Egg-touching (clutch 12)

November 20th 2004
Logged by Silas

Freshened breezes from the lake to the south mingle with the stronger scents of herdbeast, wherry, dust and dung, that fill this elliptical enclosure, a faint odor wafting over now and then from the tannery on the far eastern side of the pens. A sturdy fence winds out towards the central bowl, captures an outlet of clear blue lake, and grows into a stout wind-shelter replete with hay and feeding troughs as it meets the bowl wall. Not too far above, a claw-marked series of feeding ledges lie, decorated by a few discarded and bleached-out bones. A few clusters of green sprout, downtrodden, in the hard ground, tracked over by the stampeding of the herds.
It is an autumn noon. The noon sun shines; that is, you assume it does. The clouds above are a thick grey, so the sun only filters down though them dully, muting the colours of everything, it seems.
Blue Taiith is here.
Rianna and Crepe are here.

Silas is just exploring, really, going slowly toward the Pens with an apprehensive look on his face, eyes darting toward the sky now and then as if expecting a dragon to swoop down any minute, mistaking him for food.

A wilderness of dark brown hair fall in disorganized tufts around large ears and comes into dark eyes of this young man. A straight nose with wide nostrils sit in the middle of his face and a broad mouth is made up of thick lips and big teeth with minute, almost invisible dimples at either cheek. Wiry muscles in arms and legs does little to accentuate his slight size of 5'5, though calluses, cuts and nicks on hands and fingers are indicators that he has not been idle.
Silas wears a thick, woolen sweater dyed in grey, green a blue colours with highlights of whites and yellows. Under this, he wears a black fleece tunic and an undershirt of light fabric. His mahogany wherhide trousers are lined with more fleece and black boots are lined with fur to keep his toes warm. Tied around his neck is a length of knitted scarf, mirroring the blues and greens of the sweater.
A single cord of white circle once around this young man's shoulder, making him easily identifiable as a Candidate.
He is a young adult of about 20.

Crepe's definitely not the scrawny little brat from Ista anymore - metabolism down, curves up. Her face, rounded in maturity but still childlike, is tanned faintly with obvious laugh lines forming in the corners of her Prussian-blue eyes and pouted mouth. Her hair, reddish-brownish-blackish in color and cut short and thin, tickles at the nape of her neck in boyish glee. Her upper body has filled out well: once unapparent muscles have now tightened throughout her arms and torso. A rather average frame tapers to her rounded waist, toned legs, and small feet. She's still rather short, in her own opinion. Five foot five, give or take an inch.
She's wearing a skirt. Yes, that's right. A _skirt_. Cut several inches above the knee. And it's rough, leather-hide, too! Collar folded over and pressed neatly, her shirt-white, spotless for the time being and tucked into the waist of her skirt is loose fitted, long sleeved, and unbuttoned at the wrists. Tiny, silver buttons fasten the shirt up the front of her torso, leaving just one or two unhinged to expose a thin, faintly tarnished silver chain around her neck. Her calve-high boots have an odd bowing at each ankle, and, though flat soled, manage to make her legs look longer than they actually are. Ooh, la la.
A single twist of a white braid boasts her candidacy.
She is a young adult of about 22.

Rianna is a thin, short young girl, with an overflow of hair and a big attitude. Rianna is a late bloomer in both emotional and physical maturity, as her body is curving out only slightly, just starting to reach physical maturity. Her legs are no longer straight sticks, though. All ready she has filled out somewhat in her legs and arms, but the curves of a chest and behind haven't yet graced this young girl. Rather, the most interesting feature tends to be her face. Large hazel eyes, oversized in her small face, are framed by richly colored skin, tanned by the elements continuously. Rianna's fluffy hair changes from day to day, some days down, some up, others half and half. Regardless, her hair is a warm blonde with a tint of orangy-red sweeping through her wavy locks. A faded, barely visible scar curves around her left eye, bare remnants of some long-lost incident.
A new outfit of sparkling white remains frozen in time. For the moment, the pretty dress is still sparkling… Soon enough it will be covered with grime from runners, canines, bunnies, little brothers, trading, caravan wagons, dusty trails and just about everything else under the sun that trader girls get into. he top of the dress is young-cut, a high curve over her collar bones with wide sleeveless straps connecting in a slightly lower swoop over her back. The dress is wispy, a soft, floaty material that clings to Rianna's flat-chested, booty-less body, ending just above her knees. Matching white sandals, already somewhat dirtied, are on her feet, thin straps holding them in place with a tiny, tiny heel, serviceable for most every day work. Two firelizards are perched on her shoulders.
She is a teenager of about 17.

Rianna turns, facing the dragon again, though he appears to have finished eating and is preparing to take off. "Oh, Ice is fine. I hate leaving him in T'am's weyr. The poor thing misses me so much!" She says. "Have you been to the stables yet? Or were you just looking for them?"

Crepe nods, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Oh, how she misses afternoon naps in Ista! "Yeah, I just glanced over. Didn't want to get too interested, or I might.. Silas!" She waves her hand high, trying to get the fellow candidate's attention. "Silas! That's your name right? Mister Tuber-peeler?"

Pyrene stalks in from the Central Bowl.

