High Reaches' 17th PC Clutching

Chey's gold Mynwiyath x T'ii's bronze Bandeleth
February 25th 2008
Logged by ?

First part of log is missing.


Rynael comes up the stairs.

From the sands, Mynwiyath is crouching on the sands, a healthy distance away from Griellitath and her clutch. Right now, four eggs lay on the sands, in a little hollow the queen dragon has dug for them. Chey stands by the massive gold muzzle, hands pressed against the hide for comfort as Mynwiyath lets another egg go. The gold dragon thrums deep in her throat, in a little farewell to the unhatched baby, moving on to another stage of its life.

Shaun The Sheep Egg
A picture in contrasts, this almost fuzzy-looking egg is a lovely, rich, creamy white for the most part. It's rather elongated and skinny in shape, almost like a round-ended cylinder instead of a traditional egg shape. At one end, there is an oval-shaped patch of black, which is decorated in turn with two squished-together circles of white: each, in turn, marked with a single dot of black. Tucked up under what could perhaps be called the bottom of the egg, if it were laying on its side, are four further splodges of black, each one a slender cylinder with a round, cloven circle at the end almost like legs.

From the sands, Mynwiyath circles around to scrape sand in over the growing mound of eggs, lightly: she leaves Chey standing behind to scrape sweat-glued hair away from her forehead. The rider watches with obvious amusement as Mynwiyath uses her forelegs and snout to move the sand into a mound: just /so/ for the sleepy babies.

Krummolt comes up the stairs.
Krummolt climbs up into the galleries, taking a moment to look around the seats suspiciously. Nothing he sees, however, appears to put him off of striding down to flop on one of the benches, stretching his legs out casually.

Decadre comes up the stairs.

Krummolt climbs up into the galleries, taking a moment to look around the seats suspiciously. Nothing he sees, however, appears to put him off of striding down to flop on one of the benches, stretching his legs out casually, evidently settling in for a long haul.

From the sands, Mynwiyath lets out a long, low croon over her pile of five eggs, taking a moment to, apparently, catch her breath before laying another. She scoops some sand shallowly aside with one foreleg, then dips her snout to shape it just right.

From the sands, Mynwiyath hunkers low to the sands again, scrabbling with her rear legs in the carefully crafted hole she has dug. This has the effect of simultaneously loosening the sands and ruining all that painstaking effort. Ah, well. She stills after a moment, then lifts her left leg, rasking it through the sands one, twice, three times. Her hindquarters wriggle, serpentine, and then…. plup. Egg six.

The Three-Year-Old Grilled Cheese Sandwich Egg
Soft, marbled green traipses and encrusts the withered-like white of the top half - and bottom half - of a circular, hardening egg, the color appearing fuzzy, although not so, against the lighter shade around it. The green, which mops and plops in splotches and blotches all over the lopsided egg, even dares to attack the most interesting visual aspect of this egg's coloring; a pale, but delicate orange (Kraft flavored, to be sure) encircles the midsection of the egg, but not very symmetrically so, as it oozes and folds over the tawny brown strips that encircle and encase this part. Certainly not the most appealing egg, but interesting none-the-less, this egg's features do no swirling or dazzling to the spectator: it has this color, that color, and another color, and as plainly and as solidly so as a child's painting.

Decadre walks in with a spring in his step and a grin on his face. He'd heard about the clutching, mostly thorough the grape vine. He spotted Krummolt and made for the older guard, hoping to grab a nearby seat. He paused periodically to watch new arrivals to the sands…

Krummolt is beginning to look bored, watching the miracle of Mynwiyath scrabbling in the sands, but he sits up to watch with some more interest as she actually produces another egg. He glances around at Decadre as the younger guardsman comes by and lifts his chin to acknowledge the man. "Hey. I count six so far. I got a half mark on Chey's dragon doubling Frusha's output." He pauses for a moment, brooding. "That might've been a bigger bet than I shoulda made, looking back."

Decadre chuckles, "Looks like she's at least going to top the total." Decadre points out. "Maybe you'll split the difference?" He suggests though he's got no money on anything and isn't sure if it actually works that way.

"Nah, if she don't make twenty-two, I'm out my half mark," Krummolt replies, waving his hand to dismiss the money he considers poorly wagered. He looks fairly unconcerned, however. "So long as she breaks twelve, I'll be feeling smug anyway. Gotta root for the guard-dragon, eh?" Of course, Chey is no longer a guard, but she clearly still fits the category in Krummolt's mind.

From the sands, A soft rumble groans from deep within Griellitath's throat as she wraps herself viciously around some of her eggs, her eyes deeply set on the other queen as she does her laying. The gold would be doing her pacing to show the *exact* boundary where her eggs cannot cross, but.. she's still weak after laying, and instead is content to lounge in the hot sands, eyeing her competitor with swirling, inspectful eye.

Decadre nods and grins broadly. "Indeed. I'm thinking it won't be too hard for her to hit twelve or more…" He has complete confidence in the reachian dragon. She had the good sense to pick a guard anyway, didn't she?

From the sands, Mynwiyath is so far lagging behind Griellitath's eleven, but she shows no signs of being done. She lets out a low, almost melodic croon, like a lullaby, as she turns her head to nudge this latest egg. Delicate, loving, she shifts it microscopically closer to its brothers and sisters, then scrapes some sand to cradle it more closely.

Krummolt lets out a brief chuckle as he watches Mynwiyath fussing over her eggs and Griellitath hovering possessively over her small clutch. The guardsman seems to take unreasonable glee in noting, "Well, eleven eggs is a pretty small clutch. Twenty-two might be a bit much to hope for, but I wish I'd bet on Frusha's not making a dozen; bet I coulda got good odds on that."

From the sands, Again, Mynwiyath circles around her small clutch, scrabbling in the hot loose sand. Her neck cranes up to look at the sky, and she rumbles low in her chest.

Nulerak comes up the stairs.

Decadre nods thoughtfully. "But still even if she only does lay twelve eggs, twenty three is a good selection, Especially…" He shakes his head. They were supposed to be going into an interval, but who knew what the dragons would do? He certainly couldn't claim he would! "Thirty three would be better though."

From the sands, Mynwiyath then bellows, a loud, long sound that doesn't actually literally shake the Weyr. It just kind of sounds like it should. She whips her head around to glare at Griellitath, then hunkers low over the sands. Her foot brushes through the sands: rake rake rake. She shuffles a few steps sideways, and another egg drops into the loose sand.

