High Reaches' 12th PC Hatching (part 2)

Nuff's gold Tiareth x Desba's brown Dyamith
12th December 2004
Logged by O'don

Part 1

Beaten But Unbowed Boudicca Green Dragonet settles onto her haunches for a moment, surveying the crowds and taking the time to fan out her wings and spatter away the albumen from them without making herself topple over in the process. She's not the comic relief, after all. That task tended to and everything squared away, she pushes up to her feet again, hop-skipping a bit to get her legs under her as she cruises past the nearest knot of candidates.

Rysta pats Crepe's hand and smiles to her friend. "Probably not, Crepe. More likely, she is just not finding the one she seeks. There are other eggs and other dragons yet to hatch." She reassures her friend, her eyes on the green as she searches for her rider. Her feet remain still, sands forgotten as she looks at the dragonet nearby, watching to see what she will do.

Crime and Punishment Egg actually rolls forward without more than a small crack, seeming to aim toward the candidates before properly hatching. A girl named Salyonae, who was previously standing closest to the clutch, steps back slowly, fascinated but beginning to worry. She'd rather be in control.

Earthmother Mother Earth Ninhursag Green Dragonet huffs a little, landing each foot in a seemingly practiced rhythm, each hitting the hot sands in confident precision. She gets to the middle of the sands, middle of the group of candidates, and swings her head back and forth. There just /has/ to be something. Someone. And then that something catches her eye. She doesn't run to it, like her other clutchmates out there. Or tackle it to the ground like a guard catching a thief, like that sister way over there. But there it is. She, rather. A posture. A solid position to match her own. She just marches straight up to the young woman and stares confidently into Rhaedyn's eyes, tail twitching.

A'ndros shakes off tears, recovering from his emotionally broken time and stands up, striding (with a slight twitch) towards the cluster. "Hephaistionth needs food," he declares at the group, waiting for service.

Earthmother Mother Earth Ninhursag Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Rhaedyn, and steps forward.

Le Petit Prince Egg remains perfectly still for a moment or two, but there's really nothing it can do to prevent the increasing slant at which it's started to tilt now that the eggs and dragonets moving around it have shifted the sand supporting it out of place. Slowly at first, but with increasing speed, and finally - an abrupt thump…the egg falls uncerimoniously onto its side, where it gives a helpless wiggle.

Rhaedyn eyes Seabert again, color flooding her cheeks, from either heat or blush. "I know that," she says plainly before turning her gaze back to watching the dragonets. Dark strands of hair have begun to stick to her forehead and she reaches a hand up to brush them back off her face, hastily returning her hands to her sides, damp hands clenching and unclenching with nervouse energy. She watches Silas start to shift his weight back and forth, and provides a lopsided grin at him. She turns then and looks into the eyes of the green that just stands there. She takes the green muzzle in her hands, and falls to her knees, her eyes still gazing into the whirling, faceted eyes of her new lifemate. "Phaodynth," she states, the word firm and determined. Rhae then leans her forehead against green muzzle, hiding a tear or two from the rest.

Arabian Nights Egg shifts. Key change from thrum to shake - difference between lightly strumming strings to rocking the instrument. A new movement has begun, but it's careful, tentative. Don't want to rock too hard just yet. It'd destroy the move.

Silas watches as the quiet green suddenly dashes forward, toward himself and Rhaedyn and manages to sidestep quick enough as he sees that the dragonet is headed for the woman next to him, rather than himself. "Oh, wow.. Rhae! Congratulations!"

Donis takes a bouncing step or two, and gives a quiet-ish cheer. "Rhaedyn! Great!" Looks like being flashed by Seabert hasn't done her any harm. "Nice name, too," he adds, shuffling over towards Silas. Just for company.