Silas pauses, trying not to get to close to the Pens, his eyes constantly roaming for flying predators. "Yes, Silas, that's my name," he says and nods, "master tuber-peeler." He gives a shrug and takes a deep breath, then comes right up to the fence, glancing at the carnage inside, "so.. This is where the dragons feed, eh?"

Pyrene appears along one fence and gesticulates at the group. "To the sands, now!" comes the yell, but she doesn't hang around to see if they obey.
Pyrene chooses to head north around the fenceline and into Weyrling Territory.

Rianna grins at Crepe, watching the bronze take off with a look of disappointment. She jumps slightly at Pyrene's sudden shouting and she looks shocked. They're certainly not hatching already are they? Why else would Py be screaming for them to go to the sands? She looks to Crepe in confusion, loosing her knowledgeable act.
"Yes, yes. I know you didn't like that X'ian fellow, right? Well, yesterday, I.." Crepe's out of character gossip is cut short by Pyrene's demand- and the girl /squeaks/. "No. I hear no humming or.. wait." A few burdenbeasts in the pasture wuffle at each other and, naturally, Crepe assumes that this might be distant dragon-humming. "Whoa/whoa/! We better go. Or something. Aiee! Could she have been any more /vague/?"

"But, but…" Silas begins at Pyrene's order, eyes widening for a moment, then he begins to follow in the path the weyrwoman had taken. "I haven't even /started/ my robe yet!" he goes on, taling to no one in particular.


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.
Gold Tiareth and brown Dyamith are here.
You see Mound of Eggs here.
Pyrene and Ravyn are here.

Slight and spindly, her frame is nevertheless held as stubbornly tall as possible, falling only just shy of average height. Curves have in part softened the sharp angles of old, turning scrawny and frail into stocky and trim, while breast and hip testify to her motherhood. Still, there's nothing neat about the lank tendrils of dark brown hair as they escape the skimpy plait that struggles to keep them under control. Plaguing her point-nosed, thin-lipped face, they only serve to emphasise the peakiness of her complexion. Yet if there were any doubts about her vitality, the grey eyes that snap out from beneath dark brows eliminate them as effectively as twin thunderstorms.
A blue firelizard is perched on her shoulder.
Cords of black, blue and sea-washed gold tangle their way through an elaborate configuration of loops, marking her as Sr Weyrwoman for High Reaches Weyr.
She is an adult of about 39.

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

This is a young boy who looks to be barely into his teens. He might be older, his eyes hold a maturity that his appearance doesn't say, but he is rather small. He is just over four and a half feet in height and bears a very thin frame. He is rather clean looking like he takes time to keep it such. He has a rich coppery tan, as he spends lots of time out of doors under the sun. His hair is well-trimmed and reaches to the nape of his neck and is a rich black. His eyes are a rich and vibrant green, though hard to tell cause he spends most of his time looking at the ground.
He is wearing a loose tunic. It is the kind that one gives to a kid to wear cause he will be having a growth spurt probably, but it is a size or two too big. The bottom of it hangs almost to his knees. He has a belt around his waist, and apparently brown breeches under the grey tunic. Hard to tell what he is wearing on his feet.
He is wearing the simple knot that says he is a candidate at High Reaches Weyr.
He is a teenager of about 15.

Mound of Eggs
Gold Tiareth and brown Dyamith's eggs, a respectable sixteen, are spread in concentric waves upon the geothermal sands, half-buried and heavily guarded. Alone on the sands, the eggs are hardened, almost close to hatching. All eggs are kept turned and warm as baby dragonets continue to grow inside.

Pyrene nods briskly, waving them into a line. "OK, OK… Tiareth and Dyamith are being amenable, so make the most of it. Give them a bow - it helps keep Tiareth happy at least." She peers a little nervously over her shoulder at the queen. "Now, you're here to get used to the Sands and the eggs."

Ravyn blinks a bit as he comes onto the sands and moves into the line with the others. He still has his broom with its familiar white knot, similar to his own. He bows deeply to the two dragons, "thank you for the honor." he says softly.

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

Rianna follows along with the other candidates. As she reaches the sands, she realizes the eggs are /not/ hatching as they thought. With a scowl of irritation, she walks across the sand in her delicate boots and her fluffy skirts. At Pyrene's instruction, she smirks at the other candidates bowing and steps her way towards Tiareth. She settles into a nice curtsey, smiling politely at the gold. "I'll be gentle, ma'am." She promises, rising again and stepping to the side. Her smile fades as she reaches down to brush some of the sand from her skirts. "Achk."

Pyrene looks somewhat askance at Ravyn's broom. "You just need yourselves - leave all other objects to the side there. Now, if you're ready, move about the eggs, and touch them gently. They're pretty tough, but don't get too violent. Just get used to them, think about the dragons inside - and keep moving if you don't want to burn your feet." She takes up a discreet vantage point and keeps as much of an eye on the dam as on the candidates.

Silas is almost out of breath as he comes onto the Sands, staring at the eggs and noticing that they're not moving. At all. And there's no humming from dragons either. And what was that the Weyrwoman said? Get used to the Sands and the eggs? "Oh.. Right," he mumbles and runs a hand over his brow before moving onto the Sands, giving an elegant bow to the dragons, then turns his attention to the eggs.