I Only Wore These Dresses Once, Why Do I Have SO MANY! Egg
Shell takes on the coloring of shine in the prominent spotlight of this egg - an egg which takes the stage without fear in it's daring hues that give the impression and expression of the texture of finery only a Lady Holder would wear. Many a dress would kill for just one of the silken, flashy hues this egg endows, but this sphere was so bold to take on not one or two, but three ravishing designs. The top begins in a ribbonous spiral about the egg with a deep, dark navy, flattered with deep inset black shapes that slowly form into the next shade. 'Only black' would be a misunderstanding, for while dark, it is not plain. The dark blue morphs into black that contains numerous upon numerous life-like sparkles, that go from intense to non existent as the next spiraled color enters the scene. From here to the bottom, crimson so shiny it could blind the eyes off the Sands entraps the egg. Now… If only this egg had somewhere to go!

Krummolt starts a little at Mynwiyath's bellow and focuses her attention in on the dragon again more closely. "Ah, looks like another," he says sagely to Decadre. In case it weren't totally evident. "We've only got the two queens now; really gotta make 'em both count when hatching time goes around." He pauses, then admits, "Though I suppose it ain't really like either of 'em has a choice in how many eggs they pop."

Nulerak slips into the galleries from the outside, bundled up in protective layers of clothing and looking just a tad bit chilled. Once having found warmth, the lad makes a beeline towards the benches, plopping his behind down somewhere near Decadre and Krummolt. Mynwiyath's bellow scares the living daylights out of him, though - fingers suddenly clench around his jacket (which he was in the process of taking off) and his face whitens just a tad. "She okay?" Once said, he merely settles down to listen to the conversation - apparently also forgetting that Krummolt once threatened to beat him up.

Krummolt looks back around at Nulerak, lifting one eyebrow for a minute. The effect of his dark eyebrows with his head shaven above them is quite pronounced, and might be a little ridiculous if Krummolt's ugliness were tempered with any less nastiness. At the moment, however, his nastiness is only directed as far as amusement at Nulerak's expense. "Just layin'," he assures the youth. "Though I expect it's not all fun and games for her. Like a good case of constipation I'd imagine."

Nulerak tilts his head as though he needs to really peer better back at Krummolt. For now, the clenching of his fingers about his jacket has eased and the color has returned to his face, so things are definately all better now. He'll just watch that eyebrow - wait… Nulerak refocuses on Krummolt's eyes, even as the (mean) guard is giving his assurances. "Oh. How long does -that- take? And how many does Mynwiyath have, now? More than the other's eleven?" The 'other' can only really mean the fat dragon of Frusha's. At the constipation remark, a crease appears on Nulerak's nose as he wrinkles it. "Can't say I'd want to be in her shoes, if that's the case."

"Well, I can't say's I've ever actually asked," Krummolt admits on the subject of the difficulty of egg laying. "I think it's gonna take all day, pretty much. Right now, Min's at eight, I think, but I'm pretty sure she's not done." He looks down at the sand again and appears to brood for a minute. "I shoulda just called eighteen. Twenty-two's still a reach, even big as Mynwiyath is."

Nulerak turns his head to look down at the sands, first at Mynwiyath then towards - the other one. After that regard is finished, it's on to the eggs. "All day? Shards, I wouldn't want to be stuck down there for that long. It's hot just up here." A finger is tugged at the collar of his shirt for emphasis, coupled with a disgusted look. "You bet on twenty-two?"

From the sands, Mynwiyath carefully noses this latest egg over, rolling it towards the group. She sends another look over at Griellitath - counting? - and then shifts the sands again. The eggs rock closer together as she shifts their support, bundling them into an easily defensible unit. She does not trust that other gold.

Krummolt gestures down at the sands. "Shells, once she's laid 'em, she's gotta /stay/ down there," the guardsman points out. Particularly if she distrusts Griellitath. "Yeah, I did. I wanted to see her double eleven." His motives for this hope might be easily guessed, though he does not spell them out. However, he does emphasize the more obvious ones by noting, "I'll be pretty happy long as she hits twelve, though."

From the sands, Probably a good thing, too; Griellitath is eyeing Mynwiyath's clutch-in-progress with such malice that that it almost looks as if she could leap up and squish a few of those precious eggs at any second - but, Griel has her fat weight against her, her bright hues, and the fact that she won't leave her eggs until not a living thing breathes within dragonlength's of her pile. They may be small, and not-that-numerous, but they're /hers/.

"I kind of feel bad for Mynwiyath with Griellitath down there, too," Nulerak remarks, just as the heated looks fly between the two golds over the eggs. They are eyed for a second before Nul tilts his head and quips, "I say that she lays nineteen. Just a random guess." And if Krummolt's not going to spell out his hopes, it's up to Nulerak to say something akin to them right out loud. "Well, I say that she'll lay nineteen. Or twenty. Definately more than Griellitath's eleven, because she's already almost there. Frusha will be mad, won't she?" Right?

From the sands, Mynwiyath is totally faster than Griellitath. If it came to a fight, she'd totally win, except that Griellitath probably fights dirty. For the moment, however, Mynwiyath is focusing on her own travails. Eight eggs on the sands. How many still to go? She digs. She burrows. She…. waits.

Krummolt gives a snort. Well, if Nulerak's going to make it that explicit, Krummolt really doesn't have the self-control not to agree. "Probably. I figure she'll either ignore it or make a big deal about congratulating Chey while she sits there seething." He pauses for a minute, then notes, "Might even be worth it to keep sitting here to watch 'em talking for the first time after. Though we probably couldn't really hear them." This, he abruptly reflects, is probably good since he hasn't been troubling to keep his voice all that low. He gives the sands a quick, furtive glance; no one apparently bearing down on him with trouble. Good.

From the sands, Frusha moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.
From the sands, Bandeleth moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

From the sands, Chey moves closer to Mynwiyath again now, placing her hands against the warm hide. "You're doing so well, beautiful," she murmurs. "So well. Eight of them already, and they're so beautiful." She presses her cheek against the rough gold skin, briefly at rest.

From the sands, T'ii slides from Bandeleth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

From the sands, "Slow layer, isn't she, Chey?" The voice slithers from just off the Sands, before the fat, squat body and face appear close enough to be recognizable.. Her arms are crossed, and her eyes glance over Mynwiyath with deep, deep dislike. Griel rumbles something from her side of the Sands, but just continues to lay her head in the sands. "Well, at /least/ they're fair sized. Except that one," she says, pointing to the Bunny Poo-fection egg. "That's tiny.. And.. /revolting/ in appearance. I suppose that's what's the be expected from a younger queen."

