High Reaches' 4th PC Clutching

Shaela's gold Chayath x Yiddae's brown Tyrodinth
7th November 1999
Logged by Chayath (player-dragon)

<All> Chayath senses that she seems impatient, her mindvoice threaded with drops of rubies and sapphires and an air of relief. « It's time. The eggs come » is her short answer as the business of dropping eggs takes her attention.

Heat rises - ripples - wavers in a stifling curtain that envelops dragons and eggs while smothering riders and visitors. The black sands have been raked into ruts and dips, an alien, uneven surface for anyone trying to walk across them. Some say tension seers the heat: residue of hope, fear, relief, sadness, pain and ultimate joy staining high grey walls and lurking about the many viewing ledges that speckle the walls. Ancient murals of dragonlore fade across the walls near gallery and entrances.

<All> Chayath senses that Tyrodinth snatches at this, waking from a fitful doze and brilliant burst of 'presense'. « Now. » Statement or question? Both. « I come. » The last directed to his mate, but said loud enough for all to hear.

(Chayath) Shaela senses you seems to shift uncomfortably, that earlier tinge of sapphire blue now drowning out most of the ruby-red colors, making them dim and muted. Her voice is slightly smug. « Want to greet my new babies? >

Chayath begins to make herself busy playing in the sand. Well, not really playing, but making a place to put her eggs, the heat of the sand feeling lovely on her feet. Dig, sift, dig, sift, dig. It's time.

<High Reaches Weyr> Chayath senses that Piccath doesn't pout, but the colors that swirl through his mind are ever so slightly darkened from their usual pepper-brightness. « Must Shaela go now, too? Couldn't she wait a bit, perhaps? Long enough to eat? »

<High Reaches Weyr> Chayath senses that she is a preoccupied building her eggs a home, but she pauses long enough to answer Piccath. « I need her. » It's simple. It's the words of a fat queen who wants her lifemate.

Tyrodinth lands remarkably lightly for his size, backwinging neatly with an anxious croon. He's here, along with his reluctant lifemate who can be heard cursing the heat of the sands.

<High Reaches Weyr> Chayath senses that Piccath eddies colors like the bright stones at the bottom of a streambed. « Well. Well. You have Tyrodinth, and his rider. And I will come? It'll only be a few moments, really, until she comes, but… » He's biased. And pleading. And still full of zing.

Chayath manages a rumble to Tyrodinth, though her attention is centered on her digging and sifting. Belly clenches in a wave of molten gold, eyes whirling quickly for a moment. Gaze is cast to the doorway, as Chayath looks for ehr lifemate.

<High Reaches Weyr> Chayath senses that Tyrodinth is too concerned to mindtalk *quietly*. Indeed, he's projecting protectiveness and a wish to help so hard he is almost oblivious to anything else. « Chayath. I can help? Tell me! » Give him something to do. He's an overwrought daddy.

<High Reaches Weyr> Chayath senses that she is in no mood to barter, afterall, she's fat and tired, and really wants to get rid of the eggs. « Of course I have Tyrodinth. But I want Shaela.. I want! » Whine enters her sapphire-ruby'd voice, but before she can whine piteously, her attention turns to Tyrodinth. « Tyrodinth, help with the digging. »

<High Reaches Weyr> Chayath senses that Fallanth grumbles drowsily as all the babbling of eggs awakens him. « Too loud! » he states in a loud *whooosh*. « They're just /eggs/. » Leave it to him to so unsympathetic.

Chayath scuffles another depression in the sands, her fire-brand hide gleaming prettily - if fatly - as she moves across the sands, getting everything just so. Seems this young queen has become a bit of a perfectionist in this matter.

<High Reaches Weyr> Chayath senses that Piccath replies in crackling burst of sun-bright colors. « We come, we come. But not for your manners. We come for you because… » Finally, his upset,and that of his rider, have diminished to where Piccath can speak on the private band. Or else has just been told by his rider to shush.

