High Reaches' 6th PC Clutching

Areiah's gold Ysbryth x M'rin's bronze Rixesith
11th November 2000
Logged by Ysbryth (player-dragon)


<High Reaches Weyr> Ysbryth senses that she sends out gentle whisps of sage entwined with cedar. A sense of near readiness slithers through the weave of her mindtones, though no words are issued.

<All> Ysbryth senses that her voice twines with cedar and sage; a dash of honeysuckle for flavor. For her, the time has come and while this is not expressed in words, her images are clear. Eggs hardening on sands swirl with images of her swollen belly slowly slimming with each egg that is laid. The time has come.

Sand's Edge
Hot - hotter - hottest! Heat rises from the Sands just beyond the upraised stone, rippling and undulating outwards to flow out through this vaulted entrance. The air is hot and heavy, a thick mantle that clings to those who skirt the edges of the Sands and slip into the tiered galleries along the inner wall. The whoosh and promise of cooler air is but a few steps away in the bowl.
Gold Ysbryth is here.

<All> Ysbryth senses that Cadgwith surges a reply in more salt-sloughed whirl of emotions: a dash of sympathy, because it seems painful, and then a sun-struck beam of envy-curiosity slices through her roiling dark.

Ysbryth moves slowly out onto the sands, her lifemate trailing behind her. The gold begins to dig trenches into the sands, her large feet working steadily while ignoring the crowded galleries and, even to an extent, her lifemate. Pausing, her pale hide convulses for but a brief moment before continuing her work with an air of wonder.

<All> Ysbryth senses that her gentle whisp of sandalwood and wildflowers mix together to form images of the wonder of clutching. A hint of childlike excitement stirs her gentle thoughts into an eddying flow of wonder.

Ysbryth senses Cadgwith hangs on the wind with waiting, absorbing the images given, but more preferring to see with her own eyes. The slightest rank of seaweed rotting lingers behind as she pries her interest from the mental, and settles it on the sand and eggs-to-be. to her.

<All> Ysbryth senses that Cadgwith hangs on the wind with waiting, absorbing the images given, but more preferring to see with her own eyes. The slightest rank of seaweed rotting lingers behind as she pries her interest from the mental, and settles it on the sand and eggs-to-be.

Ysbryth cranes her head around, feeling the pressure of the eggs waiting to be released. A sense of wonder sends tendrils of pale lavender through her whirling eyes. Watching as her belly muscles ripple beneath her pale hide as the first of the eggs are clutched. Three brightly colored eggs are clutched onto the hot sands, while mother turns around to gently roll them into the heat of the trenches. Areiah watches as her lifemate clutches, the wonder of it all still fresh, even to the senior Weyrwoman.

Midnight's Slumber Party Egg
Sable patterns engrave their way into the framework of dumpling ovoid; an eboned delight setting the surface for midnights fun. Muffled hints of downy cream feather across the background of the deceitfully subdued leather casing. Impetuous strips of carmine and strawberry paint lopsided smiles against jasmine-haunted carbon. Absence of boyish blue is announced by bubble-gum pink and crimson nighties, which clamor about the base. Vocal greens play spin the bottle across the eggs top, hushed by coal.

Tea and Toasted Crumpet Egg
Heat envelops the stippled shell: not oppressive but welcoming. Burnt warmly black around illusory edges, butter yellow alone tops it, fluidly turning into darker runnels of gold that permeate the doughy beige below. The whole is drowned blissfully in the hot tea that soaks the base, providing a taste of relaxation and nourishment for the winter-weary mind.

Jigsaw Puzzle Egg
A work in progress, an opus unfinished… for the carefully placed orderliness on one side is belied by the chaotic scattering of the other. The one clearly sets out a swirled pattern, a picture of the surface of a dragon's shell; the other is an un-coordinated assortment of designs that cut each other short. Still, the one cannot begrudge the other. There is as much as pleasure in the making as in the finished product.

Ysbryth barely finishes sifting the hot sand on the eggs before another spasm ripples through her midsection. Again, her head swivels about to watch the lone egg slip out in all it's leathery softness. A hint of saffron is visible before the egg is dutifully rolled into the trench by Ysbryth.

