Who Alexa, Aranthi, D'ax, Giah, Lhiannon, Orrion, Tir'dyn, Velorn
What Raaneth and Azirath's clutch hatches on a summer evening!
When Late Summer, 2728
Where Hatching Sands, Fort Weyr

 

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Fort Weyr - Hatching Sands
The sands. The most prominent and possibly most important area for a weyr, this section of Fort is no exception to the rule. Completely enclosed from the outside elements by a high rounded ceiling, the golden white sand glitters under the streams of sunlight that manage to make their way in from the upper openings. Ledges abound in the upper areas of the dome, perfect for riders and their dragons to watch the action happening on the ground. At the back of the sands there appears to be a raised section of sand, built over generations by the golds who have laid clutches here, a couch of sorts for basking on while protecting their eggs. Slightly to one side of that, a small nook has been carved for the weyrwoman to take respite from the heat of the cavern.


The group of white-robed candidates appear on the sands with the helpful direction of the weyrlingmaster team, who usher them onwards, as the reverberating hum of the dragons continues throughout the Weyr. They pause as a group, albeit an awkward one, and attempt an in unison bow that is not quite as in unison as they were angling for - one candidate early, a few late - but in the end what needs accomplishing is accomplished. With their respects paid to the clutch parents and with further help from the weyrlingmaster team, they move one after the other to their positions, forming the traditional line.

The tell-tale hum began around dusk, announcing the impending arrival of the newest dragons. Raaneth's hum reverberates around the cavern. She's dutifully shuffled herself out of the way, but that doesn't mean she isn't making eyes at the candidates (and the weyrlingmasters, and anyone else who dares step on the sands). Alexa appears quick enough, likely owing to her habit of hiding in the galleries, slipping down to the sands and hurrying across to perch on her dragon's leg.

Enchantingly Exquisite Effervescence Egg quivers gently, the fluffy looking shell shivering with a sweetly shy shudder. It is a subtle shimmy, something soft and serpentine enough to go unnoticed if one were not studiously staring at the sugar-coated shell.

Made to Order Egg might move. Maybe. There is the suggestion of a shift. A shiver that promises the potential for movement. A moment later though, the egg goes still. Clearly someone is hitting the snooze button on this whole affair.

Aranthi looks up and down the line after they've all bowed, catching some eyes and offering a nervous grin. "Yeah," she finally answers Ghaliya, looking to the eggs and taking a deep breath. Yeah. She tries to find Tiridyn, offering a wide grin. "Happy."

Velorn is clinging to Aranthi's left hand as though his life depends on it. Nope. Nothing to see here. Just another suddenly terrified candidate holding onto a friend, "I think some of them are already moving." Oh dear…

Life Finds a Way Egg teeters unsteadily back and forth, tiny movements gradually picking up speed until the force of its rocks is no longer a subtle thing.

Tiridyn's Count: 1 secondhand Tiridyn; more than two dozen others in white robes on the hatching sands, exactly where they're supposed to be. Unaccounted for: at least 2 familiar faces that should be here, but aren't. Harried in his step, looking more than a little wild in the depths of those dark eyes, Tiridyn manages a bow to dam and sire like the rest, if with less neatness and more free-flying fingers, that wriggle at his sides the nerves working themselves out through uneven taps of his thighs. His eyes linger a moment long on sire, and go searching further to where Alexa and D'ax are. Briefly, so briefly, he looks pained, before he looks back to Azirath, lips tugging a little and managing a small smile for the bronze, passed onward toward Raaneth even if she certainly has more important things to do than look at a singular candidate looking rather undersized in the robe that doesn't drown him, but looks like it could have been fitted better… if Tiridyn could use a needle to save his life, but HERE HE IS, LAYING IT ON THE LINE, so, if it's a needle that was needed, clearly he's out of luck.

Ghaliya has to walk faster with her short legs to keep up with her fellow candidates, but she is not much farther behind Aranthi, whose side she quickly comes to so she can reclaim her right hand. And hold tight! For dear life! Things are happening and her eyes are big, drinking in everything. "It's going to be okay," is maybe more to convince herself than anything.

Orrion strides onto the sands behind the others of his little cluster, not shivering — it's hot! — and certainly not with a shimmy; shifty, now, his sideways glance slides here and there before he says to Aranthi over Ghaliya's head, "Happy?"