Ravyn nods and moves and sets the broom off to the side. He notices Pyrene's look and blushes a little, "It came from Herder Hall with me, at the insistance of the Dragon that searched me." he giggles just a little and then moves over looking at the eggs. His eyes do seem to focus a little on the small one, the Ender's Game Egg, the smallest of the clutch, but then he isn't very big himself so that might attract him to it. He looks at the others and then slowly starts to approach that egg, and gently touch it.

Crepe enters last, huffing and puffing as she jogs across the sands to Silas and Rianna. "Oh.. oh /um/.. Darn," she mutters, breathing finally growing steady. The eggs /aren't/ hatching, and, surprisingly, she's glad! A hand waves cordially at Pyrene and Ravyn, and then, with a couple of careful steps towards the eggs, the greeting is replicated for the dragons. And the eggs, of course!

Rianna looks around, checking out the other candidates she was with. Seeing that neither has made a move yet, she tosses back her blonde curls arrogantly and heads for an egg. Tucking her skirts beneath her, she uses them to kneel on the sand beside the Farenheit 451 Egg. She gently touches the egg, looking awed despite her attempts to be sophisticated. With a private smile, she lays her cheek against the egg's shell, feeling the warmth through the more sensitive skin of her cheek.

Silas isn't really sure where to go or what to do and it feels as if the heat is already getting to him. Even coming from the warmer reaches of Pern, coming from the cold into the heat makes a sweat break on his face. And wearing a thick sweater certainly doesn't help either. Eventually, he ends up at a dark egg, fingers lightly touching the surface of the Highwayman Egg and only after a few hesitant moments does his lay his palm of the egg.

Silas saw: Cool in contrast to the heat of the sands, a gust of midnight wind cleaves through your thoughts, a lone bright Presense riding determinedly amidst the muted and mystic feelings this egg conjures, twining like a gypsy's ribbon around your mind.

From the galleries above, G'deon comes up the stairs.

Rianna jerks her cheek away from the egg, looking as though it was far warmer to her delicate skin than expected. Her hands remain on the egg, but her cheek bares a light red mark, from the heat. She stands, removing both hands to dust off her skirts and settle them into place again before stroking her hands gently over the egg's surface. It truely is beautiful, but then again, this is the girl who enjoys the messiest of dining dragons.

Silas turns, looking behind him as if to look for something, his hands coming off the egg and up to touch his hair as a look of confusion spreads across his face. No nothing there. "How…?" he says, looking back toward the Weyrwoman with his eyebrows lifted, "did you feel that? There was a wind just now." He backs away from the egg a little, glancing at Rianna as she seems to have had a similar reaction to touching the egg. "Did you feel it? That wind just now?"

Crepe is having a hard time deciding on what egg to peer at this time- they all seem equally special, but.. the Brave New World egg just seems extra intriguing today. Careful steps are taken as not to repeat her tumble last time, and though she is slightly exhausted from the jog and the excitement, she still manages equal enthusiasm. A hand reaches out to touch the egg curiously. Pretty.

Ravyn continues to touch the egg, stroking it a little. He does look over at Silas and Rianna for a moment and then Crepe. He smiles a bit at the egg and then cocks his head to the side a little.
Ravyn blinks a bit and jumps back just a little. He eyes the egg for a moment and then moves closer again, touches it for a second and then moves back from the egg. He stands there looking at some of the others for a moment, that was strange.

Before getting an answer from anyone blues and pinks draw Silas away from the egg he's visiting and he moves slowly to the Venus and Adonis Egg, tilting his head at it as he kneels to put his hands on the surface.

Ravyn moves away from the eggs and towards his broom, "I have to go finish some chores," he says as he takes the broom. Getting the images from the egg suprised him a bit, it is a little unsettling to this youth, maybe he will be ready for it the next time there is a touching, only time will tell. He bows to the eggs, then to the dragons, "thank you." he says softly, stuttering just a little.

Rianna wrinkles her nose at Silas, shaking her head. "No, my egg is just really hot. I hadn't thought it would be that hot…" She shrugs, assuming it was just a miscalculation on her part and that her fingers must have been on the hot surface for too long. She steps away from the egg and stands serenely, looking over the other eggs before moving towards one. She steps towards the Crime and Punishment Egg, she regally touches her fingers to the surface before she jerks her hand away, glares at the egg and steps back. One would have to think she was recieving just punishment for her haughty airs, but she quickly moves away, pausing before the Jungle Book Egg, her fingers only barely touching the egg, after the last two eggs she touched.

From the galleries above, Lisbit arrives in her quiet fashion. Despite the hesitance that classified her pause once she realized exactly into what cavern she had wandered, Lisbit takes the opportunity presented to slip up the steps and discretely take a seat near enough to observe the eggs, but in no danger of interrupting the egg touching currently in motion. Both Wyn and G'deon are noticed, though finding any plausible reason to talk to the Weyrsecond or Weyrlingmaster on her first venture out and about her new habitat.

Silas saw: Blood, sweat and adrenalin! The chase is on and you find yourself drawn along with it. Predator or prey - can you know or care? The glory is to be young and strong and capable of passion. For at the end of the hunt, at the end of the day, the promise of love's own rest beckons.

