Egg-touching (clutch 1)

April 23rd 1998
Logged by Jh'ral

Hatching Sands, Jh'ral's POV.
Candidates present are Stephen, Tavim, Sefren, Kumiko, Daleva and Aife.

Wyverthian ferocity carves this immense, mature queen, now accustomed to her tremendous length of limb. Knobby, bony wingspars lilt with a fired, faintly purple sunrise, their golden sails further beaten to true, midmorning translucence, and the brilliant force of midday strikes overlarge talons and haphazardly spaced neckridges; fierce, angry heat boils along the sunswept highlights on the tortuous kinks of neck and tail, and dances hearthfire's glow within her hungry gaze.
Egg-heavy, brood-heavy, 'Reth's sides swell with the lumps of countless eggs.
Tiareth is 16 Turns, 1 month, and 4 days old.
She is 41 meters long,with a wingspan of 68 meters.

This dragon has aged well, now nearing his prime. Bay-bronze brightens the extremeties of wingtip and talon while that shade darkens in thicker regions; his hide is smooth and solid, shifting in gradation rather than color. A lean curiosity guides the flex of planed muscles - and the tilt of muzzle - while inertia holds his tail steady.
He is 36 meters long, with a wingspan of 60 meters.

Silver streaks his once-brown hair, lending some rakishness to what otherwise is a very plain face: brown eyes, okay cheekbones, largish nose, middling mouth, and crow's feet. He's mid-height but on the lean side, with a certain air of whimsy to his freeflowing limbs.
Leathers have him in their clutches. Slug claims a shoulder with taut talons. Jobber just hulks. Zein perches more lightly.
Bay-bronze twists the weyrleader's knot of black and blue.
Jh'ral is 49 Turns, 3 months, and 21 days old.

In the galleries, Stephen avoids the Sands themselves and moves up from the entrance.
In the galleries, Stephen leans against the rail, mid in deep thought as he look out over eggs.

Nothing is remarkable about this young man, he only stands about 5 foot 9 and is of average uild. His hair is a dark brown, neatly combed and trimmed to just above the ears. On his face s constantly a warm smile, and his krystal blue eyes are filled with a compassion for others. He is very shy, how ever when you take the time to talk to him and get to know him, you will find that Stephen is more than willing to be a friend, and is eager to help anyone, anyway he can.
He is wearing a white tunic, tucked in to a pair of black pants, held up by a plane brown leather belt. On his feet he wears a pare of well warn, comfortable brown boots. Stephen wears Listening tube around his neck. with a melting glare, that seems to see right through you, WhirlWhind stares at you from Stephen's shoulder.
he wears the white candidate's knot signifying him as High Reaches candidate. Stephen is 19 Turns, 7 months, and 10 days old.

Rennth thinks to you, « I bespoke Hinoth with: Rennth twitch-fidgets, his way of a mental knock. » /He/ says that the eggs are hard enough. They should touch them. « to him. »

Rennth closes claws around an egg here, ties a tail around another there. Really, he's a good dad. Jh'ral seems … energetic, giving a tie and a yank to the laces of his loose tunic and then swiveling away from the rider-alcove, eyes looking to the entrance, the galliers- ah. He strides that-a-way, Stephen spied.

In the galleries, Stephen doesn't see weyrleader's aproach, eyes glued to eggs, mind seeming off in distand places.

Jh'ral interferes with the view, arms stretching up and waving in an arc, "Hey."

In the galleries, healer blinks as Stephens mind eyes fokus on weyrleader, quickly standing straiter, he smiles and waves in return, "evening, jh'ral."

Tiareth's head lifts the merest fraction from her paws, and she snorts.

Jh'ral often practices being a rainbow, he does. Letting his arms fall loosely to his sides once more, he chuckles, "Lost ::between:: or something?"

In the galleries, Stephen's eyes look away for a brief moment as he shakes his head, " know," he replied slowly, leaning against the rail agin, fokusing on weyrleader once more, "just….. just thinking."

"Uh huh," Jh'ral manages to mix disbelief with sly certainty of what Stephen was thinking about. "You don't have to just think, you know- why don't you come down? Practice burning your feet."

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

Before you stands a slender young man just over six feet tall. A river of copper-gold flows down around his face, his thick strawberry-blonde hair hanging down just above his broad shoulders only broken by a newly dyed blue streak running down one side of his head, some of which curls into loose ringlets which he's constantly blowing away from his eyes. He moves with lithe ease, walking with the proud bearing he was taught as a child. His broad shoulders and slender waist suggest a well-muscled form built more for speed and agility than brute strength, all the while retaining a sense of warmth and kindness, smoothly chiseled features displaying a strange complexion, his skin seeming pale yet tanned at the same time. S'fyre's features are dominated by the piercing blue eyes for which he was named, seeming to radiate intensity as they calmly take in everything around him, smiling and laughing with him. He speaks with what could very well be a slight Southern accent, and has a very musical tenor tone to his voice, his intonation and accent often making it seem as though he is actually singing out words, rather than simply speaking.
Riding leathers of a deep red adorn S'fyre's lean frame tightly, clinging to his shape snugly but lose enough to move around in. The dyed leathers match the colour of his lifemates riding straps perfectly, right down to the leather gloves and brighter red hemming around his neck.
Prominently displayed upon his shoulder rests a double-corded knot of interwoven sapphire and shadowy black, the colours of High Reaches Weyr, through which twists a single thread of glittering bronze, two loops fall from the knot along with a single long tassle signifying his position as Wingleader of the Inferno wing and rider of Bronze Hinoth
S'fyre is 21 Turns, 3 months, and 15 days old.