Hot Cocoa by the Fireplace Egg
Warmth and comfort fairly waft from the delicate curve of this ovoid's shell. Flickering flames flare along one end, darting and crackling in a swirl of vermilion and saffron to engulf almost past the widest part of the egg. The other end is lapped at by a different sort of warmth altogether, familiar sweet brown rippling with soothing liquidity. A trick of light permeates from the other side to this: the licking of the crimson blaze is reflected, highlighting the minute waves in a curious melding of two contrasting types of heat.

Ysbryth's form twists a little as a rather large bulge appears in her buttermilk hide. Gently - oh, so gently - a large egg is clutched with careful precision, but surprisingly, the egg is followed by four little ones, nearly rolling out all together. The five eggs are herded quickly into the trench by Ysbryth, but not before Areiah can see that the large one is easily quite a bit taller than the four little ones. A raised eyebrow is garnered toward her gold. Interesting.

Connecting to the World Egg
Unlike many of its egg brothers and egg sisters, the swirling whorls of colors manage some brief semblance to order, from the round edges snake long lines of iron gray, which join in a burst of subdued rainbow to dance sinously about the egg's middle. The wirelike lines are a maze of crack-like strands, that branch and branch again, connecting all their edges into the chaos of a whole. And the edges are filled with smudges of color, little nondescript people moving through their lives, brightening as smoky lines send their inner brightness cruising down silvery lines until it reaches the others, turning simple pieces into a greater friendly, all-embracing whole.

Alone on Prom Night Egg
Staunch taffetta shapes crumple into sharp anguish, pressing permanent wrinkles in the shimmery pastel shades that ripple along the shell; some may smooth with time, though others never lose their carelessly-inflicted lines. Wadded balls of white jam into the corner of visibilty, nearly hidden but haphazardly strewn in disorderly clumps to pool at the egg's round base. Fat tearstains warp colors into washed-out patterns of dye, rolling undisturbed in their saline, killjoy glory down the glamourous hues.

Sorbonne Internet Binge Egg
A wash of pale, frigid ice-white numbs and circles bleary-eyed around a spread-out base, highlighting pure inactivity and zombie-like blankness. A restless shift in colors along the vertex betrays an unpleased maker, for they dance impatiently in blue stripes to green stripes to yellow, the faintest of mouse-click blacks to skitter fiercely at equator.

Bedtime Lullaby Egg
The comforting pattern of a patchwork quilt wraps this ovoid in soft hues, suggesting that bedtime is inevitable. Like the tender caress of a mother's hand on her sleepy child's cheek, the warm and cozy earth-tones of soft browns brush against the delicate pastels of dreams. The feeling of security curling in cloudlike softness to embrace the resistant sleeper and lull the last of the struggles into the ease of slumber and the land of dreams.

Snuggling in a Blanket Egg
Creamy folds of warmth mix with hints of pink and gold blend easily with the dim shades of neutrals running the gamut from gray-black to silver-white. The seemingly opposing tones swirling and merging to become one, ignoring the barriers to bond together with an eternal promise of harmony. Darker lumps of the same shades hint at the shape of something beneath the thick blanket-shell, the sleepyhead held close within this comforting egg.

Ysbryth twists a little, digging into the trench a little more. Hot sand gets poured onto the tops of the leathery eggs before gold pauses to clutch another group of eggs. Three eggs are rolled next to the others in the trench by Ysbryth, carefully making sure each egg is ensconced in the hot sands.

Game Night Egg
This oblong orb appears ready for some fun, bearing hints of red and black checkered squares, with a rectangular blue card pattern hiding within some colorful chips. A pair of white squares show black dots, and seem to move if you look at them from the corner of your eye. It looks like a fun night!

Storytime Egg
Fairy tale pastels spin across a star-speckled velvet night sky, with fanciful dream sequences parkling throughout. Like imagination running wild, vague suggestions of myriad mythical forms can be seen within the colors, and more than one brings to mind a dragon. It may bring to mind delightful images of stories heard not so long ago…

Mindless Monitor Burnt Egg
Tendrils of hazy color flicker and glide across the sleek, ebony shell, weaving themselves into figures and patterns of elusive meaning only to dissapate in the next instant. Hypnotic sparks of light skitter about the perpetually shifting surface, creating intricate designs at which one can stare mindlessly for ours without losing interest. Scattered about the shifting visage are small, solitary spots where ghost images elicately rest, the remnants of illusions that never seemed to fade away. In stark contrast with itself, soft, pearly, irridence firmly encircles the edges of this smooth shell, heavily accenting the outline.