Mraleh seems intrigued by the rolling egg, but more so by the sudden shout of another name. Through the mumbles of other Candidates, he hears Rhaedyn's voice and glances over, remembering chores a few days ago, calling, "It's good you didn't get hurt on those brushes!" Nevermind congratulations…

Silas' mere mention of 'hot' gets Seabert shifting, one hand leaving the bottom of his robe to tug at the snug neckline. "I'm about to burn up." And the nerves aren't helping. He makes a face at Rhae. Before he can say more, a green stops in front of him- no, in front of Rhaedyn! Seabert blinks, his mouth drops open, and then he's offering his congratulations. "Phaodynth." He echoes the name, "Nice." A grin splits his face.

Desba grins softly, and Dyamith rumbles proudly, as Rhaedyn impress. "She's a hard worker that one. And a solid girl, she won't be your normal greenrider." She turns to Pyrene, "What do you think? Still a decent clutch?"

Crepe is a tad puzzled. "But she acted like I.. smelled bad, and y'know, I don't want to be the OneWhoWasSmellyAndDidn'tImpress. Heylook. She found.. Rhaedyn!" Her hands tighten a bit around Rysta's arm as she watches, wide-eyed, practically /proud/ that Rhae got the 'one who got away'. "This is amazing."

Rysta watches as the green moves toward Rhaedyn and grins. "Congratulations, Rhaedyn!" she calls out to her friend and then looks over the sands again, watching to see who will be next. There's another green on the sands and other eggs are rocking after all.

Pyrene grins at Desba. "That's an Impression I'm happy with. Solid girl, solid dragon… Good for you parents."

Dyamith turns his whirling eyes to Pyrene and rumbles a thanks.

Beaten But Unbowed Boudicca Green Dragonet picks up speed a bit in her rambling, looking for an opening in the Candidate forces surrounding her. Superior numbers they've got, although from the hot-foot dancing half of them are doing, they're a little on the soft side. She pauses to take a snuff at a rather limp-wristed young fellow from Ista, and then shakes her head, leaving him spattered with some lingering egg goo, and screeching as a result. No, no, no…

A weyrlingmaster appears as if by magic besides Rhae and her green, a broad smile on his face and a comforting tone in his voice. "It's very emotional, we know. Phaodynth, is it? Come on over to the side with the others, that's it. She'll need you to help her, come on now."

Rhaedyn rises, disregarding her now red knees speckled with sand, and, with one hand still touching the solid little green's muzzle, begins to trail off to the side of the sands as she's seen others do before her. She turns a bit to flick a glance at both Seabert and Silas and mouths a silent "Good luck," at them with a lopsided smile before leaving the sands for good.

Silas smiles at Rhaedyn and her Phaodynth was it? and then Donis for coming to keep him company. "I'm glad Rhae impressed. She's a good person," he says with a firm nod, though his eyes go in search of a dragon that may come his way and bites his lip as the other green makes her rounds.

Le Petit Prince Egg stops shaking as hairline fractures flicker hesitantly from the pale crown to the widened base of the egg, splintering along the streams of magma and suggestions of steam curls in irregular active spurts before bursting outward all at once. A turgid pulse of translucent egg goo falls heavily out onto the sand an instant ahead of the dragonet previously encased within; all elbows, angles, and creels of affronted surprise at being shuffled loose from the comfort of his home so abruptly, Pudgy Sensitive Sweater Octavius Brown Dragonet has arrived.

Pudgy, Sensitive Sweater Octavius Brown Dragonet
A subdued expanse of ashen dust sprinkles from wedged snout to slender tail, wafting back across mottled sepia flanks and pale 'ridges to blend discretely into the creamy alabaster of a low-slung belly and narrow jaw. Gently splayed toes support agile limbs, faint bands of hushed cerulean carefully encircling nimble talons and accentuating alert eyes only to fade gently across svelte shoulders and tenuous wingspars. A cool, reptilian air is embodied in his coloring and stance, negated only by a strip of variegated warm hues along his throat. His elbows and knees slightly akimbo, there is a somewhat jerky nature to his movements that the soft texture of his hide and affable construction cannot quite smooth over.

Crime and Punishment Egg rolls a bit more and pauses in front of a circle of female candidates, then halts. Can an egg really consider? Can something inside really be going on without showing itself?