Aranthi grins over at Velorn, her grip not faltering. "It'll be fine," she whispers. She feels so alive. "Yes," she agrees to Ghaliya. "I'll only let you guys go if you Impress. Or we have to run." That'll help them feel better, right? She flashes Orrion a grin. "Yes. Happy. Maybe a dragon, maybe another shot at that cavern. Either way, you win." Suddenly she's the Sands philosopher?

Enchantingly Exquisite Effervescence Egg seems to realize it is falling behind, and gives a little rock and a little roll. This serves to send it shifting to its side in shimmering sands. Shuddering movements shake the shell, creating carefree spider-fine cracks that creep along the cumulus curves.

Lhiannon turns an assessing sort of look from the eggs that have started to move toward the young people moving toward them once she's situated on the periphery of the sands with several of the other weyrlingmasters. At her sides, one hand curls inward as she observes the hopefuls while the fingers of the other fan outward in asymmetric testament to the heights of emotions that are — if not yet present, surely imminent for so many.

This is probably the most delighted that Azirath has looked about this whole process since the beginning, eyes whirling with excited anticipation as he hums for the tiny little dragons in their tiny little eggs. You know, comparatively. He is quite substantial, as dragons go. D'ax is here, too, but he does not look like he has emotions right now.

Tiridyn's Count: 9 eggs. 3 in motion. Still missing: those two faces. The short man should be holding hands with one of the people not present here, but here he is. Dark eyes dart to Ghaliya and on, finding Aranthi, a touch belated, but not without warmth for the word she spoke. He shifts in the line, getting himself a little nearer the Beastcrafter. He doesn't directly address the word beyond the flicker of a smile, and he doesn't watch her long because eggs are moving, but to both women, he calls, "The wait is over," and that's something. He lets the wiggle of his fingers roll through the rest of him, in a little shake that loosens tight muscles and squares his shoulders. Maybe he wasn't always sure, but he's here, and evidently, he's not planning to flee the sands. Not yet. Not even if Traitorous Egg might get a sidelong look accompanied by a hard swallow.

Nothing to Crow About Egg immediately starts rocking in the sands, moving to a beat that has the modestly size shell bumping and grinding without a hint of reservation. Whatever is going on in that shell, the beat it's creating is unmistakable and unabashed!

Ghaliya is not comforted by this late hatching wisdom, apparently. "Run?" Deep concern, big concern, in that voice of hers, but she holds it back with a inhale of breath.. and she might be holding it as her eyes track down the line of candidates. "Tiridyn, alright?" she says, looking past Orrion long enough to speak and offer Tiridyn a smile. All account for. Orrion seems fine. Yes.

Orrion can't — all right, can, but won't — argue with that; "Good luck," he says to her, to that harried fellow over there, to everyone. It's different down here. Hana gets a slitted glance — see, he didn't run, not yet — and he rolls his shoulders. No hand-holding here either. He's indeed fine. Fine. (Just a little peek towards the galleries, towards maybe-Nita and please-don't-recognize-him other crafters. Just one.)

Made to Order Egg starts abruptly, the entire egg jumping high enough off the sands that its landing ends with a wibble and wobble before it flops onto its side with a solid thump. In the wake of that somewhat questionable landing, a spider-web of cracks adorn the shell before the occupant once more slaps the snooze button.

Tiridyn's Count: 5 eggs rocking, rolling, shimmying, shaking, 4 eggs static but surely not still within. As Nothing to Crow About Egg starts jamming to its internal beat (does anyone here trust that it's actually drums its moving to?), his eyes are drawn to the motion and he bounces onto his toes and back down. "I'm here," he answers Ghaliya, eyes darting away from eggs to candidate for only the briefest of moments. Still, his lips manage to hitch into a smile that holds a little of his signature sunshine. "Never stop, right?" That was the promise~ And no one breaks a pinky promise. Especially not Tiridyn.

Velorn focuses on breathing. Yes. Breathing is good. So is the slight shuffle of feet on the hot sand. He laughs a little at the dancing egg, the sound a little too loud and cutting off rather abruptly, "I swear, that one is going to be a lively one." And one to keep their eyes on once it hatches! Dancing hatchlings could be dangerous…

Aranthi flashes Tiridyn another wide grin. "We made it." She can't stop grinning! Her eyes flick to the galleries, searching, finding some faces she knew would be there. Then she's looking back at the eggs. Waiting. "Thanks, Orrion," she replies, genuine.