Tyrodinth obliges his Chayath, waiting only the barest moment for Yiddae to beat a hasty retreat to the rocky walls where it is a /fraction/ cooler. Dig. Yes, he digs, energetically but tidily; working his way round the gold fussily. All the while, he's crooning softly.

Tourmaline winks abruptly into *between*.
Shaela moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.
L'shil moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

Chayath senses another's prescence and turns so that glimmering gaze catches Shaela. Bugle is given rather loudly at her lifemate, almost rather disgruntedly. Settling her great birth down, she sighs, it has begun.

(Chayath) Shaela senses you states the obvious, her mood changing with the rush of the upcoming clutching. « You're late! » her voice is almost a whine, but not quite as the first contractions of belly catch her attention.

L'shil straggles out after Shaela, arms laden with all manner of food and drink, and a blanket besides. "Where do you want it all, Shaela? Oh, and hello to you, Yiddae." Perhaps he's short from the cold and coming into the heat. Or maybe he's not short at all, and just keeping things simple for the sake of those there on the Sands, who seem now to have taken up residence.

Shaela dashes in, awkward in her dressy shoes, but speedy nonetheless to arrive at Yiddae's side. "L'shil and I were just sitting down to dinner, of all things," she sighs, settling the bread basket of food down on the blanket. "Is she doing okay?" A hesitant glance over to lifemate - can she approach, or should she stay far away at a time like this? Some apologies for her tardiness are in order, too.

Yiddae straggles out of her hiding place from energetic digging dragons and manages a faint smile for Shaela and L'shil. "H'lo." is offered, wearily prosaic. "Can I help with any of that?" She's not quite as openly helpful as her lifemate.

L'shil's answering grin is supremely crooked. "If you like… There's enough for all three of us, really. I rather grabbed most of the dishes, full, and it's a good thing I hadn't got my jacket off yet when it came time for us to leave."

Chayath's hide quivers as if the heat of the sands melted the reddish-gold of her hide so that it runs liquidly down her form as contraction makes her grunt slightly. Smallish form writhes a bit and a step is taken forward as the first egg rolls out. Brillant flourescent white burns and glares before a golden leg blocks it from view, thought not so fast that it's size couldn't be determined. It's a rather tiny egg. Young mother gently rolls it into the trench she dug earlier, with a proud rumble to Shaela. Mine.

Yiddae half chuckles softly, and nods. Riding gloves are helpful, particularly when they live in one's pocket. "Oh stop it Tyrodinth." Tossed over her shoulder as the brown lets out a delighted bugle. His first egg. Well, Chayath's first egg too but that doens't make it not his first. Eagarly, he moves a long a bit, perfecting a second trench; a hulking lump of dark dark mud who slavishly follows any and every command from Chayath. Yiddae is more concerned with settling herself out of the way.

Chayath's, definitely. But the pride is not the dragon's alone; Shaela shares in it as well, offering a squeal and a point, "Look! There's the first one!" she informs the pair of brownriders eagerly. And then, "Kinda small, don't you think?" Nose wrinkles, and worry begins. "I'd expect her to have small eggs, but that one was.. tiny."

L'shil quiet, almost reserved, he comforts by pointing out the obvious. "Every clutch has to have tiny eggs, Shaela. For the greens and blues. It's a lovely egg.

"I wouldn't worry. It's fine." Yiddae lazily tosses in, having gotten the blanket spread out in a cooler little section of the Sands. Food has been sorted out, set where it won't get covered in dust and Yiddae has already hit the cold fruit juice someone had the presense of mine to send in. "Worry only if they're all that size."

Shaela agrees on that point, slipping her hand into L'shil's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Definitely a lovely egg. Would we expect anything but from Chayath, though? And Tyrodinth, too, of course," the goldrider tosses a grin to Yiddae.