Donis gives a definite nod to Silas, and then makes a face as some candidate gets splattered. "She's a bit of a messy one, isn't she? Bet she'll make a right mess in the pens!" He cocks his head as another egg breaks opens. "Nice brown."

Brave New World Egg shudders suddenly and then lies still again. It's almost time, but not yet.

Rysta grins a bit as Rhaedyn is led off the sands and is happy for her fellow candidate. As another egg breaks open and the brown steps out, she ohs softly and watches him move. "Nice brown," she comments before looking around to see what happened to the other green still on the sands. Finding the Boudicca green, she watches to see who that green might chose.

Arabian Nights Egg shifts again. Key change. It is now time to rock in earnest. The mood is correct and the mood within, too unsettled and excited to remain at a monotone quiet shake, cannot encompass anything less than a fervent reel, back and forth in three/four time. Rock, rock, rock.

Silas is still watching the green and shakes his head as Donis mentions the brown, "there's too much happening all at once," he complains and heaves a too deep breath, which burns his lungs. Wincing, he lets his eyes focus on the brown and he nods, chanting inside himself for the brown to come his way.

Pudgy, Sensitive Sweater Octavius Brown Dragonet manages to get to his feet with a measure of terribly misplaced dignity, covered with sand where he isn't soaked with egg goo. This isn't, after all, some sort of beauty contest. Giving himself one light shake, he advances towards the candidates almost immediately, nostrils flared and eyes wide to take in the young people he has been given to choose between.

Beaten But Unbowed Boudicca Green Dragonet can feel herself starting to fight a losing battle with hunger, both for the meat she can smell somewhere off of the sands, but also for a partner, a comrade in arms. Someone to stand by her in the good, the bad, the ugly, and the just plain bizarre. Abandoning a knot of candidate girls who are all dressed in robes far too prissy for her taste, she sets her sights on one particular figure, and straight-lines right for Donis, stopping a foot or two off to raise her muzzle to him. Messy? Maybe, honey, but I'm all yours now.

Mraleh is not the best at keeping up on new developments. He's also watching the second green, and thus doesn't notice the brown yet at this point. He even seems to be operating on delayed hearing. He absently notes to Crepe, "You don't smell bad. Or not worse than anyone else sweating out here." Lovely.

Beaten But Unbowed Boudicca Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Donis, and steps forward.

Crepe can't keep straight what is what and which dragon is which and /oh/ how her head hurts. This 'nice brown is oggled at. And so is the green. And the other candidates. "Oh, boy. This is mind-boggling. And Mraleh!" How she loves him right now. Reassurance is golden, as she shows her thanks with a red-faced beam.

Dyamith taps his tail against the sand. Desba grins softly, "Yes, dear, you did search Donis didn't you." She turns to Nuff and Pyrene, "Another solid green rider."

Rysta grins as the Green choses Donis and calls out, "Congrats Donis!" She then looks to the brown to watch whom he might go for. She's not placing any bets really, but she is quite curious. Her eyes spare a glance around the sands at the other eggs to see which others are close to hatching. Looking to Crepe, she grins to her friend and pats her hand on her arm again. "Well, that's three now."

Donis wasn't expecting that. Any of it. "You want to call me O'don?" he asks in vague disbelief and definite puzzlement as he kneels to look the green in the eyes. "And you're… Gwynegeth?" Right. Erm. What now?

Pudgy, Sensitive Sweater Octavius Brown Dragonet blunders somewhat awkwardly over the edge of some poor young woman's long robe, only just managing to keep from falling into himself. His dripping wings already half-spread for balance, he shakes himself once more before proceeding with a cooler sort of deliberation…His snout tilted downward to keep track of anything his talons might get caught in as he bumps past various knees and middles.