No running on the sands! Surely you didn't think the rules went away just because the eggs are hatching, did you? Raaneth still sees you

Enchantingly Exquisite Effervescence Egg cannot continue long under such slow burning pressure and without much further fanfare, crumbles apart. Left in the ruinous mess of that once densely compacted egg is a momentarily stunned sugary-pastel blue hatchling. He takes in his new surroundings with a sort of whimsical wonder. What is all of this? No sense to lay there, there's opportunity abound! He is quick to his feet, even if he sways on uncertainly stable limbs, gait awkward and disjointed with not-quite orientated coordination for those first tentative steps. But does that stop him? Never!

Love Knows No Limits Blue Hatchling
Powder-soft blues encompass the expanse of this dragon's hide, the pastel hues creating the illusion that he is a being crafted solely of spun sugar and built to delight. As if sprinkled by the hand of a master confectioner, hints of deeper, robin's egg blue adorn slender head knobs and accentuate the slopes of iced neckridges. A roundness of feature and form lends a subtle sweetness and sense of whimsical youthfulness to the blunt snout, his gentle curves and almost 'chubby' cheeks. In contrast, his lines are lissome and long, the soft blue of his hide gradually fading to a near-suggestion of shade along his limbs and the length of his somewhat-shortened tail. His wings are long and tapered, composed of translucent blue 'sails that almost sparkle invitingly as if they were masterfully dusted just-so with the finest of candy-crystals.

Love Knows No Limits Blue Hatchling has the hang of it now … sort of! With his feet now (more or less) securely under him, he'll tentatively fan out his itty bitty wings as he surveys the row of Candidates closest to him. He tilts his head curiously, and in the next breath of a second, he's leaving the remnants of his egg behind. No face planting in the sands — only a few close calls and none of which deter him from his approach.

Orrion mutters, "One down. One of — " he counts on his fingers. He eyes the hatchling. Tiridyn over there, Ghaliya that-a-way… "Yeah, careful," he mutters some more. He crosses his arms. He uncrosses them. He leans back slightly, then takes half a step back so he's not so off-balance. This is not a dance.

Ghaliya gives Aranthi's hand a massive squeeze, and despite the chaos of eggs rocking all over the place, her face splits into a grin for Tiridyn. "Never stop," she tells him, before turning back to face the eggs, if only with a slight sideways 'look' at Orrion, and the.. blue hatchling out on the sands.

Life Finds a Way Egg seems to grow darker as hairline cracks widen over the pale surface. A piece of broken shell flecks away with an insistent tap from within, revealing little more than the suggestion of motion beneath the still-intact membrane. Something stirs.

Velorn's eyes widen further, if possible, and he grabs onto Aranthi's arm with his free hand, as well, "Oh!" The next moment has him waving in the direction of the newly hatched blue, "Look at him! He's gorgeous!" Such a handsome boy.

Aranthi gasps softly as the blue hatches, her heart melting. "Oh, shards and shells, he's beautiful." She looks hastily up and down the line. OMG GUYS ARE YOU SEEING THIS?!? Her hand squeezes back, standing straighter. Proud. Proud to be here. Proud she made this choice. Ready to see it through. "I know!" she hisses to Velorn, not even minding that he's almost crawling onto her.

Filled with Joy Egg wiggles in place, the movement making the little 'feet' on the egg look like they are tap dancing. The movement is quick, though, there and gone in flash quick enough to make one think that they just might have imagined the whole thing.

Tiridyn's Count: 1 watchful dam still enforcing rules. Did she remember to tell her children?? True, the eggs are not running, but some of those movements… and the hatching!! Okay, technically, that's really why they're here and can't possibly be against the rules, but seeing it this close, the clerk who's been watching hatchings his whole life steps back. It's just one step, and maybe his breath is gone for a beat, two, three before he inhales, blinking at the confectionary blue only to have his eyes slide to Azirath, whose parentage may be present in some of this sweet softness, grinning at the bronze. It might have been a hopeful sign to one some that he stepped back, but now? He steps forward, settling into a stance that seems more sure, more here.

Made to Order Egg again erupts into motion without warning, shards of shell scattering across the sand as it all but dissolves into the sands.