Five little eggies are clutched; this one goes to the right. This one goes to the left. This one gets the first spot in the new trench while that one gets the eentsy, weentsy spot at the end of the first trench. Five little eggies clutched and five little eggies buried in the hot sands by Ysbryth. The watchful gold's gentle movements are watchful over her growing clutch. Lifting her head, she gazes into the crowded galleries for a moment, before attention is taken again by her clutch.

Scary Movie and Popcorn Egg
Midnight encompasses wide base, abbreviated with slashes of knife-blade silver and pools brilliant vermillion. Grey rain pelts 'gainst windowpanes, falling from a sultry black sky laden with stormclouds of grape and ash, highlighted by a streak of bright electric yellow. Safe within the turmoil without lies a haven of warmth - a round blue sofa lies bathed in a pool of soft light, and a scattering of golden-yellow pieces lay around the feet of the chair.

Family Movie Night Egg
The eerie glow of shifting light in a darkened room plays over the comfortable leather curves of this ovoid. Unfortunately, the play of color warrants only as a background to a more rambunctious foreground. One made of greasy butter-yellow handprints pattering this way and that. One made of brightly colored security blankets hiding bulges from the scary world outside. Traceries of red on ivory, blue, and brown gaze down upon this scene of disaster from the apex of the egg, superior and unable to intervene in the chaos below.

Sony Home Theatre Egg
Darkness seems to shroud this egg, precise rows of clouded red and green specks surrounding it until light is allowed to illuminate. Suddenly bright flashes of ruby and emerald glimmer against the ebony shell, the tiers of colored gems quickly flickering up and down as the lights play across the surface of the egg. As the illumination ceases, the brilliance of the tiny jewels shimmers back into the shadowy clouds as before, waiting for the next performance.

TV and Pizza Egg
Odd splotches of tomato red bubble up at random intervals across the surface of this egg. Calling it mottled would be a kind understatement, as circles of meaty brown mingle with bits and pieces of stuff the colour of well-baked vegetable matter, and the whole thing is overlayed with calcareous outgrowths and bubbles like melted cheese. But there's something mesmerizing about it nonetheless: it's difficult to tear one's eyes away from it, or even tune in to something else once you've favoured it with your attention.

Lost In A Book Egg
Dark markings, shaped with curves, in horizontal lines, sweep across this pale white egg, each mark like a letter stamped into paper, telling a tale of kindgs and queens, of knights and fair maidens, of dragons in the sky and mermaids in the sea. It flows and weaves you in its spell, entrapping you within a maze of words and fiction. Lost within it's depths, you blink as you pull back out of your imagination, and realise.. it's just an egg.

M'rin moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

Areiah watches her lifemate clutch, mentally tallying the amount of eggs already lain. A soft encouraging smile curves her lips as Ysbryth again begins to clutch the next group of eggs. Eyes spot the bronze dragon at the same time her lifemate does. Gold mother croons to Rixesith, moving aside a little to show off mound of eggs. Wriggling her fingers in M'rin's direction, the senior smiles, "Hey, M'rin."

Ysbryth gently moves the next eggs into the trench with a croon to the father of her clutch. See how many there are? Buttermilk hide again is caught in the clench as another clutching spasm takes ahold of her belly muscles. A group of three eggs are gently clutched onto the hot sands.

Rixesith shuffles in, looking smug as anything as his little rider chases his heel. "Rix! /R-riiiix/! Stoppit! Get b-back here! I don't appreciate being left behind!" Rixesith continues to look smug as he again abandons rider to eye the eggs over approvingly. Not too close, of course. He's not going to risk the wrath of a protective mother. M'rin sighs and pauses long enough for the heat to seep through his boots, then begins hopping awkwardly (and very ungracefully) towards Areiah. "H-hey, Areiah," he replies to the greeting, not without a faint coloring of cheeks.