In the galleries, Salea avoids the Sands themselves and moves up from the entrance.

Rennth plays in the sand, just like a kid burying treasures. Sand spills over the eggshell - the top doesn't hold it well.

Tavim moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

When pressed to identify this young man's most striking characteristic, most would point out his eyes - piercing, storm cloud grey, they shine with a life of their own and speak of a friendly, though robust, spirit. Other features play second - a hawkish, well defined nose; thin lips oft set to a smile, whether smirk or grin. Mousy brown hair looks as if it was once cut neatly; now, though, it's grown out, hanging down to his collar. His smooth tenor is pleasing to the ear, fluid and amicable, though a certain boredom seems to be just below the surface. Finely toned from exercise, he'd still not be called 'well muscled' at a lanky six feet. Alert and wary, his outlook is friendly, but in the background, one could probably see the roaming past that follows those with a wanderlust like his.
His clothes are the epitome of use and functionatily, lacking in style. A simple white tunic, stained with dirt and age, the leather strap loosly lacing it shut. A pair of brown trousers hand down from his waist, the edges frayed, and stained as well from the elements. Well worn wher-hide boots look like they've been through every inch of the Pern, which they probably have, scuffed and pitted from sand. A black belt is around his waist, used to hang various items: one such item that catches the eye is an intricate belt knife, quite old and worn, but beautiful none-the-less, the blade kept as sharp as possible. Perched on Tavim's shoulder is Kayla.
Tavim is 19 Turns, 11 months, and 11 days old.

In the galleries, Salea waves to Stephen. "Heya! How's you? I think they're starting an egg-touching seesion, so you might want to hop on down."

Jh'ral grouses idly, "That's what I told him."

Daleva moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

Waves of sunset fire flow across this young womans shoulders, and ice green eyes sparkle with an inner fire of spirit and intelligence. Her skin is tanned slightly like most who live on Ista, but theres also a slight wind burn across her cheeks. She is of average height for a woman but she moves with a competency that makes her seem taller than she is. She is quite pretty in a fiery almost wild way, but in contrast to those looks she is very even-tempered.
A pair of well worn black pants are matched with an old long-sleeved dark blue shirt, faded from many turns of wear. The entire outfit gives one the feeling that it has seen better days, and is chosen specifically because it doesn't matter if it gets dirty or destroyed.
She is wearing a new knot indicating that she is a Candidate at High Reaches Weyr.
Daleva is 17 Turns, 9 months, and 12 days old.

S'fyre waves across the sands to Jh'ral, trail of candies in tow "Rounded up and accounted for Weyrleader." he says, stepping up beside him with a grin.

Tiareth slavers idly over her, her, /her/ gold egg, curling tongue stickily about shell and rolling faceted eyes at the poor candidates.

In the galleries, Stephen smiles and turns to go down the stairs and join jh'ral. 'outch' well, hot sands or no, Stephen could use the practis. a wave is given salia and a quick "hello" before he dashes away.
In the galleries, Stephen heads out of the galleries.

Kumiko moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

Dusk slips and eddies into human form; ebony colored locks fall in a neat braid down past slender shoulders to hips as almond hued eyes glimmer softly, depending on mood, or circumstance. Willowy, curves grace her dimunitive frame with surprising strength, working life taking it's toll in the form muscle augmenting softer planes. Expression tends to a consistant form of neutrality, compliments and insults rolling off of placid facade, as if never said.
Leather dyed in deepest cruelan wraps about her form, leather vest a patchwork of straps and silver threads. The fit is snug, quite the opposite of billowing white shirt, the high necked collar and cuffs the only thing tapering. The rest flows, wide sleeves flowing about wiry arms. Pants of dark blue hue cover her legs, sleek leather tracing every curve, before falling into knee-high black boots. Perched on Kumiko's shoulder is Ambitious. Perched on Kumiko's shoulder is Natsume. Perched on Kumiko's shoulder is Kraft.
The stiff blue and black knot of a High Reaches Weyr candidate is settled on her left shoulder.
Kumiko is 22 Turns and 7 days old.

Stephen moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

"And here I thought he couldn't move fast," is Jh'ral's muttered comment to himself before he tracks furrows in the other direction to meet S'fyre, "Thank you, thank you - didn't have to tie and drag anybody?"