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

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

Crepe stares wistfully at the mottled shell, not showing nearly the degree of surprise that her peers did. Wow- that was a /weird/ feeling, though. She backs away slowly, wary of the egg- yes, /wary/- and decides to visit a happier unhatched lifemate candidate. The Make Way for Ducklings Egg is chosen and, with delicate fingers, she runs her hand along the surface.

"Ooooohhh!" Silas exclaims, drawing the sound out as he stares at the egg for long moments, surprised at the emotions welling up inside him, "it's the egg that does it, isn't it?!" He seems to have come to the realisation as he fingers run over the egg and something plays on his inner movie screen. "How.. How does that happen?" he asks and stands, looking for someone who might answer that question.

Donis is late. He was doing chores and was /made/ to finish cleaning the stables - as can be seen from the bits of straw in his hair and muck on his boots. "Sorry," he mutters, bowing in Cadgwith's direction in a rather perfunctory way before he starts to move among the eggs.

Pyrene waves Donis through, rolling her eyes. "Go on, bow, et cetera," she mutters, gazing critically at Tiareth. At Silas' question, she lifts her voice to call over to him: "Nobody really knows. The theory - and this may just be wishful thinking - is that it's the dragonets trying to reach out to you. Which hopefully means they'll have a better idea of what they're doing come Hatching Day." From Pyrene's tone, it's clear that she's not entirely convinced of the last sentence at least.

From the galleries above, G'deon slips in just a short time before Lisbit and takes a seat just beyond and behind the weyrsecond. He doesn't interrupt but seems content just to watch the goings-on below on the sands. He notices Lisbit's entrance and offers the newcomer a polite nod, but otherwise focuses on the egg-touching.

Dyamith sits quietly, silently, he's watching very carefully, he's big, he's brown, and he's very protective of his offspring as they harden in their shells.

From the galleries above, Desba walks in.

Silas saw: And love's sweet rest comes indeed. The adrenalin drops, the heartbeat slows in the warmth of a tender embrace. Young, strong and in love… Age would destroy this as surely as death - and one of the two must intervene in time.

Rianna, again, rips her hand away, looking frightened by all the darkness of the eggs. Her hazel eyes are wide as she stares at the egg. Once more, she moves on, looking for something that won't try to hurt her. She spots the That Other Apocalypse Egg, seeking comfort in the brilliant white of the egg. Her haughtiness has been taken down a notch and she reaches tentitively towards the egg, letting only the very very tips of two fingers touch the egg. They touch in that precise place where the darks and lights meet, though Rianna takes no note of this.

Donis makes a decision, and rests one hand against the Jungle Book Egg, trailing a finger along its vine-line patterns and then pressing both hands to it.

From the galleries above, Desba strides up the stairs of the galleries, she'd heard that something was going on, but wasn't ready to trudge out onto the hot sands again. A nod is given to those who are gathered, and she makes her way to the only person she knows, that actually seems willing to talk to her on a consistant basis. "Hello G'deon."

Tilting his head, Silas frowns and looks around at the eggs, a slight smile on his face, "well.. That is.." he begins and pauses, looking at the Venus and Adonis Egg again, letting his hand slip from the surface with a surprised look on his face. "Then… Maybe it would be a good idea to touch more than a couple of eggs, then?" Perfect reasoning, isn't it? And with that, he moves on, a glance going back to the blueish-pink egg and kneels in front of the Ender's Game egg, putting his hands on either side and taking a deep breath.

From the galleries above, Dillyn comes up the stairs.

From the galleries above, Wyn, on the other hand, is barely paying the egg touching any notice whatsoever. Or the outside world, for that matter. The petite weyrsecond seems to be enjoying the galleries for the heat provided, and little more, engrossed in writing in a leatherbound journal she has sitting on her lap, back against a wall and her legs half stretched out on the bench in front of her. "Hullo, G'deon," she greets her fellow dragonhealer, Desba and Lisbit having yet to insert themselves into her sphere of awareness. "Isn't the heat wonderful?"

From the galleries above, Lisbit looks up briefly at Desba's arrival, her nod one of friendly detachment as she returns her attentions towards the rigmarole on the sands. G'deon's acknowledgement is unseen, though from her position decidedly separate from the rest of those spaced about the galleries, it's not surprising. As a candidate picks his way towards the Ender's Game Egg Lisbit leans forward, interest causing the older woman's wrinkles to ease away from straining eyes.

From the galleries above, G'deon makes himself nice and comfortable, stretching out his long legs to cross one ankle over the other on the bench in front of him while recline back against his elbows. It looks as if he has all the time in the world at the moment. "It's quite nice," he answers Wyn, giving the bluerider a pleased smile before turning to regard another person calling out his name. A common occurrence. "Hell there, Desba," Gid replies, just loud enough to carry, but possibly not loud enough to disturb the egg touching.

From the galleries above, Dillyn shivers her way from the entrance, up to the galleries of the Hatching Sands. She has piled on the clothing today to try and cut out the cold. As she moves among the stands, she finally finds a spot to sit, and begins peeling off layers of clothes.

From the galleries above, Desba takes Wyn's ignoral as another sign that the weyrsecond really has hates her. Brows falling into a furrow she looks up at G'deon, who is a row or two above her, with a questioning glance, but finally shrugs and turns back to the eggs, "How have you been G'deon? Haven't seen you since we carried those people and their instrauments back down to Ista."