Chayath is still proud of the egg, even if it is tiny. She rumbles slightly as her belly writhes again, hide glimmering like golden fire shining brightly on sands. Quivering, the young queen stops moving, pausing long enough to grunt again, the ritual of clutching eggs never changing from queen to queen, though this time she seems to be in a slight race to clutch the next three eggs. Out they pop, the first egg a smooth, loamy brown of a dirt track; earth encircles verdant green, an unsullied track awaiting thundering hooves, followed immediately by an egg that blends brown and green in hot, dusty layers contrasted with the relief of cool and almost liquid shadows. Then the stakes rise as the last of the three is clutched, and this egg is this final jewel of the set, a great silver trophy of an egg. Resting, Chayath moves them over to the trench Tyrodinth just dug, letting others view these few longer. Phew, that was a harder set of eggs.

L'shil inclines his head silently to both riders, letting it last a moment before he notes, "Good points, both of you, and true."

Tyrodinth pauses in his work to turn an utterly appalled look at his Yiddae. She laughs; "You caught her, love. It's all your fault." Then she turns sky blue eyes on Shaela, her expression slightly wary although a smile lurks there. "Tyrodinth says that Chayath could never have a non-lovely egg." And her words are interrupted by the next delighted bugle to welcome the next trio of eggs. Chayath might let them be open to view longer but the brown is too busy have a look himself for mere humans to see that well.

Shaela observes the trio just arrived, worry vanishing from her delicate features nearly as quickly as it appeared moments back. "Well, they seem normally-sized. Much better," the rider grins, settling down onto the blanket in relief. No point in standing and getting sore feet - might as well take a seat and enjoy.

(Chayath) Shaela senses you rumbles softly, « Of course I lay pretty eggs. » She is a rather proud dragon.

L'shil seats himself, of course, near Shaela. But with all the warmth, and distractions, he quickly nods off into slumber.

Just like L'shil to fall asleep at a time like this. But Shaela doesn't bother to wake the resting rider, rather, she plants a kiss on his forehead and curls up next to him, settling his arm over her shoulders. Cozylike. "Has Tyrodinth always been such a sweetie?" the rider inquires of her gold's mate, noting the brown's behaviour, and carrying on conversation inspite of her snoozing dinnerdate.

Chayath finishes her settling of the eggs, and turns to glance at her lifemate and the clutchdaddy. Oops a yawn escapes from the young gold as she again resumes her clutching. Her never ending clutching. Her never ending fatness. Belly quivering, golden hide sliding along muscle and sinew as the next egg pops out, a long voyage's covering of dirt casts an ashen shadow upon the ovoid. A finely formed egg, indeed. Again contraction of stomach muscles catch Chayath as yet another egg rolls out. Through bleary silver-gray comes a sleepy kind of anxiety; flurries of ivory brush across the steely shell of this finely formed egg. Again, the young queen lets the others glimpse the eggs before she moves them into the trenches that so many other queens of the time had made of these very same sands.

Yiddae is kind. She too refrains from waking L'shil up again as she contemplates the spectacle before her. "I would never have thought that fussy, overprotective creature out there is my lifemate. He's usually much more serious and sensible. But of course he's a sweetie." Dry is the tone there, as she rests her arms on her knees and lets her now empty glass dangle from her fingers.

Tyrodinth fidgets and fusses, finding himself digging another trench. Nope, too crooked; it needs to be filled in again and a new one dug. But there is time for an excited rumble to announce the next to be clutched pair of his offspring.

Shaela turns her eyes to the next pair of arrivals, briefly nodding her approval at each in turn, "He has a right to be protective, though, I suppose. With a beginning like those six, the clutch is sure to be another fine one for High Reaches." And L'shil's missing it, the goof. Shae'll enjoy the clutching anyway, as well as her dinner, now begun with a roll and cheese. "And if Chayath's mothering of me is any example of how she'll be towards her eggs, she and Tyrodinth will make quite the pair of guards."

Yiddae mms softly, screwing her eyes shut for a long moment. "I can almost pity the poor Candidates, whoever they end up being." Still dry. Distant almost. "And yes, I'm sure it'll be another fine one for High Reaches. A healthy one." She doesn't bother look at the eggs herself; she has a babbling descriptive of each one of them in turn being broadcast insistently into her head. A piece of bread is reached for, nibbled on very cautiously. Not critically. Just cautiously.

