brown continues prattling onward in a mental sense, a small smile emerging at the corners of his mouth.

From the Sands, Jammar glances towards his mother, the usual grin slipping from his face for a moment as he realises the brown's Impressed. "Are you okay?" he asks. The woman nods and visibly relaxes, "I'm fine, though I suppose I'm still the one who has to keep an eye on you." "Oh, come one! I'm twelves Turns old!" "That's was my point."

From the Sands, Torannic nods, and sighs in disappointment. "That's the lot of them, it looks like. There'll be other times. I hope." He turns to exit the sands. "Congratulations, all," he adds sincerely as he makes his way out.

From the Sands, And that's it, the end. Only egg shards, and the few remaining candidates are left on the sands. Enka's gaze remains on them for a moment, particularly that mother and son pair before she's glancing over at S'gam with a slight nod. "Well, she comments, "I've got a feelin' that I'd be better off not havin' to worry about a clutch in addition to well…" again, she's moving her hand into the direction of her tummy, managing a chuckle. "Maybe the middle kid," she remarks, "Jayas. He'd probably be interested, and then Da could feel awful glad 'bout havin' two riders in the family too." there's a brief shrug, Enka glancing at the empty sands as Miraneith moves forward to wuffle at Ittsieth with a proud sniff and a gentle croon. And then, her work is done, the gold headed for the entrance to the Hatching Grounds post-haste. "It was a grand clutch," Enka remarks, smiling at S'gam. "Y'ougtta be right proud." Faranth knows, the young woman is. She's quick to return the hug, and then moves away. "I'm goin' to go talk to the candidates, and the new weyrlings." Stepping off the platform, Enka heads for the candidates who are left, offering her condolences, and reassurances that they can remain until the next clutch if they so choose, and then she too is moving off the sands, headed down that tunnel towards the weyrling barracks.

After all the hatchlings have found their partners, Fy gives up on trying to get the attention of the bronzerider and turns to the gardner instead. "Gonna see if I can catch Sig on the way out to congratulate him. I'll catch you in the feast for some snacks?" And by snacks she means sweets, of course. Straight for the bubblies or cake. The brownrider looks off towards the paired weyrlings with a distant smile before heading off with the crowd down from the galleries.

From the Sands, S'gam takes his time to regard the remaining candidates as well, eyes soft around the edges with sympathy, but Ittisieth's overwhelming calm kept him where he was. "Yeah, shards. This was stressful enough with just Mir and Itti having babies," he comments wryly, almost cringing at the thought. How inconvenient… "There you go, that sounds like a plan. Just make sure he's out there ready to hop on the next Searchdragon to go past," he kids with a wink, watching the coppered bronze shift his eyes around, relent, and touch her nose with his once, quickly. Then he's up and moving too, blazing a trail out of the Grounds. His job here was done - time for bigger and better things! Roll 'em out, rawhiiiide! (Though I assure you that last bit was S'gam's narration, /not/ Ittisieth's.) "I'm so proud that if I were any more so, my head'd swell to be bigger than Sie's. They done good, our dragons. You do that - I'll head to the Sable Sands and get ready to receive them 'n' their families. See you then, maybe." With a wave, he moves off in his own direction, giving pats on the shoulders to each candidate he passes. Then, he's off at a lope, apparently intent on catching his family, those of the other candidates', or both.

X'hil is a liiittle distracted, still /eyeing/ the sands long after the last hatchling has left, eye still faintly twitching. The twins are tugging on his sleeves now, trying to get him to get up, so they can visit the barracks. Weyrleader's privilege and all. X'hil frowns a little, and tilts his head at Cenlia. "Er. You, er, will you be okay? I… ought to go. The kids want to see Iz— Selda." And it's probably yet to sink in that he'll be on full time parent duty for almost another two turns now. Ah, weyrlinghood. The twins care not for that, however, tugging on his arms. "Come on da, come ooon!" they're coaxing, in near unison.

And a delighted Razhendi is all laughter and tears when it's done, swiping at her face with gently quaking hands. "All of them, yeah-yeah? They all- /jays/." Nana Tzizi is a smug old git when she finally gets up, the rest of the clan doing likewise amidst their own laughter, tears, and general excitement. In due time, the gaggle of them make their way outside, intent on getting things set up for the evening's festivities. A firewalk is in their very, very near future.

There's a, "Yeah, will be fine," at X'hil, Cen already getting up to hobble away, waving X'hil off as she gets going, muttering about needing to find some booze. She snickersat the kids before making her way out of the galleries, probably off to raid a stash somewhere.

X'hil looks a little dubious, but gives a slow nod to Cenlia. "I'll, uh, I'm takin' tomorrow off." he decides. The more casual speech, dropping the g, is more because of tiredness than anything, he's still perfectly sober. "I could come find you, or something." he suggests, frowning slightly. "Picnic. Or… something." Sitting on the ground probably wouldn't really work. There are picnic tables somewhere, right? Have to be! "…and booze." he adds, before allowing the kids to drag him off to the barracks. Whee, fun.

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