Bundle of Joy Green Hatchling
Short and squat and already large for her color, this green might very well remind one of a giant toad rather than a dragon. The wings, stubby as they are, save her from the fate of fooling anyone into thinking she's an amphibian, even if their dirty-green color only adds to the swampy-vibes. Moving with an awkward sway, she raises her squashed-in snout and croaks creels in a plaintive wail before taking off at a surprisingly swift pace. Only some fancy footwork on the part of a former blacksmith saves him from ending up on the sands, a laugh barked out as he moves forward to greet her. "Ji'ni, me? And you're Seketh? Sweet!"

Orrion aims an elbow at Ghaliya, or at least at her shoulder; "Careful." He stares at the nearest creature, trying to find all that beautiful-ness, making one of those very very concentrated faces. His other hand briefly lifts to touch his pocket, just to be sure. And that other hatchling — and that other egg, the darker-looking one, that one with all those little cracks —

Nothing to Crow About Egg gives a boisterous hop, landing hard enough in the sand that jagged cracks form across the shell. It is here and from the way it hops, twirls and bounces? It definitely wants everyone to know about it!

Ghaliya sucks in a breath as the blue goes on the move and she can see him better. "Look at that," she says aloud, to no one in particular, "he's just so" Except now she's been elbowed, and she has a querulous look for the glasscrafter, only for a few seconds, because more eggs are hatching!

There's a softness to the way Lhiannon watches that first Impression of green-to-smith that lingers even as the rider to her left hurries forward to meet the new pair, ushering them off of the sands. Still, that speculative expression remains, hands shifting to clasp stiffly behind her back.

Love Knows No Limits Blue Hatchling's first pass through the Candidates yields no success, but it does little to dampen the enthusiasm in him. Rather than lose hope, he seems all the more energized by each new discovery made along the way. Zippy little movements have him darting (clumsily) from one point of interest to the next, never terribly far between, but utterly delighted by the whole process.

Aranthi's eyes dart around as things begin to happen more quickly. "Oh, Ji'ni!" Not much time to dwell on it though, her eyes darting back to the eggs as she shifts her posture on the sands. It's starting to get warm in here. She can't help but grin at the little blue shuffling along. "He is so sweet," she whispers.

Filled with Joy Egg gives another little wiggle, those illusory feet tip-tap-tapping on the sand to a beat only it can hear. Dancing to its own beat, the movement inspires a spread of cracks to appear on the shell, following the stripes curving along the egg's side.

Tiridyn's Count: 1 Impression. The amphibious green with the squashed-in snout is tracked his mouth slightly slack as it happens just so fast. "Wow." He can't seem to help the single word slipping through, probably too quiet to be heard. He might even like to watch Ji'ni longer— longer that it takes to put his fingers in his mouth and whistle his congrats along with the no doubt general increase of noise from the galleries as an impression is made, but then Nothing to Crow About Egg is hopping and … well, there goes his attention. Not to mention that there's a pastel perfection moving— not quite among them, but close enough to need to be watched!

Velorn is totally going to end up climbing Aranthi by the time everything is said and done. He waves excitedly at the newly Impressed green pair, "Did you see? She found her rider so fast!" Hopefully the rest will go just as quickly. The tall blond can't help but keep an eye on the wandering blue, his expression one of whistful hope.

Orrion gives that twirling egg a dubious look — he's got a lot of them, a practically never-ending supply — and flexes his hands like he's been working far too long in the shop. Querulous look or not, he's sands-focused, eyeing the new weyrling pair wistfully on the way out: they get to go cool off, after all. The zippy blue? He bends his knees a little, just in case… and surreptitiously checks his wrist for the flowchart inked there.

Life Finds a Way Egg finally crumbles to shards as its occupant, who can no longer be contained, struggles free with a high-pitched creel. An enormous (for a baby!), egg-wet bronze rises to stagger out onto the sands, tail lashing.

Breaking Through Barriers Bronze Hatchling
'Ware this prince among beasts who might one day be king, large and powerfully built with a hide that's burnished just-so to catch the light. Beware the jaws that can bite, the claws that can catch … even if they're attached to arms that almost comically appear too small at this stage for such a bulky frame. His stalk toward the candidates comes with all the lack of coordination one would expect from the newly-hatched, nose extending to sniff even at the ones who back away from his red-eyed approach. He's in front of a dark-haired, cleanly-shaven glasscrafter when he halts with a burbling sort of croon, gaze hovering for a long moment over the man before he repeats his call. "Yrannoth, " hiccups a wide-eyed baker apprentice after another beat from behind the older candidate, stumbling forward so that he can wrap his arms around his new lifemate.