Chayath rumbles proudly to her lifemate and her Tyrodinth. She has pretty eggs, and she lovingly makes sure each is warm enough in the trench dug by it's clutchdaddy. Tyrodinth is ever helpful digging those trenches for her, allows her to concentrate on her clutching. Idly, the gold wonders how many times this hatching cavern has seen this same tradition of Clutching and trenching. Before thought is completed, contraction snatches at the gold's belly as hide ripples in little waves and the next egg rolls out. Colors whip drunkenly across this egg's smooth surface; different patterns blend together to stagger this way and that upon the perfect oval of the largish egg. Shortly after, another egg rolls, following the previously clutched one. This egg is for those who prefer a more sedate coloring of precise bitter-green imperfection that weaves a mat of pale bamboo to soften the contours of misshapen shell. Chayath proudly rolls it next to the previously clutched egg, rearing her head up proudly and rumbling to Shaela. See? Pretty babies.

That first egg still looks mighty small to Shaela, but the concern is not voiced now. Rider shifts, adjusting her skirt - they never fit properly when you get down on the floor in them - and continues nibbling at her bread and cheese. Yum. "Another pair! I like the colours on that first one," Why not allow Yiddae to have commentary from another source? Two sources are better than one.

Tyrodinth snakes his head around to have a close look at that latest child of his. Rumble. He's proud; his offspring are beautiful. At least, so far they are beautiful in his eyes. Next trench is dug; he's working hard to keep up. "The colours!" almost startled is Yiddae as she sets her mostly uneaten bread back on her lap. She's lost weight this last month. "Well… yes. I suppose the colours are nice. Tyrodinth agrees with you." She's in riding leathers and they might be hot but they are comfortable. The fit right… or mostly right - Yiddae finds herself adjusting them irritably.

Making sure no time is wasted, Chayath's golden form is soon caught up again in contractions of fire-brand hide. Grunting a little, the young queen clutches another egg as ebony cloaks the base of this egg, a glowing blackness as hot as hell must be - or an iron pan darkened by endless years of use of flipping and cooking that yummy breakfast food that is usually the tradition to eat in the mornings. Not to be outdone, the young queen again clutches another egg, this one to be another twosome. The top of egg is smothered with lumpy, harvest gravy; gray, brown, and other earthy colors slowly fade into the succeeding dish of the pale, buttery yellow of cream corn. Such a scrumptiously delicious looking egg, one for those who love sharing a special day with special people. Chayath moves the two into the trench, allowing them to be barely glimpsed, though enough to show they are really nicely formed.

"Mmm.. doesn't it look drizzled by gravy?" Shaela is immediately drawn to the second of the pair, her starving stomach leaving food on the brain. "Tasty enough to eat." Rider pops a grape - or a few - and glances over at Yiddae again. Maybe it was a good thing she and L'shil were off to dinner - she had occasion to wear something thin and airy, rather than the heavy leathers she often sports.

Yiddae is Istan however. She can cope with the heat - and does. "Whatever you say." she returns matter of factly. Tyrodinth's babbling and excited efforts aren't holding her attention anymore. No; her gaze has drifted frst to the ledges, looking for a certain bronze who should be there and isn't. "Bother." But she does spot some familiar hides up there.

Chayath is caught up in the height of the clutching and pays not much attention to anything else, though she does reserve a croon or two to Tyrodinth, and to her eggs of course. Attention turns from her eggs to the newest contraction of belly, this one seems to be bigger and harder to clutch seeing as Chayath grunts a little more with this egg. Out pops a nearly translucent egg, glowing yellow swirls weave across the a shell of soft, frosty white dreams of this delicate egg. Bigger than some of the others, Chayath manages a sigh once /that/ one is out. The sigh is cut off as yet another contraction forces the gold to stop moving and out rolls another egg to rest gently next to the previous one. Summer sunlight carves gleaming facets from this egg's clotted-cream roundness, exposing strawberry-sweet reds and pinks that peep from the rich yellow shell of the egg. Glimmering proudly, the gold dutifully rolls them into the trench, lightly covering them with sand. A mother's work is never done for this gold as she surveys her eggs to make sure they haven't moved or been touched.