Nulerak flicks his gaze over to Krummolt once he hears the snort, edges of his lips edging upwards until he's -almost- smiling. Almost. "I suppose I'll have to find out how that goes, since I'm not up here all that often. I would like to see it instead, either." Even if just being in the same room as Frusha is enough to give anyone a heart attack. Settling further still on his portion of the bench, Nulerak places his hands upon his knees, canting his head and regarding the scene on the sands. "Well, maybe they'll start yelling. Or something." While Krummolt checks around, Nulerak is merely lost in just watching with no obvious concerns for anyone who might do any bearing down. Then, there's Frusha. Brows are arched and teeth immediately latch onto his lower lips before, "Guess we get to see what'll happen now."

From the sands, From the other side, salvation appears - or at least distraction. As Frusha slithers onto the sands, T'ii appears astride Bandeleth, the young bronze's straps gleaming and new. They approach with caution, with respect; the avoid the eggs, and 'deleth gives a low rumble of greeting to both queens before positioning himself nearer to Mynwiyath. The Weyrleader climbs down from his lifemate's neck, and strides toward Chey and Frusha. "One of Ista's golds only laid four, her first clutch," he says, then surveys the sands: already, Myn has produced that and more.

From the sands, Chey turns in some shock as Frusha approaches, her eyes wide and her entire body tensing. Mynwiyath lets out a low bugle of warning, then shifts her weight. Clawing at the ground for a moment, she produces another egg, then raises her head to stare at Frusha. Chey whips her head back around to the gold to watch, then back to Frusha, whom she tells, overly strident, "Don't /upset/ her!"

Lost Puzzle Pieces Egg
A thousand colors seem to speckle this egg, a riot of crazy splotches with no rhyme or reason, just texture and hue. Here, this patch looks like sky softened by wispy clouds, and there is a similar patch. A murky, rippled blue could be part of a lake, if you turned it: here leaves, there grass, there part of a flower. Over the entire egg, a fine overlay of black lines gives the illusion of cracks: a woven spiderweb that partitions the colors.

"Aw, Faranth's fork," Krummolt mutters to himself and sinks into more of a slouch on his bench. The galleries are not so packed as to offer him as much camouflage as he might like, but it seems as though the Weyrwoman is more focused on events on the sands - and not without considerable justification. "And T'ii, too. My, my. This oughta make for an interesting little party…" His voice is decidedly lower now, so as not to attract attention. "Looks to me like Frusha's going jealous, though. Ooooh…" He involuntarily leans slightly forward as Mynwiyath looks less than happy.

Nulerak looks almost as interested as Krummolt, now placing his elbows upon his knees just so he can prop his chin in his hands. Who needs camouflage? "See, maybe they'll start yelling so we can hear." This is directed in a low voice - much like Krummolt's - and is laced with apparent interest, though his voice isn't low because of potential attention getting, but merely because he doesn't seem to want to put the effort into talking louder. "Frusha always that way? You'd think that sometimes she'd be a happy person, right?" Wishful thinking, perhaps.

From the sands, "Oh." Frusha's face scrunches unpleasantly in annoyance. "/Sorry/. Didn't mean to.. /aggrivate/ her." But with an odd little smirk.. Maybe it /was/. "Only four? An Istan? /Well/. I'll have to say that I'm /glad/ that High Reaches has more fertile golds than /that/. We can't have that sort of rubbish on our Sands.. I'd have to say I'm glad that I'm not /there/." Arrogant sniff. "At least Mynwiyath is doing better.. If.. slow." Just because your gold's a machine-gun layer doesn't make her better, fatty. Cough. "And, /hello/ Weyrleader," she says, seeming a bit pleased to have someone fragile around to lash at.

From the sands, Chey's shoulders are hunched slightly with tension as she stares at Frusha a moment longer, and then she turns away quickly, facing Mynwiyath again. She reaches up, and Mynwiyath obligingly lowers her muzzle to let her rider touch it. Chey murmurs reassurance. "Don't listen to her. Your babies are coming out beautiful. Such a proud momma you're gonna be. Just let it come, love. Let it come." Mynwiyath casts her wings out in a broad flicker of gold, then pulls them back in and rumbles. Already, she is starting to move again, and… yes. Another.

Scrumptious Cocoa Egg
This egg isn't the largest of the bunch - in fact, it's probably one of the smallest - but it does take the cake when it comes to looking delicious. Yes, it's not for eating, but it definately looks like it should be; warm driblets of the softest sienna brown cascade down this eggs side, flecked with a darker, almost burnt, shade in spots closer to the bottom. The same drips continue all the way around the egg, shifting into a darker hue near the bottom, as though the bottom-side might be getting a little too toasty from the heat of the sands. Near the top, there's an odd lighter shade, almost resembling a marshmallow that one would adorn a hot drink with.

Krummolt gives a brief snort and glances up at Nulerak as Chey seems to be more concerned with keeping her dragon on track than handling Frusha. "Ah, some people just have got no idea how to have a good time," he tells the youngster. "And with a woman like her, I think she's happiest when she's got a reason to complain about other people. If you can call it happy."

Nulerak's mouth quickly takes on the shape of an 'o' as Krummolt explains, though the youth is quick enough to snap his jaw shut after the initial expression. "Maybe her parents beat her and -that's- why she acts that way," he muses in a quiet voice, still propping his chin in his hands. "She doesn't notice that people don't like to be around her?"

From the sands, There is deep-rooted pride in the way Bandeleth surveys the eggs - after all, each one of them is a little bit of him, inside. He offers a likewise encouraging rumble-croon at Mynwiyath, subtly inserting himself between her and the other queen. As for his 'rider, T'ii stands his ground beside Chey.

Krummolt looks around a little quizzically at Nulerak. "Getting beaten don't turn people into her," he says with some apparent certainty. Of course, he is rarely less than certain. "I just figure she doesn't care much. And," he notes, "she's got her following." He rubs at his chin for a minute, then slowly starts to push to his feet. "Any case, I best be getting back on duty." And out of Frusha's potential line of sight while he's at it.