Daleva looks around the sands as she enters at the same time rolling up the sleeves of her shirt, /hot/ but at least her hair will dry quick out here. Her gaze finally falls upon Jh'ral waiting for instructions.

S'fyre chuckles and gestures to the accounted "Naaah, only had to whip a few." he states easily with an added shrug for effect

Tavim mills about on the sands, trying to hide his excitement, feigning coolness, as he gets his first close up look at those eggs. Niiiice paint jobs. Wonder who did 'em? A glance towards the Weyrleader, brow quirking a bit, now wondering what the next step is. He gravitates towards Kumi, and leans down, whispering, "Whatcha think we're here for?"

Kumiko might as well wonder out. Dispite the idea of being tied up by S'fyre is… interesting, she decides to see what's going on for herself. Tavim is leaned near, as she murmurs, "Egg touching. We're here to touch the eggs." Well, golly gee.

The queen's facets actually focus on that Tavim fellow, her headknobs tilted back, and she outright stares; the queen egg between her forepaws glistens damply, saved for the nonce.

Stephen is quiet, hot, and unsertain. this was sothing he'd only heard of, never partisapted in. - course, he was never a candi either.

That indeed would be what egg touching would imply. The eyebrow that belongs to Tavim moves slightly higher on his brow, pondering that over, as he follows his friend towards the edge, looking about. Hmm. Touch 'em? Sounds… interesting. A smile is reserved for Tiareth, one of her few fans, then he looks back towards the Weyrleader. Orders, sir?

Jh'ral shakes his head, "What /are/ the dragons thinking, searching people who want to be here? I thought they had more sense than that." Ahem. "Well, watch where you put your feet, and roam among. They're hard enough not to hurt, so no worries as long as you don't start banging and kicking." Jh'ral is scant on the advice.

In the galleries, Salea chuckles…all those candis…randomly walking…what chaos!

Rennth does the obligatory Ferocious Look, having his own couple'o'eggs clutched close.

S'fyre rests his arms behind his back, rocking his feet back and forth a little…cuz it's HOT! He grins over at Jh'ral "Dragons are weird that way….takes all the fun out of candidacy this 'wanting to be here' stuff." he says in a mischievous tone

Sefren moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

Quick in movement and startling in intensity of mood, this young man meets your gaze with a sudden smile and flash of Thread-gray eyes hooded under dark lashes. His inky-black hair is close-cropped and kinda sticks up on top with studied carelessness. His complexion is dark, his form compact, though he occasionally creates the illusion that the opposite is so, due to his unapologetic flair for the dramatic.
Gleaming emerald sisal glints subtle swirled silver patterns in the light: loose trews and a fitted, short-sleeve tunic lacing up the front, exotic floral brocades done in silver thread criss-crossing across back and over shoulders, completed by dusty black ankle boots on his feet. Coiled possessively around Sefren's throat is Miami.
He wears a simple knot of white cord, marking him as a High Reaches Weyr Candidate.
Sefren is 18 Turns, 2 months, and 27 days old.

scant, for candis who haven't a clue of what to do, eep. Stepeh just stands there, mezmerized at beeing sooo close to the eggs. he eyes scan egg after egg, trying to find the 2 he had seen frome the galeries, the 2 he'd looked at so hard till he could have burned the open if vition were fire.

Daleva blinks slightly..touch the eggs? Shards she's never even seen a hatching before…a glance around at the eggs, and up at the Gold. "Umm.." her normal confidence slightly dampaned. A deep breath and she shrugs, never been a case of a dragon eating a Candi..but just to be on the safe side she'll stay well away from the parents until invited otherwise.

Kumiko looks back at Rennth. Bah. She's definately not afraid. But well, he /is / bigger. "I guess this is one perk. I get to see them up close." A smile drifts Jh'ral-ward, before she scoots out. Where to go first….

Sounds… easy enough. Tavim takes another glance towards Kumi, then shrugs. Whatever. He minces towards one of the rather nicely colored eggs, coming somewhat close to the parents, teasing death, then picks a nice, large, round one. Well, they all look that way… but this one looks that way too. He hesitates, then gingerly puts his finger tips on the side of the egg, touching the slightly leathery surface. Weeeeird.

Nuff has connected.

Obnoxious gold ringlets tumble down around this rosy-cheeked cherub in a perfectly divine halo of treacle and amber; if not truly angelic, at least she may look the seraph's part from broody heather-violet eyes to bottled-sunlight smile. Stolen sun has baked her pert features rum-gold, the tan extending itself across her motherly frame and down through Weaver's fingers to the very tips of her immaculate nails. Turns away have pared the excess flesh off this weyrwoman, lending her a subtle grace only occasionally overrun by her old wherry-drunk discontrol.
Susurrant lavender trimmed indigo drapes loosely over her pale torso; sisal flows through the crossed vee of fabric over rounded chest to bare Nuff-belly before resuming its tumbling folds down to mid-thigh. The skirt flares outwards in lighter shades of purple that gleam with shifting golden threads, matching satin petticoats of the same rich metallic. Her boots are, of course, lined in purple - one puce, one lavender, and the same colors entwine the ribbons that curl about every coil of her hair. Fish coils speckled gold around the chubby neck.
Nuff is 30 Turns, 2 months, and 4 days old.