Arabian Nights Egg shivers. A single claw meanders from one treasure trove to the next, forming an intricate line that oozes more and more as each ruby, diamond, and emerald disappears to reveal a dragonet. The cracking starts softly, but soon begins to crescendo to mezzo-piano, to forte, and, at last, fortissimo! Green snout sniffs the air before leading the rest of the body from within starlit scapes to the more vibrant world of reality. What the world has wrought and composed for the day of her arrival! Engulfed and overwhelmed by new sights and, especially, sounds, only slowly can Friendly-Wendy Green pull her long legs beneath her to stand.

Friendly-Wendy Green Dragonet
In one dragon two sides stand: a sharp contrast of color stretches from blunt muzzle to elongated tail, breaking an otherwise perfect symmetry. On the left, rosemary rattles the deep pine of robust flanks and lean legs; On the right, her hide hums with vivid lime. The center of her barrel chest and narrow spine are blurred, where the polyphony of hues modulate into the perfect unison of a single medium tone. The broad wings are another movement entirely; green crescendos into gold and then bisque. Though the balance in this svelte form is not an obvious one, a harmony is nonetheless present and predominating.

Silas looses a second sands partner as the green comes to claim Donis. A disappointed look crosses his face, but he shrugs it off and straightens to give the newly impressed guard a bright smile, "Congratulations, Donis!" he calls and waves at the pair, then frows at the dragon's name, "I'll never be able to remember that.."

Brave New World Egg shudders again, this time the egg continues to wiggle. It's almost time to break free, the dragonet inside is ready to brave the world.

After a few minutes of motionlessness, Crime and Punishment Egg splits seamlessly down the middle, as if cleaved by an axe. A decidedly reddish brown slips out, still totally composed in gestures, though his eyes roil faster than most. He stalks a short distance away from his eggshell, sniffing, then suddenly has a change of pace. He mows down a hapless girl and stares right into the eyes of Salyonae. Proof he planned it all.

An assistant weyrlingmaster named F'ico wakes up from the heat daze he had drifted into from a brisk shake of his shoulder from the weyrlingmaster. "Ah, oh, hm, I see," he spots the newly-named O'don and makes his way towards the pair. "Off to the side… O'don. With the rest of them."

That Other Apocalypse Egg rocks and rattles all of a sudden, like a volcanic vent threatening to crack open at any moment. There's only so long that the power within it can be restrained.

Seabert eyes Silas, then looks down at himself. It's like they're dragon magnets. Offering his congratulations, he maneuvers ever closer to Silas. Not out of nervousness, but so that maybe their combined powers will attract a bronze or something.

Salyonae doesn't have time to be terrified for the other girl. It's as if she's transcended death. "Yes, Alyona is a good name for me, Rodkath."

Rhaedyn skirts the sand's edge with Phaodynth, finally making it to the area with buckets of meat. She finds a vacant spot far away from An'dros and indulges the dragonet with handfuls of meat. Raising her head, she peers back onto the sands with a focused frown, to see the other Impressee and sees that Donis Impressed. "O'don?" she queries quietly, then shakes her head, and returns to caring for the green, face softening almost immediately.

Rysta ahs as yet another green makes her appearance. "That's…three greens now!" She then watches as another egg breaks and makes a quick impression. Shaking her head head grins a bit and looks all around the sands. "So hard to keep up," she murmurs toward Crepe, her eyes still trying to take it all in. Currently, she's looking for that brown to see if he Impressed yet.

Friendly-Wendy Green Dragonet wobbles. That she has her legs under her and not spread out to either side appears to be a wholly arbitrary state of being now that she is upright. Her head sways with a gentle erraticness to match and there's nothing forward but to go forward, her movements both faintly slippery, like the touch of heavy rain on drum, but with a certain random grace.

Mraleh doesn't quite get it, as usual. "O'don…oh…DONis!" Durr. The heat must be getting to him after all. The smile pointed at the newest greenrider is then turned back to Crepe.

Beagallette has dropped back a bit, watching with squinted eyes as people start impressing. "Must-" She murmurs to herself, introspective and quite a bit less of an egomaniac than some of her contemporaries. "There- look at that one. That one seems to be-" She shuffles across the sands and past Silas again, brushing by him the other way.