Maybe dropped on her head as a child is a better substitute for getting beaten, but Nulerak isn't about to say -that-. "It was worth a guess, anyway," he says with some small degree of amusement, lifting his head and running his hands together. As the guard goes to make his exit, Nulerak stays firmly plopped on his bench, and offers up some sort of salute to the other. "Have a nice rest of your day." What a lame goodbye.

From the sands, Frusha sniffs a bit more from her pert, upturned nose, before batting her eyes and the devil speaks. "/Well/, while you two are doing your best to .. encourage.. her, I'm going to go see to my gold." She pauses to look at them both deeply for a moment, before nodding curtly, and striding to the other side of the Sands to sit petite-like on one of Griel's haunches to watch.

Krummolt flashes a wry smile in Nulerak's direction as he heads for the exit. "You too, kid," he replies. Which is probably at least equally lame. Though all things considered, at least it's not angry. He moves off casually, not too fast, until he's out of the line of sight from the sands, at which point he picks up to a faster stride.
Krummolt goes out.

From the sands, Chey reaches out for T'ii blindly, looking for a hand to squeeze, but only for a moment. It is a thanks, more than a search for support. Support, she has, and her eyes are only for Mynwiyath now, who has settled to a sort of rhythm. Digging and shifting, she moves through the sand, depositing another egg in the same long succession, and then another after.

Mischief Mishap Egg
No matter what angle one happens to take a look at this egg, the fact that it looks… well, broken doesn't change at all. Up one length and down the other are hues of a brown that contrast with the light off-white of the shell, looking as though it's cracked from top to bottom. But it's okay, since there are also little, lighter strips of brown crossing those fissures, as though patching up the egg that is-broken-but-is-not-broken. This egg is of a medium size and leans at a distinct tilt towards the right - maybe that's how it got so bumped up.

Celestial Tranquility Egg
Radiant hues cover this egg from top to bottom, each one melding so seamlessly into the other that it's hard to tell where one might start and the other ends. Cascading swirls of a cerulean blue sweep into a singular mass of a radiant royal blue, pooling before spilling over into a formation looking a bit like the moon, Timor. Flecks of a near-silver adorn the shell, concentrated mostly near the top of the egg and trickling mostly down towards the left side, flowing over something looking like a craggy set of spires. This egg is probably one of the smallest of the group, but the accidental regality of the shell is certainly breathtaking.

Having sat for a few more minutes, Nulerak, too, takes his jacket in hand and moves to leave. He can just hear all the juicy details later.
Nulerak goes out.

Decadre has disconnected.

From the sands, T'ii makes a wherface at Frusha when she isn't looking, but then smiles at Chey, and whispers, "They are going to make such pretty babies, Chey."

From the sands, Chey's expression brightens as she turns to look at T'ii. "I - oh, I know they are," she says, her voice thick with longing. "She's not done yet, either. She doesn't know… how much more, but she knows she's not done. She just needs a break."

From the sands, Just to spite Griellitath, Mynwiyath manages to squeeze out another before going on egg-consolidation patrol.

Pile o'Old Shoes Egg
This ovoid sits, forlorn, forgotten, overlooked. A motley color of mostly brown and black, with the rare, odd splashes of pink, lime-green, and last season's Dorothyesque sequin red- to say the least, it inspires both disgust and compulsion at the mere sight of it. Squiggles of shoelace proportions hie off at odd places, some almost appearing tied, the others in knots. Over all of the jumble, a fine patina of dull grey resides- and is that a dust bunny masquerading as a finial, at the top?

From the sands, Frusha lazily brushes some grains of sand off of her boot-toe as she crawls up a bit higher on Griellitath's haunches, legs crossed, hands on knee, sitting prissy for the camera. What? No camera? Phhbt.

From the sands, T'ii has left and returned; now, as he stands by Chey, he bears drinkable water.

From the sands, Mynwiyath has been resting, but now, at length, she rises up again, and Chey, even as she accepts the water from T'ii, turns to regard her dragon. Mynwiyath's eggs are all clustered together, and now she rakes a shallow ravine alongside it, loosening the sand. With her hind legs, she burrows a little cavern into it, and there, she lays another: a thirteenth.

The R Kelly Egg
Flamboyant among the darkness, this egg makes quite an impression. Darkness does enshroud the majority of this egg, in varying shades of diffenent tones: a white bar runs roughly a third of the egg's length from the top, a vague shadow of different colors falling from that. Shiny brown splashes at the top, giving the egg an odd appearance of being bald. The only other spots on the egg that are distinctive are two spots, uncanny impressions of small eyes caught-in-the-headlights style… and a malicious v-shape of dull silver.

From the sands, With the egg safely out, Mynwiyath lets out a low croon and rolls it with near-infinite care to join its mates. With the tight little egg-bundle so compact, hatching will be deeply complicated. Chey smiles encouraging up at the dragon and asides to T'ii with terribly disrespectful, singsong glee. "Already thirteen, and still laaaaying."

From the sands, Bandeleth rumbles encouragement; he would offer his assistance, but she seems to have things quite under control. "I /knoooooow/," his rider asides back, without looking at Chey - he is watching the eggs, and the gold laying them.

From the sands, Mynwiyath is a slow layer, it cannot be denied. But what she lacks in speed, she makes up for in… intensity. She rumbles reassurance over her ovoid offspring, her voice low and deep and joyful. Chey grins openly up at her. "You are doing /so well/," she praises.

From the sands, "Did you put any bets on how many she'll lay?" T'ii asks his junior weyrwoman - he is R'sli's grandson, after all. At least he's not the one running the books, this time. "I know, man," he says out loud, this time at Bandeleth, "You did good, bro."

From the sands, Chey shakes her head. "It seemed… I dunno. Tempting fate." She lowers her voice still further. "I bet on six for Griellitath, though. That was probably mean." Mynwiyath continues for the moment with housekeeping.

From the sands, T'ii does his best to stifle a hand, shooting a frantic look over to the older queen and her rider. "I actually made marks, on that one. Didn't expect 'em to be so small, though." He frowns, then turns quickly and reassures, "No, they're fine. Probably be plenty of bronzes and browns. It's not you, man, it's her."

From the sands, Chey glances over at Bandeleth, pulling her eyes away from her own dragon for long enough to smile beatifically up at the clutch-sire. Clutch-sires? Clutches-sire. "You two did /really well/," she assure. Mynwiyath croons… and rests.