Tyrodinth wouldn't move them. Or touch them. Oh no, he will let the infinately competant and mothering Chayath decide how her eggs should sit. Trenches are his business, dug with a tireless enthusiasm. Croons as well, to his precious golden mate, congratulations and encouragement in the peculiar bass warbles.

"Bother?" Shaela echoes, twisting her head and stretching to look over L'shil's, trying to match Yiddae's gaze. "See someone you know?" Shae, of course, sees many people she knows, but maybe for the Istan seeing familiar faces is a big event. At the latest ooh of the crowd, her head now turns to meet with the food in her hand, and sets her eyes on the eggs. "Mmm.. nearly too sweet to look at, hmm?" Not that Yid's looking anyway..

Yiddae is not looking. She'll see enough of them over the next two months. "Dhavalth. I can't see him and I want T'sin; he's got a very nice wine collection." Well, there are other reasons too. "Although there are some Istans up there. I think I can see Zoryanth." One of her clutchmates that is. "What? Oh. The egg… Tyrodinth doens't think it's too sweet to look at. He'd look at it all day."

Chayath croons back to Tyrodinth, her gleaming gaze fastened on him for a moment, but then turns back to business. Contractions catching the gold almost unaware, three eggs roll out. Each relatively small, not as small as the first egg, but normally small. Too-bright smears of amateur art smudge enthusiastically 'cross the first egg's curves; a psychadelic blend of the dark and the light infuses itself between the simple cast of mostly primary-hued fingerpaint colors. A vivid assortment of flowers swirl around the shell of the second egg in a rampant swirl of color that shines brightly across the sands. Chayath's gaze moves to the third egg of the bunch, and she sees that sprays of blue wreathe around blossoming white; dancing nosegays, not of the cold, hard hues of winter, but the ineffably soft shades of spring, tracing t a garland which wends its way over this egg. Allowing her audience to view the eggs longer, she arranges them nicely in the trench, almost as if she were making a floral arrangement for the dinner table, a tradition of long standing in some houses. Proud gaze latches on Shaela. See? The gold also croons to her mate, tailtip nudging him a little for his attention so that all can see her arrangement before she covers them with sand.

"Aye, he does," Shaela agrees with the comment with regards to T'sin's wine selection. He has one of the finest in the weyr, she'd bet. Not literally, of course - betting is a bad, bad habit, and if it were known, riders could be heavily punished for such behaviour. Or so Nuff told Shaela once, turns ago. As such, the goldrider keeps all her betting, especially that to do with clutch sizes, behind well-closed doors. "More eggs - I must say, Chayath's got a fine sense for arranging. You really should take a look," she encourages.

"Oh indeed, she has." Yiddae must be compliementary about the clutch. Tyrodinth might scold her if she isn't and she's already in hot water with him over other matters. "But T'sin's not here and bother Tyrodinth for not being interested in fetching him." Irritable, as she tugs at her braids. Yet something causes her to brighten and she continues taking breathlessly. "And that is Zoryanth… Silvera is up the galleries…. I'll be right back." Nope, she's not leaving the Sands. Her lifemate would have a fit. But she can tag over to the galleries and look up at them, raising her voice to yell a particular name. "Silvera!"

After giving her last three eggs a parting glance, Chayath moves down the trench a bit to clutch her next set of pretty eggs. Afterall, /she/ thinks they're /all/ pretty. Gaze is cast to the smallest of her eggs before the next set is clutched. Giving a grunt with sides heaving, two lil' eggs roll out. Sawdust's pale yellow scatters over this egg's surface, though rusty flecks of blood-brown mar its heat-blanched pallor marks the first egg. In contrast to the first egg, this egg is beguiling crimson that billows demurely o'er belling arch, profound, fathomless, and deep enough to drown in, a dark contrast to the first egg. Heaving herself up, the gold moves them gently into the trench, covering them lovingly with sand so that they can cook better. Chayath moves across the time-old sands that has born the feet of many as she resettles herself next to a new trench since she filled the others.