Silas gives Seabert a crooked smile, lifting a shoulder in a shrug and suddenly feels the heat of the sands again, "maybe they're just saving the best for last?" he asks, but doesn't sound all that convincing at all. He looks around the group and sees a few more impressees and more dragons on the sands, then shakes his head a little, "still don't see Dellena.."

Silas is also nearly toppled by Beagallette once again and sends her a glaring look, "will you just stand still?"

Three, Crepe counts in her head. Three. Three. It's going by so.. /slow/. "I /can't/ keep up. O'don?" Wide eyes blink suspiciously at Mraleh. "Who is /O'don/?" She pauses, and slowly, her brain-glow clicks on. "Oh, Donis. Right." All this confusion has left Crepe unaware of the number that is being done on her feet. Roasting, toasty toes.

Brave New World Egg can't quite hold off the forces of natural selection. It splinters into shards, revealing Darwin's Finches Blue Dragonet. Survival of the fittest? Aw, maaaaaan.

Darwin's Finches Blue Dragonet
A tuft of blue, a flash of silver, a twitch of wings and tail: color and hide come together to create this bantam, bird-like blue dragonet. Rounded in body, his neck is extenuated and agile, his head narrow, his tail long and lean, and all of him crafted as if from airy bones and light, weightless angles. Though skinny in the leg and 'ridges, his flimsy frame is balanced by the elegant sweep of capacious, commanding wingsails. In hue he is a true pacific blue, sunk in a solid oceanic color from his muzzle to the very end of his tapered tail.

Mraleh only realizes how slowly he's been processing information when Crepe gets the name change after he does. "Hm…it's probably going so much slower because so many things are happening so fast." Blue, green, brown…he points.

Pyrene bounces on her feet as she finally spots Donis with his green. "Oh, well done that lad!" she calls delightedly. "Green huh? always did say he took more after his mother." That's her story and she's sticking to it. The latest blue hatching gets a mere wrinkle of her nose, but she tracks the brown with greater interest.

Rysta gasps as another blue shows and she smiles at it. "Look at the blue," she breaths to Crepe, her eyes having the hardest time keeping up with things now. She glances all around the eggs still left and the hatchlings on the sands. Her hands clench a bit and then unclench as she tries to relax, licking her lips as they dry out from the heat.

Pudgy, Sensitive Sweater Octavius Brown Dragonet is in no rush at all, moving slowly and deliberately to keep his limbs in careful order and his belly well above the hot sand underfoot as he looks carefully from candidate to candidate…Sniffing at a robe edge here, nipping at an exposed toe there as he meanders across the sands towards Rysta and Crepe…Until…Eureka! His wedged snout prods gently into Crepe's middle - his posture relaxing visibly with relief at having finally made a firm decision.between.

Green Egg Without Ham egg wobbles in the sand. It worbles and it wiggles but it still understands, the time is not now, the time was not then, but the best time is coming and it's sure it knows when!

Desba grins at Pyrene, "Can't run a weyr without blue." Is said in responce to the nose wiggle, "And at least there have only been two so far, hm?"

O'don and Gwynegeth make it to the edge of the sands, and he gives Rhaedyn a rather sheepish look as he hunkers down in a cool-ish spot with one arm around the green's neck. "Oh, was that Crepe?!" Even with most of his attention on the dragon, he manages to spot others.

Pudgy, Sensitive Sweater Octavius Brown Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Crepe, and steps forward.

Rysta eyes go wide as the brown chooses Crepe. She grins at her friend, offers her a quick hug and lets her go to her new dragonet. "Congratulations, Crepe!" Her eyes are shining with happy tears as the fellow candidate impresses and she claps then takes a deep breath and looks around the sands once more.

Friendly-Wendy Green Dragonet slips and slides and her movements finally lose their randomness to gain the comparative certainty of improvisation on a theme - in this case the theme being sand, people … people. Improvisation. Friendly-Wendy eases herself into a fermata as she considers the chunk of candidates. Who?