From the galleries above, Lisbit slides over a bit to avoid any spare damp flung in Dillyn's shedding. A smile is entertained briefly for the teenager, though it's duration is cut considerably short as Lisbit subtly follows the present fashion and stretches out long legs. Unraveling to her full height- sitting, that is. Brown eyes remain fastened to the sands, though there remains less awe and more quiet interest in her relaxed poise and finicky gaze.

Rianna removes her hand again, though she's slower to it this time. That egg wasn't frightening so much as disturbing. She blinks slowly, arms dangling by her sides as she gazes about her, watching the other candidates. She steps away from the eggs, standing on the sands and gazing, watching. Finally, her chin goes up as she realizes that no one else seems so bothered by the eggs. She's certainly the most sophisticated of the candidates, what with their shabbing pants and tunics and shirts. She straightens her shoulders, stepping back into the mix. Her eyes catch on the Brave New World Egg and walks in a straight path towards it, ignoring the slight sinking of her low-heeled dress boots into the sand. She lifts her chin, placing her whole hand flat on the egg without an outward trace of fear. Inside, though, she's worried about receiving another unsettling feeling.

Donis was already silent, but now he seems to freeze, both hands still on the shell of the Jungle Egg. There are people all around, with plenty in the galleries, but he's not aware of any of them for a tiny slice of time. Then he starts to breathe again, shudders like a damp canine, and takes a few steps back from the egg.

Silas saw: A sharp pain shoots up your arm, through your neck and finally to your brain, something is not right, something is trying to control you. There is a brilliant flash of light and then everything goes black, there is no sound, no pain, no smell, no sight, and when you finally do have your sense back there is an unquinchable thirst to strike out at someone, that candidate who is nearest to you, KILL HIM! Something in your brain shouts. You want to remove your hand, but can you?

From the galleries above, G'deon glances up at Desba and offers a rather lazy smile. The hazy heat of the galleries deserves lazy smiles, after all. "I've been all right, Desba, thank you. Busy as always. Nothing new there. How does your 'mate like egg sitting?"

From the galleries above, Dillyn dumbs her set of clothing next to her, not bothering to straighten or tidy the pile - it could be messy. She rubbed her hands together briskly, trying to warm the skin and remove the pinkness. She wiggled her feet a bit for the same reason, and wiggled her shoulders to help as well. Finally, the warmth seemed to get to her, for she finally peered fowards. Squinting, she looked down at the Sands and inquired, "What are they doing?" with relative ignorance of the current conversation.

From the galleries above, Desba looks at G'deon and grins, "He loves it. I actually have to drag him out for a break every now and then. Not that I don't think what he is doing is important, but I think he'll go insane if he doesn't get out." She chuckles softly and eyes Dillyn, "Egg touching." Is her most helpful comment of the evening.

From the galleries above, "Hmm? Desba? Where?" Wyn, demonstratably, tends to get lost in her work at times, in addition to completely failing any tests to qualify as Miss Social Butterfly of Pern. Bookish and intelligent, she's quite capable of shutting out the outside world when there's writing to be done and that, it seems, is what she's doing. "Oh. Ah, hullo there." she spots the brownrider, giving her an exceedingly brief smile. "Congratulations on Dyamith's sirings. They look a good solid bunch." And then she's back to her writing, an oddly happy little smile appearing on her face now and again.

Silas's breath catches at the back of his throat, eyes widening as he stares at the egg, though there's a faraway look in them as if he's not really seeing it at all. Opening his mouth as if trying to say something no sound comes from his lips and he leans back on his heels, hand seemingly glued to the egg and arm straight as he just stares and stares. Suddenly he wakes up and tumbles back from the egg, still staring and shouts, "NO!"

From the galleries above, Dillyn frowns, a curious look on her youthful face. She narrows her eyes once more, as if studying the sands, eggs, and people around them. "Egg touching?" she says, wrinkling her nose. "What's that?" she asks, as if it wasn't obvious in the name. She shrugs her shoulders and appears content to sit and watch the silly people on the hot sands.

Pyrene jumps at that reaction, and stares at Silas, mouth agape for a few moments. Then she remembers that this is supposed to be a reassuring experience and calls over with light-hearted sympathy: "Oh, dear. You got a blue?"

From the galleries above, The wrinkles have returned, and they've brought friends. At Silas' cry, Lisbit's attentions remain captured and constant. One hand raises to pat down the sheet of frizz atop her head while muttering more or less to herself. "Didn't expect something like this to be so violent."

Rianna frowns, her pretty face screwing up as she considers the egg. With a quick shake of her head, she makes another attempt, telling herself that if it doesn't get better, this will be her last. She jumps slightly, turning quickly to look at Silas. Her eyes are wide and she slowly steps away from the Brave New World Egg, attempting to maintain her airs. She moves to the closest egg, the Venus and Adonis Egg and determinedly puts both hands on it, daring it to be anything less than utter happiness.

Donis stares over at Silas, mouth agape. How bizarre… He moves away from the Jungle Book egg, to peer nervously at the one Silas was touching, then shrugs and tries another, one hand resting lightly on its top: the Arabian Nights Egg.

From the galleries above, G'deon arches a brow mildly as Silas cries out. He mutters something under his breath, then lets his head fall back onto his crossed arms behind him. Eyes closed, he's now the perfect image of someone escaping the rest of the Weyr for a bit of relaxation.