Tyrodinth rumbles, pleased at this next pair. Inspecting them gravely while he has the chance, he loveingly tidies the edges of his latest effort at a trench. He'll have to start digging them in another spot; he can't fit more on that stretch of sand.

Yiddae's expression switches at last to a wide smile as she looks up at her friend and clutchsib. "SilvieSilvieSilvie!" she calls back, echoing in a teasing tone. "What? Glad you like them… and Tyrodinth says no, you can't have any." Not even one. Even before Chayath's answer might be considered. Hands on her hips, she is finally not irritable. "You'll be here after this display is done, yes?"

Shaela nuzzles up next to her sleeping date, eyes drifting between the two scenes that attract her interest: Chayath and her eggs, and Yiddae and her friend. Yid's complete change-around in attitude is noted, especially, and as such, she is observed with curiousity. Shaela will have to figure her out during their stay on the Sands together, definitely. A goal for the next few weeks.

Chayath concentrates solely on her eggs, her attention away from both the noisy galleries and from even her lifemate as the golden from gives another great heave that causes another egg to gently roll out. In this egg, the fleeting shape of a long-dead loved one's ghostly face is apparent, creating a dark aura to the egg. The gold again heaves, allowing another egg to roll out to bump gently next to its clutchmate. Aboslute blackness coats this egg's shell in the blackness of ::between::, a startling contrast to the other brightly colored eggs of the clutch. Eyeing the egg oddly, the queen-mother still thinks it's the most perfect egg, and moves on to lay yet another egg. Cool and soft, a swirling shade of deep celestial blue surrounds this shell, scattered with a thousand glittering spots of silvery light that glimmer in the hatching cavern as this egg rolls out to rest against the others. Not one to hesitate, afterall the queen can always check each one over after they're all laid, she moves on to lay yet another egg for this series. Milky pale and swirled over with misty jewels, tinted rainbow-soft, this egg reaches for the heavens, seeming to glow with an unearthly light. Chayath begins to then distribute this set of eggs on all four corners of her little clutching area. Leaning back on her haunches, she surveys her work with delight. Niiiice, right Shae?

"Good!" Yiddae would be unhappy if Silvera went away. Silvera might be happier if she did however; unless she enjoys being a security blanket and helpful second. "T'sin? He's not here! And Tyrodinth won't talk to Dhavalth and get him here!" And Tyrodinth wouldn't let him on the Sands or Yiddae off them so the fact T'sin isn't in the Grounds could be called moot. "Chewy bar? From Ista? Oh, please, Silvie! I'm half starved!" Shaela back on the blanket is all but ignored in favour of the offer of Istan cooking.

Very nice! Weaver admires the skill of her lifemate - the dragon definitely acquired that trait from observation of her lifemate, right? - peeking at the well-organized forest of eggs across the sands between glances at Yiddae. Maybe she should wake Lesh up, if only for some animated conversation like the other rider is having..

Tyrodinth is convinced all the eggs are beautiful. And he says so, in delighted warbles and croons. Next trench is done! At right angles to the previous lot, it's nice, straight and quiet warm enough. Veeeeerrrry nicely done, Chayath.

Chayath settles herself down, done for the evening. Golden hide, dim with exertion, gleams in the light of the glowlamps. Her gaze seems to say that's all folks, her head lowering to her forelegs. Her body quivers a bit, and her tail sweeps something to the side, hidden behind all the other eggs. Oooh, what was that? Christmas day surprise? This young queen-mother isn't telling for there are some things best kept hidden, though she does look much like the cat who ate the canary.

Shaela blinks once, and misses it. "That's it? Just 21?" A correction from her lifemate, and Shaela re-announces, "22 eggs!" She never claimed counting as a special skill anyway, though she could've been sure she only saw 21 eggs be placed out there on the sands. "And they look absolutely wonderful, love," the goldrider complements cheerily, untwining herself from L'shil as she stands to approach - if Chayath will let her.