Rynael comes up the stairs.
Rynael trundles in. Oh glory days! "It's -warm-," her southern accent breathes out with incredulous vibe. "It's act'lly -warm-!" Giddy, geeky little girl dance, right in the middle of the galleries. Let us hope nobody's watching. Shiftyeye.

From the sands, With the eggs arranged again to her liking, Mynwiyath lets out a long, clear bugle, and there is a definite tone of challenge in it. Again, she begins to dig, to shape a nest.

Shazi comes up the stairs.

From the sands, Eleven for Griellitath, thirteen for Mynwiyath. And now, into that new little next, Mynwiyath lowers herself, her left hindleg moving constantly as her body shifts and shimmies, and… another egg emerges.

Light in the Closet Egg
Across the smooth surface of the shell is a jumble of colors. Crimson, ebony, silver, gold, jade, and even azure twist around one side in the vague forms of looks to be clothes and pillows hung and thrown around in disarray. Part of a crimson skirt overlaps the glittering form of a lady's gather dress in jade. Flecks of muddy klah colors go down either side of the shell, giving a distanct outline of the mess within its borders. Yet despite the eye-sore collision of color, a tiny crack of sky blue glowing near the top draws the eye away, with little flakes of white seeming to blow into this jumble from above. Could this be a doorway to a never before seen place?

Shazi gently eases her way into the galleries. "Wooow. I'd heard that Mynwiyath was out-producing Griellitath. Anyone know which are whose?" she asks of no one in particular.

Rynael stops her giddy little dance and peers down at the sands, hearing Shazi. "Well," she drawls, contemplative, her tone very low and to the side to the rider, "I'd 'magine all those little eedy-beedy ones near the big fat one is her's, an' all the others are the other one's." Beam. She's so smart. Cough.

Nulerak comes up the stairs.

From the sands, Mynwiyath cautiously rolls this egg over with the others in their tight little cluster of /fourteen/, now. Her head lifts to stare over at Griellitath and her own guarded brood, and then, again, she lowers her head to rumble a soothing note. Mama's here.

Shazi does something of a double-take before she eases herself into a seat. "Oh, hey… it's Captain Snark." She grins, remembering the joke, but not the girl's real name. With the advice in mind, she studies the sands, then nods, noting the delineation between one clutch and the next. "And she's still going. Totally awesome."

Rynael squints at Shazi, and blinks for a moment or two, before grinning aside. "Captain Snark, 'ndeed," she states, bemused expression on her face as she glances down over the eggs. "I know! I'm countin'… thirteen? Fourteen maybe? on her side," the girl bubbles out. Hey, she's excited. It's warm, and there's -two- golds down there! Not something you see everyday in the interval, y'know…

Nulerak sneaks in, all sneaky-like, looking a wee bit pale. Having been unexpectedly snatched back here from the Hall, it's apparent he just wants to warm up his bones a bit before doing whatever it is that he has to do. "She still going?" Silly golds taking all the time in the world just to pop out some round things.

Shazi gingerly shifts in her seat - see, she's not pregnant anymore! Yay! "Yes, ma'am. That's *our* junior gold out there," she states with some pride, and sniffs. "I bet she'll double the production of…" she catches herself about to make a mis-statement and clears her throat, "our *senior* gold."

From the sands, Mynwiyath takes a moment to preen over her clutch, still growing. But she does not have long. Again, her stomach ripples, and she turns, pushed to hurry. She hunkers low and scrapes the sand. Chey takes a step forward, then halts.

A Child's Delightful Closet Egg
Colorful box shapes in blues and whites with undecipherable lettering curves it's way across the top of the shell, making some letters pop out while others are nothing more than a splash of reds and blacks. A curiously dark grey and mysterious space of nothing drifts down to the bottom of the egg, only marred here and there by splashes of color, long forgotten clothes no longer fitting the owner. Yet, for all the darkness above, a myriad of lighter colors are splashed across the bottom of the egg. Stuffies, large toys that look like minitures of large animals, and everything else a child could dream of to play with is roughly outlined down here. Even a whitish glow-like color shines up from above, as if a forgotten glowbasket was left in the corner to die out.

From the sands, Bandeleth croons at the latest addition on the sands, his multifaceted gaze enrapt. He raises his head higher, then cranes down to shnuffle, respectful of Mynwiyath's custody-boundaries, at A Child's Delightful Closet Egg. That one has daddy's stamp of approval.

Rynael squints. S'more. Because that's what she's good at. She's gonna have crow's feet for sure, when she's forty… "Yeah, gotta be politically correct, eh?" she wryly sides to Shazi, plopping down in the nearest chair. "Yer junior gold's certainly -prettier- than that old…." She catches herself, and gargles on the words she -was- going to say, "…er queen out there."

From the sands, Mynwiyath eyes Bandeleth as he moves in: her custody-boundaries are apparently Very Very Broad. She does not look precisely upset, just wary. And that look is clear.

Nulerak claims a seat and promptly shucks off his jacket and gloves, setting them beside him on the bench. The dragons, eggs, and people down on the sands are given a brief look before the herder cants his head about to peer at Shazi and Rynael. "I bet on nineteen eggs. How many are there now?" Because he totally fails at counting, you see.

From the sands, Bandeleth looks properly abashed, in his own good due time, and creeps slightly more towards the equator between Myn and Griel. Country-boy bronze at least has the good enough sense to glance side to side, very Aware that he's got two girls that are very much bigger than him on either side, just ready for him to make a wrong move. Hmm. Maybe he shouldn't have thought to stay on the Sands…

Shazi laughs softly. "Pretty doesn't really have much to do with anything. You should've seen Pyrene's gold, our former senior, once upon a time. She was probably the ugliest thing I've ever seen, so far as golds go, but…" she whistles. "She was pretty imposing. And Pyrene was an incredibly Senior Weyrwoman." She sighs at the reminiscence, then shakes her head at Nulerak. "I haven't actually had a chance to count."

From the sands, T'ii snorts quiet amusement, rocking back on his heels as he watches the byplay between Bandeleth and Mynwiyath; his arms cross, and he offers his lifemate a sympathetic glance. Just think, he has /three/ to worry about.

Rynael leeeeeans back, and glances, amused, at the dragons' antics on the sands. "Pyrene's gold? That's… Cadgwith, right? The one who looked like she came right out of a marsh?" Brown eyes blink softly at Shazi. "I've heard 'bout Pyrene." She has! "Eh, I say seventeen," she comments to Nulerak, then. "Er, as how many there'll be. I think there's fifteen, now."