Sefren skittles up to the group, a bit more that fashionably late this time. "Hey. High there. Sorry 'bout that," he mutters to those who look at him funny, trying to assimulate into the group.

Jh'ral nods sagely, as he rotates around to have the clutch and candidates in view, "Makes you wonder about their sanity."

Kumiko waggles fingers toward Sefren, before she marches up. Right toward a particular egg that's being clutched by a particular clutchdaddy. Can that lil puppy nose come out and play? At least be touched, as gaze shoots upward..

A flash of purple, a snippet of gold, a rather nervous giggle and Nuff drops from a shadowed ledge onto the sands to make her way over to Jh'ral - "Whose sanity is that?"

Tiareth arches her neck, damp egg rolling beneath her muzzle, picking up that sand: what once was gold now is brownish-black. Hidden?

Stephen finds egg one in the mutatude and leanes down to examin it closer, 'timeless krystal egg'.

S'fyre laughs "Wonder about their sanity?" a quick wink is sent Jh'ral-ward "Never." He glances around at the hopping candies in amusement, waving over at Nuff

Rennth touches nose to cryogenic canine egg, then the cupping claws push it slightly away. /This/ one, he'll let go. But he's watch-watching.

"Yours, of course," Jh'ral says blithely.

Daleva slips her way out and across the sands, hands behind her back and just looking for now. Well away from momma and daddy, though an a glance goes towards the pair everyonce in a while.

Aife moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.
Aife pads awkwardly onto the sand toward the group of not-Candidates, trying not to look like it's the first time she's been /quite/ this close to dragon eggs, and pretend she isn't nervous, either. Not a bit.

This diminunitive young woman's tangled curls are the colour of bright copper, and she has braided into it strings of beads, feathers, and coloured string. Loose now, it falls unbound past her waist and forms a curtain on either side of her birdlike face. Her smokey grey eyes seem to match her voice - a dusky alto accented with a rich brogue. Fragile and delicate, her tiny body seems about to break, but a longer look reveals a strength there, well-hidden in a thin, frail form that stands barely over four and a half feet tall. She looks wild, still not completely at home among the more elegant Hold folk, despite Turns now among them. A dark red scar runs across the length of her left palm. Her smiles are just as special but less frequent than they once were, and her eyes, peaceful, haunted, or cloudy by turns, express or hide the thoughts and emotions behind them.
A loose, sleeveless tunic the pale gold of spun wheat billows over her body, falling baggy almost to her knees and tamed by a tooled belt of brown leather that catches it round her slender waist. Tight cotton of darker gold coats her legs, vanishing at her ankles into low, grey wherhide boots. Deepest amethyst glows as it surrounds Aife with its vibrancy, the purple hue soft yet eyecatching. Wherhide dyed so exquisitely that the grain is invisible, it protects Aife from the cold as well as complimenting her complexion, buttoned up to her neck with triangles of polished shell shining iridescent in silver settings. Silvery grey stitching makes the jacket sturdy yet attractive, and the same thread is embroidered into the ghostly shape of a firelizard on the back, tail curling around the side to flick upwards on the jacket's front. Inside, the grey-dyed flax lining guarantees to keep out the cold of even ::between::. Perched on Aife's left shoulder, with his head buried in her hair and his tail round her neck, is blue Adonis.
The knot of a Harper Journeyman hangs slightly askew from Aife's shoulder, woven through with the black and blue of High Reaches Weyr.
Aife is 22 Turns, 5 months, and 5 days old.

Kumiko is watch-watched even as her fingers touch glacial blue. "I do admit… when I was a kid, I always wanted to sneak out. Just to see." This is mostly said toward Rennth, near silent as lips barely move. But she's an adult now. Time to toss fancy away, even if it does seem like a puppy nose.

Sefren wanders through the scattered clusters of eggs, reaching out to pat one or another as he passes, fingers ginger against the hardening leather shells. A sheepish grin is flashed at Kumiko - he never did take scolding well - before a certain egg - cool, confectionary, and caffienated in appearance catches his gaze and he pauses.

sand is to hot for Stephen to remain in one place for to long and he sands once again. glance at riders, (jh'ral/nuff) the to the parents of this beautifu clutch, his mind still wandering, ever quiet, never saying a word. any apraisal this healer may have for these eggs, remains a mistery.

Tavim hesitates another moment, then slowly runs his fingers along the pebbled side of the egg o' meandering streams. He kinda likes it… nice. Good coloring, nice texture… it really brings out the mastery of the art and artis- erm. Yeah. Nice egg. A cough, then he glances about, looking at the others, then back to the current object of attention.