Yiddae mutters something and then concentrates for a moment, summoning her collection of firelizards from the cracks and crevaces they were hidng in. Fire firelizards are perfectly able to catch a chewy bar ans hand it over to their human. "Tyrodinth has a mind of his own!" Yelled up cheerfully. "And you wait there, Silvera. I'll be up as soon as I can manage." Away she turns, to pace back to her smug lifemate as well as the goldrider. "Twenty two? Oh that's not bad, Shaela. Not from a brown sire." Her target is the big muddy hulk of a dragon she calls Tyrodinth.

Chayath rumbles softly, nudging her lifemate to her eggs, proud she is of them. Only with Shaela does she not express the hawk-eye'd gaze that will become her second nature. After all these are /her/ eggs.

The firelizards can definately catch the food. Smart creatures; let us hope Chayath doesn't object to them flittering about like mad things.

"Did you want to have a closer look with me?" Shaela wonders of the brownrider, hastily adding, "I understand if you don't. You know, if you'd rather follow the crowd to the caverns and socialize with your friend there.."

Chayath rumbles softly, the idea of firelizards flittering about /not/ appealing. She settles herself down to watch and re-arrange her eggs so that they lay perfectly in the sand. Yiddae is given a sharp-eyed look, but the gold doesn't do more than cuddle next to the tiny egg that was first clutched.

(Chayath) Shaela senses Chayath's mindvoice whirls with ruby-reds, like the sunlight through the deep dark wine red. « I like the first egg. It's little! »

Tyrodinth lowers his big head, pressing the size of his muzzle contentedly against her beloved Yiddae. Rumble rumble rumble. Has ever a dragon been so happy? "Oh, I…" Yiddae doesn't really care, one way of the other but with her lifemate's insistence, she does come close enough to have a good admiring look. "I think, I should really not upset the proud papa here too much by not having a look." is suggested dryly as she nibbles happily on the chewy bar. "I'm sorry Shaela. You'll see plenty of me. Tyrodinth is objecting to me going off and socialising… though I might scoot up to the galleries. Of course, if you want to come up there too…? it is cooler than down here."

Chayath croons softly at Tyrodinth, who makes lovely children. Or lovely children's houses.

"Whichever you prefer," Shaela shrugs, wandering amongst the eggs, finally coming to rest by her lifemate. A warm, caring stroke of the golden muzzle is given, and the rider again, congratulates her lifemate.

Yiddae nods then, tapping the brown's nose adminishly. "I'll just be up there. Not far. I promise." Yes, adress to her lifemate, afore she turns and beats a hasty retreat off the Sands. Never mind Tyrodinth's mournful rumbles, asking her not to go.
Yiddae escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.

Chayath rubs her nose gently against Shaela, her crystaline eyes glittering lovingly at her lifemate. Proud, she is, but tired. Wait, hungry too. All that work left her hungry, but there is no way she'll be leaving the sands.

And there is no way Shaela will be going off to bring food for the dragon - she's in her nice, new dress! L'shil liked the dress. All this gossip and more is told to the dragon as Shae settles in for the long haul. L'shil, now awake, assists, arranging the blanket and all other Sands-sitting necessities in a place ideal for the goldrider.

Chayath cuddles up to her lifemate, her eyes whirling slowly as the inner lids drift down over her faceted eyes. Sniff. No food for Chayath? Sniff sniff. Head turns, Oh, Tyrodinth…

Tyrodinth lifts his head to look inquireingly at Chayath. Anything for her. Anything she wants, Tyrodinth will bring it.

Shaela hears the call from afar, and raises a brow, hunting for the one who spoke up. "She would love one, I'm sure!" is the reply, along with a smile for the stranger. Ballads are purdy.

Chayath warbles softly to Tyrodinth, wistfully imaging a great herdbeast plopped right in front of her mouth. Num.

Tyrodinth rumbles back, delighted to be of some help. Then up and out he goes, headed to find Chayath exactly what she wants.
Tyrodinth leaps back into flight, scattering sand.

Chayath is content and happy knowing her mate is off to get food. She is so hungry!

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