From the sands, Mynwiyath lowers her head again, nosing her head in towards the pile. She is very careful, exquisitely gentle. And then she begins work digging a new little laying-nest. Her storage nest is looking quite pleasantly full, especially since her eggs are mostly larger than Griellitath's.

From the sands, Bandeleth eyes Mynwiyath, slightly baleful. The big bronze heaves out a sigh, and rearranges his wings, bowing up his neck in a craned arch to lightly rest his nose next to Tee. Women- 2; Boys- 0. This sucks.

Nulerak blinks over at the other two as the discussion turns to Pyrene. "Only things I've really heard is that her gold had some ugly eggs that smelled really bad. And people wanted to lick them." Or something like that. At the various answers regarding the count of eggs that Mynwiyath has laid, Nulerak merely sighs slightly before aiming a faint smile over at them. "Guess we can always count over once she's finished. Not like they're bound to roll over to the fa- err, other gold's area."

From the sands, Mynwiyath manages to get the nest dug and again hunkers down. Slowly, slowly… there's another one coming. Eventually.

From the sands, "I hope the human ones come out faster'n this," T'ii says, unfolding his arms so he can reach one out to rest it on Bandeleth's nose. "I dunno I could take it, otherwise."

From the sands, Hahaha. Good luck with that, T'ii. It is Chey's turn for a baleful look. "Oh, /you'd/ have a hard time taking it, huh?"

From the sands, "/Um/," squeaks the little bronzerider, "Yes ma'am. I think I'd have a hard time watching you to all that hard and strenuous and painful work without being able to do anything to help." The hand on Del's nose snoves just a little bit. Not /helping/, there.

Shazi snickers and lightly taps the side of her nose at Nulerak's quickly avoided gaffe. "Lick them?" she responds with a querying lift of brows. "I don't remember that. But why would anyone want to lick something that smells bad?"

From the sands, Mynwiyath wriggles. And shimmies. And kicks the sand. Oop. /There's/ the egg…

Old School Music Makers Egg
Black and white, silver-grey and antiqued brown; this egg is elongated in shape and muted in coloring. There are two distinct patterns: one, white rectangles on a black background, loops and winds over the egg's apex and down one side. Around the base curls old, weather-beaten brown lined with dull silver-grey; little knobby bumps in the same color march a merry path up the curve of the egg's off-side.

From the sands, And Frusha just watches.. Waaaattchhhess. She looks kinda… angry.

From the sands, Bandeleth nudges Tee, delicately- but Del's delicate and Tee's delicate are two vastly different things. The Look is clear. Cowboy up, already. The boys' are *losing*. This is unacceptable.

From the sands, Chey studiously does not look at Frusha as her egg count hits sixteen. NEENER.

From the sands, Frusha uncharacteristically tongue-sticks and moons. Cough.

From the sands, Mynwiyath is not done. Into the same little gully another egg emerges… and another.

Overabundance of Coats Egg
Electric green sizzle-fizz-pops!, eye-searingly bright across a large portion of this generously proportioned egg. The color is highlighted by swipes of white and pretty posey pink, and it overlays a mishmash of pastel purple paisely and darkly blooded red; here and there, patches of peacock-feather-blue and flower-patterned-green peek through.

Skeleton in the Closet Egg
Swirls of misty white stand out against the starkness of this egg. At first glance, there only seems to be black on black, an endless void to the darkness. With a closer look, ghostly figures can be discerned forming from misty wisps that twirl and whirl amongst the outer edges of the shell. Perhaps it is a slight of eye, but at times the haze appears almost skeletal; a sickly grinning skull, its face forever etched in demented laughter with eyeholes devoid of any life. Another quick glance and the frightening face is gone, and vapors are all that linger. Some things are meant to be forgotten.

From the sands, T'ii goes down on his ass with a thud. /His/ look, it might be noted, clearly says: thanks, /buddy/.

"Licking eggs?" Decadre apparently only caught part of that conversation as he looks back at shazi. The mischevious blue eyes show confusion today more than mischief.

Rynael just leans back- and points and laughs at T'ii, of course. "I think his dragon did that on purpose," she cheerfully states.

Nulerak gives an idle flick of his fingers towards Griellitath. "I think… Sua? … Someone like that said they'd like the eggs The Weyrsecond too. And T'ii's sister. Just the other day, they said they wanted to lick the eggs." And this is precisely why Nulerak is convinced that weyrfolk are odd people, what with their egg-licking ideas. "They said Cadgwith's egg smelled of rotten seaweed, and they wondered what it would've tasted like. Or something like that." An innocent smile is aimed towards Shazi as she notices his close call with calling the gold fat. "Oh, look! Does that make eighteen? I just need one ore and then I'm -right-." That is said with a point of a long finger towards the clutching gold on the sands.

From the sands, Chey tosses a grin over at T'ii as he topples, then steps forward, calling out to Mynwiyath. "Doing so well, momma," she calls. "So, so well. Just a little longer. Liiiiittle more."

From the sands, Bandeleth is innocent! He really didn't do that. Of course, when Tee hits the ground, he immediately shnuffles him all over, and gives him a puzzled look - what are you doin' on the -ground-, man?

From the sands, Griellitath begins to rumble a little unpleasantly, and her rider looks over at the big, brutish, ongodly shiny head with her eyes thinning. They're apparently in conversation, but nothing audible comes of it. Griel's head adjusts again to glare so angrily at Mynwiyath, that her eyes begin to spin a lazy, deep blood-red. Ominous… And if Frusha's could, they would be as well. They both sit there watching, waiting, quietly… but anyone who would touch Frusha's skin would be burned; she's boiling, boiling hot.

From the sands, T'ii uses Bandeleth's conveninently placed muzzle to haul himself upright, but two eggs in a row have caught his attention. Unknowing, unheeding, he crows, "Would you look at /that/!" to Chey.

From the sands, Mynwiyath tosses her own head up, her gold gleaming in a quieter, aged way. /She/ is unafraid to gaze back into the fury of Frusha and Griellitath, even if her rider's eyes are still firmly angled away. Then she lowers her muzzle in, nudging the eggs into the protective ring.

Shazi laughs, then attempts to suppress it, but the damage is done. "Yeah, the Weyrleader's making a right ass out of himself out there, isn't he?" she notes quietly, her gaze narrowing at T'ii. Having just been through the grueling trial of labor, she doubts that Il'ad suffered nearly as much as she. "I bet on her doubling the Senior's total."