Kumiko saw: Cold, in color if not in heat, the egg is still - no investigating puppy nose is here quite yet, it must bake a bit more before it hatches. But there's an aliveness to it, a whisper of a promise, the gravid imminence.

Sefren saw: Fizzy? Maybe. Cool, certainly, and caffeinated with the promise of to-be-born dragonet. Not a throb, not a pulse, but … /something/.

Kumiko unconciously shivers, hand yanked back from Cryogenic. That did not just happen. Eyes narrow at the egg, as if trying to delve into it, before she touches it again. It didn't happen. Couldn't have.

Tavim saw: And it's slightly rough against your hand, that pebbly egg. Just enough that texture matches color.

Daleva looks at each of the eggs as she passes, but finds herself stopped at one of them, struck by it's seeming timelessness…a slightly wary hands reaches out and fingertips brush gently across it.

Sefren presses both palms against the iced mocha egg and drops to his knees, head tilted to press an ear to shell. "Can the dragonets hear us? Can they tell anything about us while we're here?" he asks, directing the questions to no one in particular.

Stephen stops crystline snoflake egg' and neel once again to examin it closer, this time, tentivly reaching out to touch harding shell, gently, healers touch, so as not to harm it. nevermind what weyrleader had said, thoug thesesthese may be hard einough ot tharm, he'd take no chances.

Aife slips through the crowd of eggs and candidates and hovers near the edge of the stands somewhere roughly behind Nuff. It should be safe there. Depending, of course, on what constitutes 'safe.'

"They haven't talked to me yet, but if you hear - do tell," Jh'ral decides.

OOC: Stephen says "though these egge be hard einough not to harm, he'd take no chances. :P"

Nuff flexes her toes inside mis-matched purple boots and glances for a moment over to Tiareth, chuckling. Then, sane or not, she takes a step back against the Harper and grins. "Hey Aife. What say you? Can dragons hear'm y'think?"

Tavim lets the egg hold his attention a while longer, fingers idly drifting, then he decides to look at the one next to it. Wastelands. Nice. His fingers now gently attack these whipped reaches, liking the tactile sensation of it, then quirks a brow, looking over towards Jh'ral. Is that so? Candidates hear these eggs? What, make a loud thump?

Stephen saw: Under your tenative hand, the hardening shell is not pulsing, not throbbing, and yet there's an aliveness to it. A whispering promise, an uncertain sensation that heralds … something.

Aife peers upward at Nuff's face and gives this question weighty consideration. "The dragons can, but the ones in the eggs? They'd have to yell loud, to get through all the gunk, I think."

Kumiko is just wondering where that…. nevermind. No one would believe her. Bad enough with Sindiath… instead, she moves along, leaving Rennth to hover over that particular egg, slacking another thirst by touch chilled Root Beer.

S'fyre catches Sefren's question amidst distracted thoughts and glancing at eggs, he hears Aife's name and looks over his shoulder to spot the harper….sneaking up on him hmmmm? They're all out to get him you know. He raises an eyebrow before looking back at the eggs, wonder if he ever yelled at Hinoth's egg?

Tiareth preens only subtly under her rider's attention, a rustle - surely not ruffle! - of wing, a playful press of talons' tips into sand.

Sefren holds his breath, listening for a moment. "I don't hear any noises at all." Not surprising, since they're far from hatching. "But do you think one of 'em could hear my voice and come looking for me when they hatch?" He ponders Aife's words and considers yelling, but then again, that might upset Tiareth or Rennth.

Daleva saw: Shimmering white, light? It's so still that in appearance it could be as inanimate as what it resembles, but to the touch - oh, no. Never. It doesn't throb, doesn't pulse, nothing so obvious, but … something, something.

Aife smiles inncently at Saf before he turns back away. Her, sneaky? Never ever. Good sweet Aife, as all Harpers are. "Or maybe think real hard at 'em…since, well, ya know." Since she can talk to 'em from her room, it makes sense, right?

High above on a crescent-moon ledge, a green dragon pokes her nose into view, her eyes mere speckles of azure. Oo look, look, people. Maybe she should spit.

S'fyre grins, still pondering he chuckles "Most people reserve the yelling until /after/ they're hatched." the bronzerider muses, pushing a few errant strands of golden hair up behind his ears…..

And a candidate will forever drown in dragon drool. Such a fate. Kumiko doesn't spot the hovering green, however, as her fingers move across the Root Beer egg, body finally warming up again. At least she doesn't have worry about freezing. Baking, however, is another matter, as nonchalant touch is given.

Kumiko saw: Fizzy. Fuzzy? No. Smooth, very smooth, with little texture to challenge the creamy-white delight. It's … light, this egg, with a sense of lightheartedness to the whole affair.

Don't mention baking. Tavim was busy doing it all afternoon. Mental note: beg not to get kitchen duty. The kitchen is a good place, of eating. Not of working. His fingers move slowly over the bleak 'landscape' of the egg, it catching his eye, rather interested in it. The deserts and winter wastelands always entertained his interest. This one is doing a rather good job of it as well.