Darwin's Finches Blue Dragonet stands and shakes sand and egg from his hide. He's ready to go, one can't be slow and survive. He starts his way towards the candidates, one of these is the right one, but which?

That Other Apocalypse Egg begins to crack and quake, tiny shards of darkness and light beginning to break free and scatter like stars at the base of the egg. A faint line begins to work its way up the side, a flash of lightning that splits the egg into two nearly-symmetrical halves. The end is nigh, the egg-existence coming to an end as a small, sticky green tail peeks out. One egg's time has ended, with the dawn of the Shadowed Sorceress Lilith Green Dragonet. But that's how it goes, you think you're on top of the world, and suddenly they spring Armageddon on you.

Shadowed Sorceress Lilith Green Dragonet
Attired in thirty-nine shades of virescence, the finery of her hide slides smooth as oil across the taut arch of berylline neck. Curls of cherrywood twist 'round ridges and headknobs, rebelling against the serene willow of her smooth cheeks, of her wide countenance and its large round eyes. Jade fires up the reach of long spars, as if to distract from the bluer veins of malachite creeping along the wingsails like a secret. Burnished emerald steals across wide shoulders, then slinks into the belly and onto hooked talons, where the gleam of green dissolves into thyme, into ash, into dust.

Mraleh pulls his foot out of the sand, now wondering how long it was in there, afraid to look at how burned it might be. And he's expecting a response to his theorizing…Crepe's quiet. Get it, man…get it.

Friendly-Wendy Green Dragonet needs, she decides, more direction. This improvisation has a certain appeal to it, but the ending of a piece is always so difficult. Half the time, the ending doesn't fit and the other time, it fits so well its cliche. Emotion, it is theorized, should not come out too much in music, or it seems false and sappy. But while she fermatas, she finds her ending. With a sudden whisk of finality, Friendly-Wendy Green codas in front of Mraleh.

Beagallette snaps her head towards the latest arrivals. There, what was that? "No." She says to Silas, shortly, passing him again but this time actually attempting not to run into him. "What was that? What a discovery-" She says, this time to Rysta as she passes the two of them, pausing on her shuffling way to say, "Good job! Congratulations. Fantastic." But there's an elusive flicker of thought… something earth-shattering.

Rysta actually hears the sound of the next egg hatching and then she blinks a bit as the new green appears. She watches the little sorceress seemingly mesmerized by the pretty little hatchling. Licking her all to dry lips again, she lifts a foot and then puts it down, not even noticing that she has done so in response to the heat of the sands. "So dark of a color," she murmurs to no one, not even noticing when the other green on the sands heads to Mraleh.

Friendly-Wendy Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Mraleh, and steps forward.

Silas only just manages to catch sight of Crepe impressing and gapes at the fact that a brown went to her. "I wouldn't /ever/ have guessed that," he says, but is quickly distracted by more eggs shattering. "More greens?" he goes on, sounding incredulous, a slight shudder running down his spine in spite of the heat. "They're just gonna get all confused with you running around like that," he says to Beagallette as though he knows all about hatchings.

O'don gives Gwynegeth a gentle hug. "Mraleh too? Excellent. And yes, love. You're hungry. You want blood and everything. I know. Soon, I promise."

Crepe doesn't cry. Nope. She just kind of /stands/ there, completely quiet and all red like she had been sobbing for hours. Pause. Stare. And then, suddenly, she just /flops/ to the ground, releasing Rysta's arm in the process. "Delenioth," she squeaks, nearly speechless as she stares at the little head. "Hi there." And it was love. Shiny-sweet love.

Darwin's Finches Blue Dragonet continues his search through the candidates. Not strong enough, not smart enough. Someone here must be the fittest and the smartest. Who will evolve with him? There that one! The girl who keeps mvoing about, she's a fast one, reflexes are key to surviving! The blue scurries over to Beagalette and stops at her feet, looking up at her.