From the sands, Bandeleth notices what his rider doesn't - his head turns toward Frusha and Griel, and he rattles his wings to get Tee's attention. Explosion immenent, man.

"That's what the mean guard said," Nulerak aims towards Shazi, referring to the nasty guard named Krummolt. "So, uh… Frusha looks about ready to pop." A finger is once again wagged, though this time it's towards the fat and frumpy woman glaring at people on the sands. Nul should really learn how to curb his words sometimes, 'else he's going to end up in some trouble eventually.

From the sands, With a quiet croon, Mynwiyath again moves away from her little spawnpot, raking another low groove in the sand. And down she goes. She digs with her head into the sand, aggressively deepening the hole.

From the sands, T'ii looks, and backs up quickyly, running his shoulder into Chey once he's close enough. He doesn't speak, but jerks his chin toward Frusha.

From the sands, Chey whips around to stare at T'ii when he bumps her, looking faintly affronted. "/Hey/," she protests. "/Pregnant/, here."

From the sands, Cue western staredown music.

From the sands, Mynwiyath lifts her head again, then flicks her tail to the side and rakes with her claws deep into the sand. Deeper. Deeper.

"Mean…" The previous statement is quickly eclipsed by the latter and Shazi pushes out of her seat with, "Aw, ! Diffuse! Diffuse!" It sounds like 'defuse! defuse!' but the meaning, in this instance is the same.

From the sands, Bandeleth does not get between the golds, oh, no. There is being a gentleman, and there is not getting beat down by interfereing in a catfight. Physically, that is.

"Krummolt, I think," Nulerak replies before Shazi gets all up in arms about his second statement. Then, in a wee little voice, "Frusha's dragon is going to do something -bad-." And Frusha's going to sit on someone, yeah.

From the sands, "We have to /do something/, Chey," T'ii says, low and distressed. "That can't be good for them, either of them, I don't want /them fighting too/." They have already lost all their golds to a fight, once.

From the sands, "What do you suggest we /do/?" Chey asks, acerb, her voice low and angry. Clearnly, she is not oblivious. "Put some back in? She's a bitter old hag, and she's not the /type/ for physical anything. I think she'll be too scared.""

From the sands, While the big fat Griellitath glares ferevently at Mynwiyath in more than likely a jealous rage, Frusha observes the others' reactions.. And, while she was meaning to show off her Pissed-Off-Dom, she pats the side of the great sunshine gold softly, and the big head lowers, nuzzles into the sand, and all the lids close over them. Frusha, on the other hand, crosses her arms, and continues to look Miffed. Just because she can.

Shazi isn't exactly in the sort of condition one needs to be able to leap onto the Sands, but she will if she has to! But then *Frusha* of all people manages to save the day and the bluerider is left staring agog.

From the sands, "…they don't actually work that way, do they?" T'ii asks, his voice vaguely hopeful. "I don't think th" As Griel settles down, he sighs softly. "Oh, that's - good. 'del says that Myn's having more 'cause he actually enjoyed flying her. Something about - a bag, and rolling. And a wet sp /Bandeleth/." He puts together what his lifemate is trying to say (thanks to pictures!) and stares. "…"

Nulerak just blinks. "Did Frusha just … stop Griellitath from. Uh, being mad?" Nulerak obviously can't hear anything down on the sands, so he merely blinks over at Shazi. "What just happened?"

From the sands, Mynwiyath, for her part, appears oblivious again. She hunkers down. She shimmies. Another egg appears.

Forgotten Memories of a Childhood Past Egg
Dancing bears, painted wings, things almost remembered. Colors once bright and vibrant, now dull and lackluster. What starts out at the top of the egg as energetic hues of red and blue and green slowly change down the mid-portion of the shell to dusty remnants of what they once were. Though the designs on the egg, the splattering of tints and tones, make no pictures, the feeling is all the same. A time once forgotten, memories full of joyous moments frozen in the form of what once was.

Onberlie walks in.

Shazi shakes her head as she settles back into her seat. "Wow. I don't believe it. I just don't believe it," she says to herself, then grins at Nulerak. "I do believe that is just what happened." The irony does, indeed, strike her.

"Well that's amazing," Nulerak says a bit lamely, just shaking his head towards the dragons. And here he might've thought that there'd be some angst and woe and drama occurring. "Never would've guessed Frusha to do that."

From the sands, And the count is nineteen. Mynwiyath carefully nudges this egg, too, into her little circle. There is no space between them, which may make future logistics interesting. For now, though, there will be sibling bonding. Mynwiyath lets out a clear call over the nest. Is she done?

"Never," Shazi replies, then straightens in her seat. "Is that nineteen or twenty?" she asks, making the assumption that the call means what it sounds like. "How does she know? I didn't know."

Counting quickly, Nulerak offers up the tally in response to Shazi's question. "Nineteen, unless I can't remember how to count or I missed one," says the lad, looking over the eggs as though to double check the count that he'd arrived at. At Mynwiyath's call, the youth blanches. After all, she's big, and teeth, and could immediately decide to eat anyone of those down on the sands.

Decadre cocks his head to one side and quickly counts, "I think it's ninteen." Though he may have missed something. Though his answer comes on the heels of Nulerak's so it seems like he's got it right unless they're all miscounting.

From the sands, But… perhaps not. Mynwiyath scratches again in the sand, then paces around the little circle. She rumbles, discontented, and tests the sand again.

Onberlie slips up the stairs without a coat and without any other type of winter protection. She's a little red faced as she skirts along the ropes and starts counting the eggs herself as she tries to find an empty seat.

The sharding gold would have to go and act like she wants to have one more, just to be contrary to whatever Nulerak had bet. Then, Onberlie's entrance is noted: "So, you gonna lick any of these eggs any time soon? Maybe Mynwiyath will be more lenient than the fa- the other one is." A nod is aimed towards Decadre. "He says nineteen too. So unless we both messed up, then it's nineteen."

From the sands, Mynwiyath scrapes and digs, creating a deeper and deeper furrow. Then she lowers herself down into it. She wriggles and gyrates… and one more egg emerges.

Broken Dreams Egg
This egg displays a perfection of form, a million candidates' dreams coalesced into one softly shimmering ovoid. It is fair in hue, slick paper-white that underlies a network of silver curlicues. Down near the bottom, though, where the egg meets the sand, perfection is belied; there are wrinkles, lines as if once, this shining beauty had been folded and put away.