Lovers Light Egg
Rich purple coats the background as hints of magenta echo across the egg in warm shades. Against the purple, dark indigo shadows dance and and entwine, the pale light shades highlighting their shape. The dark patterns dance and twirl, before coming together as one in the lamp light. Darkest nights romance, shimmering on the shell of an egg.

Playing with the Kitten Egg
Wild stripes of brown and gray dance delightedly across the smooth curve of shell, tabby fuzz blurring in a shimmer of energy. Amidst the wild swirl of smoke and russet, a wild loop of crimson threads, wound in a tangled knot of scarlet yarn. Here and there, curving creamy triangles, wickedly pointed in sharp contrast to their gentle colors, interrupt the ruby rope. Teeth or claws, it makes little difference, for all eventually becomes lost in the playful twist of fur and string.

Long, Hot Shower Egg
Steam wraps around the gentle curve of this egg like a comforting blanket, billows of gray and white seeming to conceal even as they soothe. Glimmers of silver and aqua dart through the vapor, a firm pelting of water drops pattering down in regular, rhythmic streams. Relaxation practically wafts from within the misty clouds, a subliminal from the stresses of life.

Areiah's own cheeks are not without their color as the shyish weyrwoman turns her attention back to her lifemate. "Can you believe how many eggs she's clutched?" One hand sweeps towarnds the mounds Ysbryth has made. The gold herself has again been sneaky and has clutched another pair of eggs before quickly hustling them into the sands.

Backyard Stargazing Egg
A peaceful darkness envelops this egg, folding it over in endless bolts of velvet. Pinpricks of light, little beacons on the night can be found all over the entirety of the egg's eternally smooth shell. A warmth surrounds the egg - fragrant and, on the whole, quite pleasant. However, near the bottom, a sort of lighter, frostier color resides, a pleasant counterpart to the near-overpowering warmth of the rest of the egg.

Reading By Candelight Egg
A squat, quaint, ovalish egg, with light brown ocher swirling lazily about the top. Splashes of color - oddly floral - paint the egg all over, creating a further homely feeling. An odd, yet somehow comforting, deep brown rectangular shape appears about it's midsection, while two black circles connected by a single this band of black circle the upper portion, creating one of those familiar scenes that one just can't put their finger on.

M'rin shifts from the foot to foot on the hot sands, dispite the extra layering on the soles of his feet. Perhaps it's just another twitchy little habit of his? More likely it's because the sands really are /really/ hot…Wide sky-blue eyes fix on the mounds which Rix is busy inspecting proudly. "It's q-quite a lot…" The small, timid little weyrleader agrees, balled hands rubbing idly against each other behind his back. "And a lot of p-people…" He observes, eyes widening as he scans the Galleries. He never knew something like this was such a popular specticle. A few distinctive leathers are spotted of fellow 'riders, but they're much to far away for any sort of communication. "Yes, yes, I q-quite realive you're a f-father, Rix," M'rin replies to a proud rumble from the looming bronze. Sounds like he's said those words more than once.

Areiah's own feet shift every now and again, more likely because she's done this sit-on-sands bit before and is semi-used to it. "Indeed, there are a lot of people out there.." the shy weyrwoman manages to glance up a the sea of faces that mark the galleries. "Luckily, it doesn't seem to hinder Ysbryth." She winks and adds, "Rixesith makes a fine father.." according to her lifemate, that is.

Ysbryth feels a slight lull in the steady clutching of eggs that has held her in it's gripe. However, lull is short and again the queen feels the urge to squeeze out a few more eggs. Four to be exact. Watching Rixesith with a watchful eye, she nudges one small egg toward him.

Ysbryth thinks to you, « I bespoke Rixesith with: Ysbryth's gentle, breezy voice brings on the hints of sage and sandalwood. « Bury it over there? » Mindvoice is etched with the heat of the sands. to him. »

Perfectly Nailpolish Painted Egg
This body looks more like a painted simulation than a living object. Cerulean, pinks and greens all richly laquer the outside of the shell, giving it shine and a smooth glossy hue.The gleam is so bright that one might think of using it as a mirror, that is if its protective mother wasnt apprehensively guarding it with her very existance.Two or three coats of color seem to be layered upon its surface, leaving no parts uncovered, a perfect coat of paint for that perfectly painted egg. Upon closer inspection, a zaffer hue is seen in its hollows, but only slightly, as the light reflects off the shimmering shell at a certain angle.