At first, Mraleh thinks the music that enters his mind is another of his own mindwanderings, but there's something more orchestrated going on in there than most of the small melodies he ever strings together. At first he's lost in the depth, but eventually the phrase diminuendoes enough for him to see the eyes of the new green creature in front of him. "Lierdeth, that's…that's beautiful!"

Darwin's Finches Blue Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Beagallette, and steps forward.

Seabert looks only a little bit smug as he agrees with Silas' earlier statement. "Of course the best will come last." Crepe's Impression captures his attention for a moment, and he hollers a surprised congratulations, followed quickly by a second word of approval for Mraleh. Shifting his over-heated feet, he mumbles something along the lines of, "So many greens, who'd a thunk it?"

Shadowed Sorceress Lilith Green Dragonet is free at last, her untested power at last allowed room to stretch, and grow, and consume. She snaps her jaws a few times to test them, scaring off a few girl-candidates foolish enough to approach her and coo at how pretty she is, and with a birdlike cant of her head, she bobs once and then begins a delicate pace forwards, eyes large and dark, whirled with hunger and unease.

Pyrene bounces on her feet lightly. "Ah, that was that quiet girl. Crepe… Nice one for a brown. And Mraleh - one of ours. Beagallette? A blue? Hmm… and I thought she'd never get spotted." She glances around and stretches. "WE're almost done now - thank Faranth!

Rhaedyn's left hand idly caresses lichen-colored ridges. Eyes are turned momentarily on the Sands and she sees that she's missed yet another couple of Impressions. She mutters out obligatory congratulations to both Crepe and Mraleh, not bothering to make sure they each heard them. She sends another glance through the white robes to Silas and Seabert still standing there and bites her lip momentarily before a head-butt to the shin consumes her attention once again.

The weyrlingmaster, spotting an idle F'ico again, grabs his arm and drags him out to the sands with her. F'ico trots up behind Crepe, offering a soothing, "Off to the side of the sands with you now," is his best raspy tone. The weyrlingmaster on the other hand goes towards Mraleh, stopping short of patting him on his arm. "Yes, quite a beautiful name for the leggy green. Come join the group."

Rysta can't quit staring at the green, her stance firm as she stands on the hatching sands, not moving and not flinching even as the dragonet moves so purposely across the sands. She spares a glance as the blue attaches itself to Beagallette and then her eyes are all on the Sorceress once more. Not scared, she's in awe of the little hatchling.

Silas is so busy getting Beagallette to stand still that he doesn't even take note of Mraleh impressing and when he turns his head to see the new coupling, he misses the blue headed to Beagallette. "Well, shards.. That was fast," he says and gives Seabert an absentminded nod as he tries to keep up with the chaos on the sands, "I've never seen that many greens…" But then, he's never seen /any/ hatching so what does he have to compare to?

Desba crosses her arms and grins at Pyrene, "Not bad for a young brown. Hmm?" She soothes out as proudly as she her bouncing dragon, the proud father he is.

Nuff eyes the impressions, as Tiareth eyes the rest of the eggs. "Yes Tiareth, it is nice that dragons give people new names. Better? Well, perhaps. Yes, you are lucky we small creatures don't need to name you." She always does that, talks to her dragon, its.. um… cute?

Beagle gasps, her eyes widening as she drops to her knees. "Galapagoth!" She says in awe of something that's much bigger than herself. "I-… it's so simple. And so-" She bursts into tears with her discovery… she's going to wreak havoc on the world, she just knows it. "You're stunning."

M'rah is still thoroughly enchanted with the new music in his mind, and he, typically, takes his good old time to notice he's being called. It's Lierdeth, in fact, who serves as conductor and draws M'rah toward the other new Weyrlings. She wants food.