"A blue?" Silas says, voice cracking and shoulders shaking, "How would you know it's blue? No one can guess what's inside an egg, can they?" He backs away from the cluster of eggs, needing a few moments to regain his courage and eyes locked on the egg he just left.

Dyamith's head shoots up from the sands. His swirling eyes peering intently at Silas, he finally desides that the candidate is no real threat and lowers his head again.

Pyrene flaps her hands vaguely. "Oh you can always /guess/," she says, the stress on the last word clear. "Haven't you seen the betting board up in the living caverns? Hatching's a great time for the gambling economy."

From the galleries above, Desba raises and eyebrow as Silas shouts, but things seem to calm down soon enough, and her dragon isn't having a panic attack so the brownrider turns back to G'deon, "That candidate has nerves of steal, huh?" She grunts heavily.

Silas's breathing has finally slowed, though the sweat on his brow has only gotten worse with his panicky retreat from the egg. Pulling his sweater off, he tosses it toward the edge of the Sands, giving Pyrene a doubtful look, "well, that's just it, isn't it? Guesses. You might /guess/, but you can't /know/." He's still giving That Egg, sidelong glances as he moves back out among the eggs and then looks back over at Pyrene with a puzzled look on his face, "why would you think it's a blue anyway, ma'am?"

Donis smiles to himself, running a hand gently over the egg he's near. "Interesting," is his only comment before he steps away once more, and moves, past a couple of eggs that barely get second glances, to the Clockwork Orange Egg.

Rianna rolls her eyes at Silas, waiting warily with both hands touching the egg. She hasn't recieved any sort of feeling from this egg, whereas the others were almost immediately. Maybe it's broken. "/Everyone/ knows Pyrene doesn't like blues, numbskull," She calls, rolling her eyes as though he should /surely/ have known that.

From the galleries above, "Uneducated," G'deon replies vaguely to Desba without opening his eyes. "Uneducated, unprepared… it's about time we had a new weyrlingmaster. These kids are going to need it." And so ends his random commentary for the moment as he just goes back to dozing and half-listening to the jabbering below.

Pyrene shrugs at Silas. "Blues seem to like un-nerving people," is her diplomatic reply. There are blueriders listening after all.

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

Still looking doubtful, Silas glances around the eggs and moves toward one that looks less frightening and less intimidating, finally choosing to crouch in front of the Le Petit Prince Egg, hands hovering above it for a few moments before he lays them on the warm surface. "You better no suggest I kill anyone," he mutters under his breath to the egg, eyes narrowing as he looks at it.

Donis steps away from the Clockwork Orange egg with a look of distaste. "Hardly," he murmurs to it with a fierce glare that contorts his thick black eyebrows. "I don't think so…" Dismissing it, he turns and makes his way back through the eggs, to stop at the Highwayman Egg.

Rianna screams, ripping her hands away from the egg and spinning blindly away from the clutch, running as far from them on the sands as she can. There's a look of pure freight on her face and she collapses onto the sands, before she can even come close to the galleries wall, curling up and covering her face with both hands. She sobs, not for attention, for once, but because she's confused and scared. Why is everyone else enjoying their egg touching, but Rianna's all hate her?

Silas saw: Everything you know is stripped away leaving you innocent, naive and full of wonder. A fresh perspective is, perforce, placed on life and you find yourself reassessing assumed values and moral codes. Why is everything like it is just because that is how it has always been? Wondering but not afraid, you can quietly seek your own answers.

Joeseph wanders about the eggs, still taking measure of them all, having only brushed over one or two. Finally he stops at the Jungle Book egg, resting a hand on a cool grey portion of it, and letting the other hand run along the rivery blue.

From the galleries above, Lisbit watches Rianna with surprise bordering lightly on disapproval. Old eyes narrow on the emotionally distraught girl, but her attentions don't rest long, they're much more keen to see the Weyrwoman's reaction to this turn of events.

From the galleries above, Dillyn sniffles a little as she brings a hand up to wipe at her nose. The candidates get a head tilt, and a serious frown. A moment later, she shakes her head and sighs.

Tiareth has been there the entire time, really. The motherly gold has been watching the candidates with a controlled patience as they go about her eggs. She looks over each of the candiates in time, some she remembered from before.

From the galleries above, Dillyn stands and gathers her clothes. After a length process of putting it all back on, she nods her head a little and descends from the galleries, taking her leave.

From the galleries above, Wyn's sole comment on all the histrionics on the sand? A tired sigh and a shake of her head, and the opinion that "I believe I'm going to have to import a squad of mindhealers."

Pyrene twitches, watching Rianna and glances up to the nearest riders in the galleries. "Think I should end this? I've never seen candidates so disturbed by an egg-touching. I'm beginning to wonder if we should stop some of them from coming onto the Sands."

From the galleries above, G'deon snorts softly at Wyn's comment, interested enough to raise his head to glance at the candidates still remaining on the sands below. "Not a bad idea. Jittery group we have this time around, isn't it?" With a sigh that's just a thread short of a yawn, the bronze rider pulls himself to a more upright sitting position.