King Of Diamonds And Queen Of Hearts Egg
Crimson strokes the rolled upper dome of this grand dragon egg in licks of flame, it's spherical shape adorned with burnished mahogany diamonds overlapping, interlocking and surrounding numerous orange and deep pink heart-like patterns. As if each one trying to out do or humiliate the other in fiery and intense competition, the egg glows largely in its already stifling abode. Heated saffron strikes each burning red shape in clashes of iridescent vibrancy that break and crash like a dangerous sanguine sea with a copper sun beating down upon the waves. Dawn-tinted stars sparkle over the cupped bottom that rests brightly upon aureate hatching sands, lastly the vanquishing defeat of the King rising up in a sharp bolt of rose gold to the circled cap of the monarchial dragon egg.

Coming Home and Crashing Egg
Large domed cap is sprinkled with calm cobalt swirls and diced flecks of convivial cream lilacs as if the centre of a dark calm sky dotted with shining stars. Glowing pinks warm the rounded circumference in perfect oscillation, dappled with beaming purples and light azure that set its feel to nonchalant, sleeping, peaceful. Rosy creams lather the silky touch of this large dragon egg, white sparkling almost iridescently with wisps of gold spun throughout it as it nears the smooth lower plane of the egg which weeps back into dark cerulean and gentle citric yellows.

Rixesith rumbles faintly, affectionately, and lowers his massive muzzle to snort gently at the small egg. The back of one foreclaw carefully nudges the small (compared to him) soft egg to a small patch of sand nestled between three mounds. "Aye, he knows that w-well," M'rin replies, amusement hinting his tone. And hopefully the little weyrleader himself will be, too. Speaking of which…No, Auryn is with her mother at the moment. He need not worry for now. Rixesith, meanwhile, has dug a small groove into the sand with his claws, nudging the soft little object into the depths and nudging a layer of hot sand over the top. Very proud.

Crash n' Burn Airplane Model Egg
Glops of eggshell and gooey, milky adhesive ooze in a chaotic jumble on one half of a shimmery, plasticine gray shell. Tendrils of sticky ivory reach out like imploring, fumbling fingers, attatching to the closest stray polygon of cadet blue that decorates the muddled structure that is this portion of the egg. Illegible letters of blurred ebony march forlorn through the disarry, instructions long forgotten or never understood. The other side, conversely, mocks the pathetic ruin that is it's counterpart. It, the epitome of eggdom, is flawless, void of any mar or scratch, it's glossy exterior reflecting its unattainable perfection condescendingly as its falsified masterpiece inspires false hope even to the sands themselves.

Ysbryth croons approvingly to Rixesith while burying the rest of the eggs into the heat of the warm sands. "Yes," is murmured by Areiah, her own gaze latched onto her lifemate. Idly, she wonders, "Already 26 eggs laid. I wonder how many more?" A grin curves her lips, "A nice sized clutch for Rixesith's first time, eh?"

Ysbryth curls into the sands, her tail curving around her mound of eggs. Giving the impression of completion, the gold begins to sift extra sand onto the eggs. But wait.. a pressure begins to build again. Seems that she's not quite finished as one by one she clutches the next five eggs. Keeping her head craned around to watch, when the last egg is clutched, she croons again to Rixesith. Rolling two eggs this time, she gives clutch-daddy more duties.

Last Minute Pulling an All-nighter Egg
An uneven, ineptly formed egg looks as if made in rapid haste, teetering on a bizarre angle - looking to topple at any moment. Clouded blanche is bloodshot by frantic, frenzied streaks of eye-straining lime and violent red whilst desparate, beseeching blues soak morosely into the stressed chalk of the eggshell. Crazed fingers of ochre flip through the leaflets of color, tearing up the egg's nether regions. A depressing fog of grey, oppressive and exhaustive, sink and leches down from the crown of the egg, disturbed only by incomprehensible scribbles of charcoal on dirty parchment. Flourescent light buzzes blue-white, piercing through the never-ending night.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat Egg
This good size oval seems to be covered in swirls that don't resemble anything more than lather-ey soap, bubbling with iridescent frenzy. Just below the commotion twine strands of darkness that swirl with the bubbly white arching down the sides of the egg to end in splattered spots on the warm sand below. Homely, pale purple, fuzzy swirls plump boldy up the blending with the dark brown where the frenzied foam no longer lathers with the locks of brown, enrobing the totality with a toweling warmth.