Shadowed Sorceress Lilith Green Dragonet cants her head still more, drawing to a halt and bobbing up and down in an idle waiting pattern, eyes picking up the speed of their whirling as she seems to have caught a snatch of something. A pinch of herbs, a bubble of bright knowledge… yes. Yes. The sands may be emptying, but it seems that one's been found a worthy companion amongst those still on them. The darkling green pushes past another knot of candidates, and heads straight for one lone figure.
Shadowed Sorceress Lilith Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Rysta, and steps forward.

An assitant notes the last impression and a Beagle who has been out sitting in frantic sands for long enough. With the weyrlingmaster happily occupied, she hurries up to catch them. "What was her name? Galapagoth? Ah, I see. Let's get you out of here."

"Well, I think he managed to help Tiareth out," Pyrene murmurs absently. "Ah, Rysta. Good! Is that it then?" She glances around, expectant and sympathetic.

Rysta stands there and just gasps as the green turns on her. She shivers slightly and falls to her knees, eyes tearing as she looks into the eyes of the green. "Oh, Ulicaelth! No, I will never leave you!" Her arms slide around the green and she doesn't think twice about hugging the hatchling to her in joy.

"Beagle and Rysta…" O'don frowns as he looks at those left standing, brow furrowed. "Is that really it? All done?"

Desba laughs softly at Pyrene's comment and nods turning to Tiareth. "A wonderful clutch Tiareth. Wonderful!" Dyamith echo's his rider's comments with a rumble.

And now the weyrlingmaster is frantically rushing to grab the last few, jogging up behind Rysta and panting for a moment before composing herself. "Off to the side with Ulicaelth?" That didn't come out right. More a question than a command.

Seabert congratulates the last of the Impressees, and then sort of deflates. His strategy of attracting dragons with Silas didn't work out as well as he'd hoped. "Well," he sighs, "I s'ppose 'best for last' means now we've got to wait 'til next time." Because he's not convinced that there isn't a dragon for him. Just… not one in this clutch.

Rysta stands as the weyrlingmaster comes over to her and she nods, the tears still on her cheeks as she moves off to the side. A hand stays on the neck of young Ulicaelth and she gives a happy sigh, her eyes glancing to her lifemate beside her.

Silas is still confused and hardly notices that there are no dragons left on the Sands. "It's over?" he asks Seabert as his face falls and his eyes roam the sands. "Well.. I suppose," he answers Seabert and looks longingly toward the new weyrlings, then around at the remaining candidates. Well, ex-candidates now, "what now?"

Crepe nods, eyes /never/ moving from the little head. "Okay. I'll go. But.. Ryy! Lookit! And your little green is so nice." She moves slowly, reluctantly, off with her toddling partner. "Oh this is so.. /Delenioth/. You're just too.." Crepe beams. "Let's go eat."

Pyrene moves forward to the unimpressed candidates, looking uncomfortable, but making sympathetic noises. "OK, back to the barracks, please. Get changed… you've got a party to go to, and at least you guys get to drink."
Pyrene slips back into the shadows.

"So…" O'don fidgets, as does Gwynegeth. "She's hungry?" he comments hopefully towards the weyrlingmasters.

Rysta smiles to Crepe and nods to her. She then glances to Seabert and Silas offering them a sad smile. "Maybe…next time?" she offers her friends before looking to Pyrene and nodding again. "Right," she murmurs, her eyes looking down to her little Ulicaelth and grinning. "Yes, time to eat!"

Silas slips back into the shadows.

Lierdeth emits a noise comparable to a timpani. Feed the starving musicians!

Tiareth heaves one great big sigh, dragon-sized, and then turns to push her head against Nuff and rumblerumblerumble.

<All> Ulicaelth senses that Tiareth spills out across the links, her own long hunger feeding off the brilliant crimson of her hatchlings. But beyond that is satisfaction as well, layered in sunshine and hot cider. « Mine. » And, because Dyamith was soooo good. « Ours. »

Rhaedyn watches as the last of the dragonets makes its choice, and then turns her dark eyes on the straggling figures in the white robes. And, remembering when she was in that group, awkwardly gives a sympathetic smile their way. Then, responding to the insistent new voice in her head, also joins in the request for food.

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