Sefren decides not to try 'thinking hard,' since that sounds like it'd hurt. With a reluctant pat, he leaves the mocha egg and spies another beveragy one, this one like icy citrus tea. Entranced, he traces his fingers across it to leave a streaky trail in the dusting of sand on its shell.

Stephen is suddenly more alert now, examining 'crystaline snowflake egg' mor closely, something had peeked his enterest and /nothing/ could pull his atention from it now. hand runns along eggs serface as a smile breaks out on candi's face, the unexplainable sensation of something special about this egg in his mind.

Nuff hehs, brushing at her sisals. "One would think, I think. But I suggest not testing that particular theory." She turns to Sefren and Stephen, watching. "Well, hear anything?"

Float gets another look, as Kumiko's head shakes. A smile emerges, before it is hastily tossed done. None of that. Not out here, at any rate. Fingers touch once more, frothed swirls gaining her attention. Maybe she should get checked out; odd things are afoot.

Rennth isn't underfoot, he's overfoot. - But not hovering.

Tiareth's tail sways, marking Rennth or time, one or t'other.

High above on a crescent-moon ledge, Niraneth prowls back and forth, maybe dislodging a pebble here or there. She follows them with her eyes at they fall, hoping that it'll bean Tiareth's big fat.. no. Maybe that one.. no. Or this.. no. And Ophe won't let her spit. How awful.
High above on a crescent-moon ledge, Niraneth settles for staring at Tavim. Let's see if he notices.

Stephen saw: The snowy egg isn't doing anything spectacular, but that in itself has its own allure. The surface is warm against your hand, sand-cradled and sand-nurtured. Maybe the snowflake will eventually melt - and what might be inside?

Sefren shakes his head at Nuff before moving on to one that reminds him of an icy autumn morning. "I didn't hear anything. I guess they little dragonets are putting all their energy into growing. Nothing left for anything else." Like bothering with candidates, he seems to imply. "Have you ever heard anything coming from inside a dragons' egg?" he asks Nuff.

Tavim takes a look around, noticing expressions about. Hey. Even Kumiko grinned. Wonder what the big fuss is. I mean… yeah, they're neat. But it's not like they do tricks, right? And what's all of this about hearing the eggs? He's just getting the sound of sand underfoot. A slight shrug, as his idle steps drag him elsewhere, towards one near theh mini-clutch of Renneth. A hesitant smile, then his hand gently slides over the egg that seems to resemble a comet made of ice. A paranoid feeling sends him upwards, and he notices a green staring down at him. Odd. A shrug, dismissing the eyes on his back, as he takes the time to examine and feel this egg.

Nuff stretches a hand out towards Tiareth's big… er… leg and brushes it with her fingers. She moves just a little bit closer to the dragon, but keeps one on the candidates and the other on Aife. "You could always try singing to one y'know."

Kumiko saw: Frothed, swirled, they meet in bands in the middle - coloration if not texture - sasparilla and cream, white and brown, caffeine and sugar. A wonder it's not hyperactive, but no, it's only a sense.

Kumiko scoots away from tall chilled drinks to the daddy of them all. No,
not Rennth, but an iceberg. A big iceberg… who knows, maybe it is a piece of… can't be. Thoughts have truely wandered off kilter now, as her fingers come across the iceberg egg, indestructabilty holding her fragile attention. It will falter, eventually, but for now, it's /there/.

Aife's eyes flicker over the eggs. "Well, I could, but what if they liked it? Then they might hatch and want me." And Aife, for all her draconic friends, is not a Candidate.

Sefren looks at Nuff a bit dubiously. "Singing to one? Do you think they'd like that?" That'd be one twisted dragonet who'd like Sef's singing. "Maybe one would decide it /didn't/ want me if it heard me sing." Likely, likely. He moves on to another icy egg, fingers brushing against leathery shell.

Rennth s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s out, taking up as much space as possible. Hah.

S'fyre is getting tired of rocking back and forth…he contemplates sitting and burning his..well, could he possibly be /that/ lazy? He decides against it….for a while more anyways. Following Tavim's glance upwards he spots the staring green…odd indeed. A guess is placed and a grin comes about.

Tiareth croons, throbbingly. She's getting Petted. In Public.

High above on a crescent-moon ledge, Niraneth exhales a whistling breath in disappointment, sliding her tapered muzzle back a little bit and eyes the ledge speculatively. She needs something to push over at Tiareth - maybe a lizard or two? No, they'd sprout their wings before they hit. In frustration, she merely grinds her talons along the already ragged lip of the ledge, showering pebbles. Take that.

sand is hot, yet Stephen is all but glued to this egg, something holds it's atention, ilresistable to pul away, but the heat is overwelming and healer is forced to satnd again for confort. the he stand, eyes remain fokused on the shell, why this egg, of all eggs on the sand? was it because it was the only one he had touched? perhaps.