Late Night Ice Cream Binge Egg
Luminous, frigid glimmers of melting color ooze across the shell, a rainbow of icy flavors. Scattered randomly about the fluid shell are places here the colors retain their crystalline formation, yet most of the egg drowns underneath the melted river of motley hues. An infinite supply of the frothy, frosty liquid gyrates incessantly about the smooth surface, creating a tempting banquet for the eyes of all who look upon it.

Romantic Movie Egg
White-hot flames of love, each flickering edge blushed with crimson, lick the rotund egg with a certain lusty glee, radiant against the sable shell. Idyllic roseate hues twine with the incarnadine warmth, graduated in hues from tender puppy love to eternal adoration. Splotches of buttery yellow pop up all over the egg, reach salty blotch ringed with a greasy, rash iridescence. Recklessness aside, the patchworked blues that blanket the lower half of the shell embrace the faint, fire-cast shadows of an archetypal dyad, eternal and immortal.

Frantically Awaiting Election Results Egg
Tangible tension encircles the pendulous shell as colors shift violently about the turbulent surface. Hues of vibrant crimson and vivid azure battle for supremacy, both vehemently striving for ultimate dominion. All other colors have long since been eliminated, yet neither scarlet nor sapphire triumphs, rather, they teeter on the edge of an indefinite stalemate, and the outcome remains uncertain.

M'rin smiles, cheeks coloring faintly as he watches the two draconic parents unload and settles their children…But no counting eggs before they explode, right? "Mmm," the small rider agrees with a sound, more interested in the interaction between the two lifemates. One of his 'lizards, Puk, pops into view with a half-shriek, promptly landing on his shoulder and burrowing vigerously into his collar. Rixesith carefully catches the gently rolling eggs in the curve of his foreclaws, inspecting the first to land oddly. It's kind of…strangely shaped…Hmm. Still alive, though, as far as he can tell. And now they need a-burying…Hi ho, hi ho, to bury eggs we go…

Areiah watches as yet another five eggs are laid. Mymymy. Her lifemate's clutch of eggs seems to grow every time the gold moves. Even as she thinks that, there her lifemate goes again to clutch another three eggs. Watching as the gold quickly buries them into the hot sands, the weyrwoman's feet begin to shift back and forth. Time for a reprieve? Ysbryth doesn't think so, however, as she again allows the clutch-dad to bury one of her eggs.

Monopoly Egg
Cool cerulean cascades liquidly along the bumpy surface of this average-sized oval, disappearing only when another hue comes to take its place. Multiple, brilliant splashes of silver range along the circumfrence, taking shape as a round-toed boot, or a rearing runner with rider a-back, or even the shaggy contours of a long-haired canine. Scattered like ruby wine and delicate mossy drops are the shapes of verdurous cotholds and their larger, scarlet counterparts. The final color that complements sweet blue is a faded, humble gold that flutters down the sides to collect at the very bottom. Pass go, collect two hundred marks.

Winter Hearthfire Egg
Warmth exudes a faint glow of pleasure: hazy, sunlit tones that disperse with perfect regularity like the flurries of snow-white stippling at random; the trim of egg's paragon curves. Lackluster walnut trundles around the sandswards base, stacking ebon-lined reinforcement to that stout pedastal; from there, a flare of light brightens the tidy shell, flickering saffron radience amongst cerise's more subtle sprawl. Cerulean tips each spindle of amber-threaded rubicond, plutonic elegance sullied and shadowed by a singularly compelling turmoil of blackness.

Late Night Infomercial Egg
It's amazing! It's wonderful! It must be had! Whirls of refulgent violet race along with their too-catchy craze of azure, begging for attention. Magenta glares out, almost and eyesore, before the more mechanical grays arise, marching about the generous promotion with their faintest gleaming lustre. The outlandish egg's buzz of meliflous hues subsides as browns and sooty shades billow up from the depths, sleepy clouds rolling out like a call to dreamland, offering an escape to the monotonous marketplace's call.