Donis pats the Highwayman egg gently, and turns away from it - and stares at Rianna and then glances over to Silas. Shaking his head, he looks perplexed, and gives Tiareth and Dyamith a curious glance. "Odd. Very odd." he comments, possibly making a mental note to ask the other Candidates about it later.

Silas breathes a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and hanging his head over the egg for a few moments, a smile breaking on his face and he barely registers the scream from Rianna, though he does open his eyes to look at her. He hesitates from leaving this egg, pleasant as it is and so different from That Other One. He nods silently, still letting his hands rest on the egg, hesitant to go looking for another after the experience earlier.

Joeseph sighs quite contently after staring at the egg with some surprise. Not disturbed - here no. The boy debates with himself as he peeks around his egg to see that it is his sister making such a commotion. Mrr. He gives the egg a look and makes the quiet comment,"Better hope that /your/ sisters don't act like this," and with a slightly pained expression, leaves the egg and hurries over to Rianna. "Anna," he pats her shoulder,"What's wrong? Y'ok?"

From the galleries above, Desba stands and walks towards the railing to converse with Pyrene, "Perhaps, I think Dyamith is starting to get a little weary," And indeed the brown is looking about rather nervously at the group.

Tiareth looked at the girl as she screamed from her clutch and carefully got up, keeping the others in her sights. She reached out her head to the young girl and seemed to lightly nudge Rianna, giving off a soft, and comforting croon. Her clutch wasn't that bad, now was it? The father wasn't usual, but she still was fond of her mate, and her eggs.

Pyrene nods and takes a few steps forwards. "Alright, that's enough! They're only eggs, for Faranth's sake. Calm down, get yourself back to the barracks and just take half an hour to chat before you go back to your chores, OK?" It's a rare treat, so they may as well take advantage of it. Pyrene dips her head to Tiareth and Dyamith. "Give me two seconds and you can have some peace and quiet."

Rianna peeks up through her fingers, before swallowing thickly and wiping her face off. There's a fair bit of sand clinging to the wetness of her tears and even more stuck to her hands after she uses them to push herself up off the ground. Tiny granules of sand are now hidden in all parts of her dress as well as her hair. Sand scatters as she throws her arms around her brother, squeezing him tight. "They all hate, me. They were all so mean and scary, Joe. Weren't yours like that?" Of course, with her face to the ground, she doesn't even know if he touched any.

Dyamith warbles softly at Pyrene in thanks, his eyes still swirling aggitatedly at Silas and Rianna, but at the weyrwoman's promise he seems to settle down again. His tail loops gently around his mates hing leg and he rumbles softly at Rianna, his spawns are not mean and they do not hate.

"Whatever you say, Weyrwoman." Donis dips his head in Pyrene's direction - and that of the dragon parents - and shakes his head as he passes Rianna on his way out. "Cut the histrionics, eh, Rianna? They're only eggs." So callous.
Donis escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.

Silas sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, then lets his hands slip off the egg and stands slowly, a flicker of a glance toward the Ender's Game egg, which sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn't even try to make eye contact with Donis and goes to collect his sweater, shaking sand from it, then turns to bow at the dragons, mumbling a quiet, "thank you."

Pyrene waves candidates forward. "Shift. Now. If you want to visit the Sands at any time, including the Hatching, you'll learn to move quickly." And she shepherds them out.

Crepe has been busily fawning over the Duckling egg this entire time, humming happily to herself while her fellow candidates were screaming and generally driving themselves crazy. "Awww," she murmurs. "Already?" She stands quickly and, with a courteous wave, jogs off the sands with her peers.

Joeseph wrinkles his nose up- meh. Now /he's/ all sandy too. "No, Anna," he responds, but his voice is muffled slightly by one of her arms, so he adjusts his head so he can, well, breathe. He edges toward the edge of the sands,"Come on, come on," he directs Rianna and follows everyone off the sands.

Oh yes it will be so nice to get off the sands…

Candidate Barracks
Serviceable, this low-ceiling'd room runs right and left from the heavy canvas curtains that function as a door: relatively bare of ornamentation, tidy glows light the few worn tapestries that adorn the walls and depict a variety of dragons in flight or at rest. But it is the cots, lots and lots of cots, that distinguish this room from the others, their blue or black coverlets tucked neatly over relatively fresh rushes.
Candidate's haven, this is their escape from the bustling world of chores and Weyr; visitors are welcome if invited.
Crepe is here.

Donis escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.
Joeseph comes home.

Rianna escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.
Rianna sends a glare in Pyrene's direction, though she follows her brother off the sands. As the head into the barracks, Rianna attempts to dust her skirts off a bit, oblivious to the sand on her cheeks and the tell-tale trail of tears. She keeps her mouth shut, avoiding looking at anyone.

Silas must have run back to the barracks. He's already sitting on his bunk, arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees, while staring into the air in front of him.

Crepe has already made herself comfortable on her cot, spread out over the warm furs, just content as ever. "Well, that was interesting!" Apparently she's one of the only ones who had a pleasant experience- happy duckling eggs will do that to you.

"What in Faranth's name was going on there, Rianna, Silas?" Donis asks, returning to the barracks at a more leisured pace. "Not that I'm complaining, since it's got us some time without chores - I might scream a bit too, next touching."