Ahah, well, Nuff can fix that with a simply question - Aife that is. Tiareth gets another touch with just the tips of her fingers, but the weyrwoman is focused on the Harper. "I wondered about that, Aife. Why don't you? Stand I mean?"

Kumiko lets her fingers trail over jagged streaks, skin saved due to the ovoid's smooth surface. Frozen waverings tickle under fingertips, as she lets her heels dig into the sand.

Rennth thinks to you, « I bespoke Niraneth with: Rennth fusses, » Don't hit me. « He's Being Big Guard and she's throwing stones at him. to her. »

Tiareth keeps that croon goin', with scarcely a stop to breathe, but subtler now at the continued attention; a yawn, and she surveys what Rennth's busy with.

Kumiko saw: Enormous. Huge. Gargantuan. Big. Somehow, the more simplistic adjective applies best, for it is simple: straightforward, direct, and motionless.

Sefren moves on to another egg, this one a bit far from the others and gradiated in color like winter wheat. Bright as life but warmer, he thinks, offering this one the tiniest of testing taps on its shell, but this too goes unanswered, perhaps not even heard.

Tormenting the candidates, that's what. Another glance up towards the bronze, watching him stretch out, if a bit intimidatingly. But hey. He's survived a curl around by Tiareth. Nothing much scares him now. More interested in the chunk of ice from the comet, kneeling a bit to get a better look down at the understand, palm pressing flat to the pebbled side. [Tavim]

Rennth senses Niraneth is David, pitching pebbles at his Goliathness. » I cannot control where they fall. « She seems surprised Rennth would even make the suggestion. » They just do. « to him.

Rennth is busy trying to double his size as candidate range near him. Big Mean Daddy and all that.

S'fyre 's concentration on the 'To be lazy, or not to be lazy' question is diverted by the question directed at Aife by the Weyrwoman beside him. He tilts his head towards the harper, bright blue eyes watching curiously…

Stephen moves to the other egg he had looked at before, neeling and running finger long it's serfac, 'timeless krystal egg' was fasenating in it seemingles times appearence and shell is hardening as the other had. ofer course, heated sands to that to eggs.

Aife blinks. "Me stand?" Like, here? With these eggs? Why? "Um…." She looks about for help answering the question, but, well, it's not for anyone else to answer. "Okay. Sure. Why not?"

Kumiko's gaze widens a touch, before she lets her fingers stop. "Tavim…." Voice drifts, for just a moment. "Are you feeling anything?" She's got to wonder. If not, she's getting herself checked. And quick. Fingers remain upon the gargantuan mountain of ice, as heels dig in further.

Stephen saw: This one is colder, perhaps, for all it's not snow-patterned. It waits, waits, waits, is the sense from this one. There's no hurry.

Tiareth - not tentatively; she's never that - but certainly with forethought takes a little deeper breath, and puffs out her own chest, just a little.

Aife chews awkwardly on her lip. "Wait a minute…does that mean I'd have to go live with them?" Cause that could make a difference. Maybe she shouldn't after all. She's got kids to take care of, and all.

"Feeling anything? I-" Woah. What was /that/? Tavim blinks, looking down towards the egg, voice idly trailing off. It was… weird, to say the least. His fingers stroke the side of the egg a bit, then a grin slowly moves onto his face. It was… a very nice feeling. Odd, but… nice. A good trip, so to say. "Umm… yeah. Kinda. I think."

Rennth hadn't done that, the more simple approach. He belatedly inhales, the gushes it out as his stretched length doesn't take kindly to such breath-holding.

Kumiko suddenly doesn't feel so bad, as she lets her fingers move back. Head shakes, before another step is taken. "I should go. I think I forgot to do something." She needs to think, and it isn't going to happen here.

S'fyre shakes his head slightly, looking across Nuff at the harper "You're going to stand?" he asks in slight disbelief, looking from harper to weyrwoman in slight confusion….thought she had to be searched and all that jazz. "Ya, it would mean that Aife." he states somewhat weakly

Nuff's grin gets bigger still and she claps her hands, bouncing from foot to foot. "Hear that S'fyre? Aife's gonna join the candidates!" Nuff's always happy to take more'n more, for Tiareth's kids and everything.

Tiareth displays ivory teeth. Not bad.

High above on a crescent-moon ledge, Niraneth watches the dragon-pair bloat. Look ma, gas!

timeless, that was the only word to discibe this egg and Stephen stairs into space, thinking. timeless, as in the timelessness of ::between::? *shtter* he'd rather not think of :between:: least not in the prespective f beeing timeless.

Aife shakes her head. "Maybe I better not." After all, she knows there's no dragon there for her, right? And there's a lot of work gone into being a candidate. Ah, decisions.

Jh'ral watches candidates, easy on the sands in his thick boots. No swaying for him, nope. Not that he'd admit it, anyway. "Can always change your mind, Aife," he offers.