Onberlie blinks as Nulerak catches her attention, turning from her count, her lips curled around the number thirteen. "Oh, shells, Nulerak, They've just been clutched. If they taste like anything, it's like the innards of dragons. You got to give them another couple days to start to have their own taste and smell." Beri announces merrily. "Besides, didn't we agree to bribe a candidate?"

"Griellitath's have been out for there a few days," Nulerak offers up cheerily, pointing towards the meager group of eggs that are near the fat gold. "Bribing candidates is no good at all." If one might notice, there's a shiny new knot on his shoulder, bestowed upon him in a terrible set of circumstances by Tye and Palia. Oh, the sadness. "You're T'ii's sister, you can't get into -that- much trouble."

From the sands, Mynwiyath rises again, nosing the egg up out of the hole and rolling it to join the tight-packed little group. She spreads her wings over the pile for a moment, protective and nurturing. And then she lets out another low rumble: content and complacent.

"What? No!" Onberlie gasps a little, looking at Nulerak with a furrowed. "I could get in trouble and it would hurt T'ii if I did something that bad. I would never do anything that would give T'ii problems."

"Okay then," Nulerak replies. He's quite willing to concede that point to Onberlie, seeing as Frusha -is- a particularly nasty woman who'd be more than happy to ruin someone's day. Then, there's that new egg. "Aw, twenty. I was wrong."

From the sands, Chey moves cautiously forward now, placing a hand on Mynwiyath's hide and edging in close enough to do a formal count - not that she has not been tallying all along, but for formality's sake. "Twenty," she whispers, pressing her cheek into the gold's flank. "Twenty, Myn. You did so well…" Mynwiyath lowers her head to snort at Chey's hair, and Chey does not move for a long minute.

From the sands, T'ii and Bandeleth are equally still, although you can be sure there is some good ol' boy posturing going on, on a mental level. At least to judge from the rather smug look on Del, and the way T'ii grins sideways up at him.

From the sands, Finally, Chey pulls back, and looks up at Mynwiyath, smiling up at her in clear giddy delight. "We'll keep them safe," she promises. "No matter what." Good mamas, yessir.

From the sands, "Well." .. WAit. Where did /she/ come from? It's as if Frusha just disappeared off of her gold's leg, and reappeared standing right next to Chey with her face in the other woman's. "Impressive. I have to say, I'm surprised. Fine gold, very productive. I wish I could say the same for her rider.. even if you both are very /fertile/." Her eyes glare down at that bludgy stomach, before she sneers, and begins to trod off, leaving just Griellitath behind.. Who, thank Faranth, is now asleep.

From the sands, T'ii says, "Nngh," because he was about to say something - else, and then Frusha. He watches her retreat, and shudders, a twitch that runs full-body. He leaves Bandeleth to walk to Chey, extending an arm and wrapping it around her. He snugs her to his side, then lets go, and says, "They're beautiful, ladies."

From the sands, Oh, Faranth. It is finally starting to sink in for Chey that she is going to be. Sharing the sands. With Frusha. For months. She stares after the woman in patent dismay, and then… is hugged. She turns to blink at T'ii, mustering an automatic, weak smile. "Thank you," she says. "And so /many/. The Weyr needs eggs, I'm so glad we could /do our part/." She is speaking louder than she needs to. Clearly incidental.

"Twenty's a wonderful number." Onberlie responds, relief visible on her features as the topic is changed. "And they look so lovely." With most of the show done, the galleries start to clear and Beri finds a place to sit. "Which one was clutched first, Nulerak?"

Rynael leeeans back, eyeballing that last one. "I like that. It's.. wistful." Belated, perhaps, but all-the-same truthful. She glances out over the sands and falls silent again, pensive. No doubt wondering when Master Aldivan is gonna come snatch her up, but of course.

"I don't know. I think it was that one," Nulerak says, pointing a finger to indicate the Under the Third Sock egg. "At least, that's what I was told. I haven't been here the whole time." He squints his eyes as though that's going to increase his ability to see the particular egg that he'd pointed out.

From the sands, Frusha growls, and flees. She can't believe /she/ has to share the Sands, for months, with that rubbish woman and her child of a boyfriend. At least she still has her shiny knot to keep her here in this miserable place. HMPH.

From the sands, Chey isn't rubbish! And T'ii isn't a boyfriend! Just a friend! With benefits! Almost a brother, really! With - okay, maybe not a brother!

From the sands, Liar.

From the sands, Bandeleth knows what he saw last night didn't constitute as 'brotherly love'…

From the sands, Like a cousin!

From the sands, In Keroon, maybe.

From the sands, Only if you live in the South.

From the sands, Have you ever met T'ii's family? Yeah, one of /those/ cousins.

Hey! Be nice to the family!

I think the point is the family is being too.. 'nice'… to eachother.

From the sands, It was only that one time!

From the sands, Bandeleth can remember more than once… Oh, wait. Is he supposed to be on Tee's team?

Onberlie looks where Nulerak is pointing and eyes the eggs for a moment longer. "Huh. I wish I could have been here. I got stuck helping Aries in the tannery. We made some new boots for the new candidates, cause their feet are going to get toasty come hatching day." She sits on her legs as she looks around the galleries, trying to pick out familiar faces.

Nulerak peers over at Onberlie, blinking at the mention of boots. "Isn't that some ways away?" Mind you, he's not exactly a brainiac when it comes to this dragon business, thus cueing a faintly nervous look. "Like, a long ways away?" There's a pause and when Nul next speaks, he's sounding a bit better - and not so nervous. "You should've seen some of the looks that Griellitath was sending Mynwiyath."


Date: Mon Feb 25 20:47:53 2008 CST
From: Chey (#25855)
To: *Announcements (#2050)
Subject: Mynwiyath Clutches

What goes up must lay eggs. Under certain circumstances. Mynwiyath, at least, having danced to the music, finally had to pay the piper.

With Griellitath's clutch of eleven on the sands, all eyes went to High Reaches' junior queen, who rose admirably to the occasion. Over the course of over thirteen hours, Mynwiyath moved on the sands, laying egg after egg, until a full clutch of twenty lay on the sands beside Frusha's eleven, nearly doubling the senior queen's output.

Observers report that Frusha and Griellitath did not seem terribly pleased by this: at one point, it almost seemed that violence might erupt on the sands. The event was, in the end, uneventful however. It remains to be seen how well Reaches' two queens will share the sands…

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License