Rixesith feels proud. Rixesith feels /useful/. Look! Look! He can bury the eggie goodly. One claw scrapes at the sand, next to a small mound that no doubt contains at least a few eggs. Two eggs are gently rolled down the gentle slope into the bottom curve of the hole. Claw curves out again and loads sand on top of it. Did he do good? Huh? Huh? Did Rix do goodly? M'rin smothers a tiny laugh behind one small hand, watching his lifemate be /ever/ so obediant. If only he was always like this…

Ysbryth's own flagging energy begins to show as the queen's last labored clutching produces three eggs. To that, the gold croons to the good Rixesith to bury the last three little eggs as she curls up next to her mound of eggs. Counting, Areiah murmurs, "Thirty-seven eggs." A very nice clutch of Ysbryth and Rixesith. "You should be proud," is said toward M'rin with a grin.

Something's Under the Bed Egg
Green glints, gliding along the gentle slope of shell, its sinister swirling evocative of familiar stories; of scales and slime and monsters once whispered of. An odd darkness covers the creamy expanse, and unnatural gray and coal shadowing that lurks like a preying hunter. The danger skulks farther with the bump and thump of rough brown, patching along until a sprinkle of purpse and sky-tinged blue slip over it - a quilt of color obscuring the faint, eerie pair of crimson splotches that stare out through the dark, daring any who try to investigate on a lonely night.

All Nighter Study Hard Egg
Night cloaks this ovoid in the almost tangible blackness of midnight. The darkness is pierced by a single shaft of light, an illuminating, enlightening streak from top to bottom of the shell. Dreamlike shapes seem to swirl in the murkiness near the light - an outline of what could be a book, a clock, a bed. Time tops, keeps on flowing in the light of a night that has no end.

Quilting the Hours Away Egg
Ahhh… Soft muslin enfolds most of this smaller sized shell, the creamy shade well flecked with warm browns and a glimmer of yellow. A shadow is poised, dark charcoal a frozen silhouette of a young woman, her slender form well defined. A closer look reveals colors, pastels in tiny triangles and stronger hues in a myriad of other shapes with rippling textures to seem like tiny pieces of fabric drifting over a lady's lap as she sews pieces together in a crazy patchwork. Little bands of color are behind her as well, folded and stacked cottons in every color in the rainbow with frequent drapes of muslin hiding many from view.

Ysbryth thinks to you, « I bespoke Rixesith with: Ysbryth sends tendrils of thoughts wrapped in wildflowers towards you. « Bury the rest? I am so tired.. » to him. »

M'rin /is/ proud, though not nearly as proud as the near exploding-with-pride, doting father hovering a short distance away from the clutching Queen, being very careful not to step on any of the many mounds of eggs. A crooning rumble is sounded, bronzen head tipping a little to one side, the smell of burning beeswax strong in the heat. "I'm p-proud, as is h-he," M'rin responds, happy emotion evident in his otherwise quiet, stuttering voice. "And I can only h-hope you and Ysbryth are too."

Ysbryth senses Rixesith emits the soothing scent of pine and beeswax, accompanied by a tendril of purple and bronze and three words «Anything you say.» to her.

<All> Ysbryth senses that her weariness is nigh on tangible as the gold's sandalwood scent is muted by the physical strain of clutching her eggs. « Done. » Images of the mounds she clutched float through her mindvoice, indicating that she has finished with her business and all may come admire them.

Ysbryth heaves a sigh as her now flaccid stomach can be seen. Still, she keeps checking the eggs and moving them this way and that way, making sure each is getting cooked quite nicely. Areiah turns to M'rin, "I believe she's done. I think it's snack time for me."

Rixesith buries the last of the eggs, rumbling ever so faintly in his throat. Proud? There isn't a word for what this dragon is. "Aye, s-sounds like an idea," the small weyrleader agrees, keeping an eye on his doting lifemate, a ghost of a smile hovering on his face. Quite an interesting experience…But snack. Bread and water for him, probably…Mmmm…

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