Sefren grins over at Aife. "Aw, c'mon, why not? Wouldn't hurt anything, would it? And it'd sure be interesting."

Stephen saw: Forever? This egg has that sensation, but would forever be so bad …

Kumiko scoots, quietly, amdist all the milling of the other candidates around the eggs. A look is chanced back, before she goes. Out, out, and away!
Kumiko escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.

Nuff stops bouncing to grab hold of one boot and tug at it. "Yah. I mean no. I mean you said you would now you have to." She steps aside and points at side of Tiareth one can see from so close. "Afterall, you wouldn't want to disappoint her now would you?"

Tiareth's meanwhile busy skewing her neck to look up at Niraneth: when they've gas, she'll be the first to know.

Stephen snaps out of his trance and quickly stands, smiling at aife, speeking for the first time, "yes, my harper firend, do accept." he smiled at her warmly as he carfuly walked to where riders and harper stood.

The thought finally clicks into place as glittering mischief seems to seep into S'fyre's expression "Oh really…." he grins "I suppose that means she'd be adhering to all the chores and responsibilities that comes with being a candidate…" grin widens "I really need to take a look at that chore list….ya know I've been needing someone to clean up my weyr for the longest time…" he shrugs and whistles innocently, glancing over at Tiareth…

Nuff winks at the young bronze-rider. "And she joins the restricted list, as far as extra-curricular activities go. At least officially." What the riders don't know…. "Hi Stephen. Find one you like?""

Aife looks pleadingly at S'fyre. They're not really gonna make her do this, are they? Just when she got all settled into things? "All..all right." She'll stay, even if it seems like a bad idea. She'd probably regret it later, right?

Probably. But then what's life without regrets?

Jh'ral offers more, dubious, advice, "Just let them sleep sometime, and don't be practicing all night long."

Stephen nods, smiling at the weyrwoman, "yes," he replied, "well," a pauses, "actualy, 2."

S'fyre shrugs, smiling sweetly at the weyrwoman "Of course." he states simply….o ya sure, restricted reschmicted.

Jh'ral twitches his boots a bit to the side as he peers out among the straggling candidates - some here, some there, some gone, some left, "I think that's enough for now …"

Sefren nods to Jh'ral, leaving off attentions to this most recent icy egg with a pat. "We'll get to come out again another time, won't we?"

Nuff nudges Aife. "And one more to boot." Well done Nuff. "Guess this means you hafta move into the barracks with the others eh? I hear there's some new girls from Telgar arrived as well. Help'm settle in?"

"Of course," Jh'ral assures Sefren and whoever else might have the same question - if you have a question, likely someone else has the same question, so /ask/! Ahem.

Aife has an idea. "I'll tell ya tomorrow." She wants to get her head straight, cause this week has brought on far more surprises than she cares for. After all, she can always change her mind later, right? Grey eyes peers once more toward eggs. There /isn't/ one there for her, isn't isn't isn't!

Stephen uncontiously sighs as his eyes sweep the sands one last time, resting first on renth, the tiareth. <woderful parents they were> he thought to himself, and turned to face nuff and harper once again.

Rennth deflates, contracting in on himself. Duty over, he can relax.

Nuff tries not to look too disappointed, and fails - limp smile, limp curls, but eyes alight. "Yah, well I'm hot too. Anyone care to escort an old weyrwoman back to the barracks? And, Aife, if you'll let me know, or Jh'ral, or whoever…. well, yah."

Tiareth blows a puff of air at those curls, without even firestone to sweeten it.

Stephen smiles warmly, "i'd be honored, mam." he answered the weyrwoman.

S'fyre gets the after-puff of Tiareth's blast and frowns slightly, tilting his head back over at Aife with slight concern "Wanna go finish that wine?" he asks….as if he had to.

Nuff shakes her curls and, turning her back on the dragon and rolling her eyes, she steps up alongside the Healer, "Thanks. Jh'ral, as ever, a pleasure."

Surely it was a breeze, even here in the Reaches; Tiareth arches her neck, straightening up from her crouch.

Nuff escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.

Aife nods, padding softly up to S'fyre. "Yes, please." One should always make decisions when full of wine. Or, maybe that's not the best logic. But it seems perfectly good right now.

Stephen escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.

S'fyre grins…he always /did/ adhere to and enjoy harper logic. He turns towards the bowl-proper and offers Aife a hand "Great! Shall we?"

Jh'ral stays here, with dragons and eggs and sands, oh my!

Tiareth stays here with - you know whom.

Rennth loops a tail Tiareth-wards. Him. She better mean him.

Aife slides her hand into Saf's and starts to skip off in the direction of..well, somewhere else. Wine. "Lead on.."

High above on a crescent-moon ledge, She meant /me/.

S'fyre escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.
Aife escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.

Tiareth loops back. If he insists.

Rennth insists, he does. Even if it dares the spit from above.

High above on a crescent-moon ledge, it dares.

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