Joeseph walks back in ahead of Rianna. He considers going to keep talking to her, but, hm, no, maybe not. He needs his /own/ thinking time. For his experience wasn't a bad one, luckily. So he just perches on the edge of his cot and nods to Crepe,"It sure was!"

Hearing Donis' voice, Silas cringes and glances up, then away and down into the furs of his bunk, biting his lower lip. "Well, uh.. You know how they say dragons wouldn't harm anyone on purpose…" he begins and finally looks up at his fellow Candidate, a painful, almost tearful look in his eyes, "well.. The same doesn't go for eggs.."

Rianna glares at Crepe as well, for having such a happy time. Rianna takes one look at Donis and bursts into tears again. She's such a girly-girl. "They all hate me!" She cries, wiping her eyes with sandy hands. "Why was everyone else happy? All the eggs wanted to scare me." She sobs, standing just inside the doorway, both arms hanging heavily at her sides. "Silas, did they hate you too?" She asks tentatively, her haughty airs replaced with tentative questioning and tears.

Crepe beams in reply at Joseph, though her glowing expression is cut short by Rianna's outburst. "Ehhh? What do you mean?" She asks, eyes darting back and forther between Silas and Rianna. "I mean, the first egg I touched a few days ago.. wiggled at me because I poked it. And one of them today was just.. weird. But 'hate'? Where'd you get that?"

"Oh, for the love of…" Donis shakes his head at Rianna and Silas both, plonking his behind on his cot. "Of course an egg can't harm you. And neither can the dragonet in it. If you got weird feelings… well, one of mine was less than pleasant, but that's no reason to run around having hysterics." He's openly scornful, more towards Rianna, who he's known for turns, than towards Silas who he hasn't.

Joeseph attempts to find some reason. The egg that responded to him seemed pretty content. "They're prolly just scared, too, Ri! All stuck there inside an egg, strange people going up and pokin' it." He does rather agree with Donis, though. It's an egg. Can't do much to hurt anyone.

Silas shakes his head at Rianna and swallows, "no.. I wouldn't say they hated me.." he starts, feeling a shudder go down his spine as he looks back at Donis, trying to not actually /look/ at him, "but.. That one egg.. It wanted me to kill you." He frowns at the guard's reaction, then tries to compose himself, "it practically /yelled/ at me to kill you."

Donis's jaw drops. "An egg wanted you to kill me?" He stares at Silas, utterly baffled for a moment, then shakes his head. "What a load of dragon dung." He shakes his head again. "Oh, not that I don't believe that's what you thought you felt, but that's just… weird. Why would a dragonet in an egg want you to kill me? Have X'ian or Marond been touching it or something? I don't think Pyrene wants to throttle me these days, not since…" He stops.

Rianna glares at Donis, as well (since she does that more than anything else). "I'm not having hysterics, she shouts, wiping her eyes again. Her tears have stopped again, much quicker this time, though she still looks upset. "The hated me! One of them tried to choke me, I swear!" She says, adding, "It felt like I was choking!" She glares at her brother for taking Donis' side, but then again, Donis has never much liked her.

Silas's anxiety and fear takes a backstage to frustration, "Well, I don't know /why/, but that's what happened!" he says and gets off his bunk, no longer trying to dodge Donis' eyes. "It was like it was trying to control me and, and.. For a moment there, I couldn't feel /anything/. At all! And then it told me to kill you." He takes a step toward Donis, then regrets it and steps back again, shaking his head, "I don't lie. It's what happened…" he says, voice dropping to a near whisper.

"Hey, I said I believe you, Silas!" Donis replies hastily. "And Rianna too. Just doesn't make sense. None of the rest of us had that problem, even when we touched the same eggs as you, right? Was it that one that looks like it's covered in vines that tried to strangle you, Ri? 'Cause it was fine for me."

Rianna nods her head at Donis. Her eyes are still wide, though she's slowly regaining her composure. "It was horrible. I hate it!" She states emphatically, no longer crying, but rather standing up straight again. She diligently wipes her face clean, or at least as clean as she can get it and begins work on her skirts, settling them just right and furiously dusting the sand from them.

Silas sits back down on his bunk, giving a nod to Donis as a frown furrows his brow, "I don't know.. This is the first time I've even /touched/ eggs," he says, shaking his head. He glances at Rianna, giving her a sympathetic smile and a nod, "that last egg I touched was like the complete opposite of the other one. Not frightening at all and it wanted me to make my own decisions about things…" he muses, tilting his head as he thinks back on the day's experience.

Donis shakes his head again. "Well. Odd. Very odd. I wouldn't recommend shouting and screaming again on the sands though. You might upset Tiareth or someone and never be allowed back on." With those words of wisdom, he shrugs and gets off his cot. "If we have free time, I have someone to talk to. Don't get too upset by the eggs though, eh?"

Rianna nods, bonding with Silas. She likes him. Must remember, Silas is good. "The first one wasn't so bad, but it got worse and worse after that. The first one was just hot. But not bad hot, really," This last is added contemplatively as she considers that the first egg really /wasn't/ bad.

Silas's eyes widen. Not allow back on the Sands? Now that /would/ be a disaster. Self control, then. And stay away from the egg that suggested that he kill Donis. "Right.. I'll remember that," he says and nods, then curls up in his bunk, pulling the covers over his head, closing off the rest of the world.

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