Aranthi grins over to Velorn, nodding her agreement. "Yeah!" Eloquent. "This is amazing." She's seen this before of course, but never from here. It's different down here.

Ghaliya suddenly has a realization - and its quite clear from the fear that dawns on her face - though only she may know what that is. She goes a little more still than before, though her hand remains securely tethered to the older girl's. Eyes darting this way and that, noting the green, the blue, the bronze, soundlessly for now.

Tiridyn's Count: 1 worrisome egg down. As Life Finds a Way Egg hatches into an ENORMOUS BABY bronze, the short man is rocking back more than one step. It's less back than to the side, a slight sashay, away, from that one. His eyes dart between blue and bronze, and there's nothing but relief when the bronze finds his lifemate in the baker apprentice. The wan smile he has gets shot toward Ghaliya. "Civilize," is all he directs to her as if that should have some meaning.

Orrion's expression gets that much darker, pupils blown dark, the whites of his eyes showing as he mutters, 'No no don't even" — and then the big lug doesn't and suddenly the baker apprentice is his favorite man on earth, the glasscrafter getting out of his way, sweat standing out on his forehead. His breath comes fast and hard.

Love Knows No Limits Blue Hatchling zips and darts again and again through the robed figures, never settling for long. He is confident in his searching, but not overly hurried, as though he's merely on his way to meet destiny at the appointed time — and enjoying the world around him while at it. Why not? It's there, isn't it? At last, that glimpse! And with a sing-song trill of delighted discovery, he bounds the last few steps toward the one he always knew was his, stopping just shy of knocking into a raven haired, apprentice Weaver turned Candidate as he aims to lean his body into hers.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Love Knows No Limits Blue Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

This Egg is an Egg trembles where it sits, as if having been nudged by a passing breeze. It's a tentative movement to-and-fro that ends almost as soon as it began, an economical experiment in motion.

Traitorous Egg is biding its time, barely a shiver given to draw the eye. The moment that one looks away, however, there is a sneaky sidling to the side, the movement ending with the custard-yellow egg teetering onto its side.

Ghaliya is there one moment, in the sea of white robes, stiffened and overcome by some emotion only she can feel, and in the next moment there is a pastel-blue hide pressing into her and her knees cannot help to weaken. She manages not to completely fall down, catching herself with help from the hatchling in front of her, and stares desperately into the eyes of her new lifemate. "Zeherath," she says, just above a whisper, and her eyes well with as-yet-unshed tears. "Zeherath!" The second time, called out with vigor, as she both laughs and cries, pressing her forehead to the blue one that is now the one she calls hers. "Let's figure it out together." And together they go, following the weyrling staff off the sands, her expression dazed.

Aranthi gasps when the bronze stands before Orrion, and then exhales when the bronze chooses another. "You okay?" she tries to call softly to him. But then there's a beautiful blue there, laying his claim. She drops Ghaliya's hand and quickly moves back, pulling Velorn away with her if he needs to be pulled. "Ghaliya!" she says, voice full of happiness for her friend.

Filled with Joy Egg is overcome by its energetic little dance, the cracks adorning the shell growing wider and wider as the movement picks up speed. Hopping in place, the egg seems to lift up off of the ground, the shell cascading to the sand in a shower of white and yellow shards. In its place, a diminutive emerald beauty lifts her veiled snout skyward, a shiver sending the last of the shards scattering away from her hide. In the wake of that a shiver, a few tremulous steps are taken, wings spreading in an unconscious bid for balance.

Beyond the Veil Green Hatchling
Shadow-dark emerald runs in broad strokes over this dragon's frame, vibrant and rich in a velveteen illusion of softness. Whorls of a deeper, almost primordial green run in broader strokes along the underside of her neck, along the length of slender limbs and the expanse of her hindquarters as if sprung from some ancient, primordial grove. Lighter tones, touched with morning-blushed hues, form a delicate filigree over the sails of her wings, a flush of diaphanous film over the teal-toned transparency. Those same, glistening shades can be found in shimmering speckles over slender head knobs and along her eyeridges, as if draped over her head like some gossamer, ethereal veil. A pointed delicacy of limb lends this diminutive, deer-like damsel a fae-like physique, slender limbs complimented by a long, tapering tail that gradually deepens to those so-dark, shadowy hues defining her otherworldly form.

Tiridyn's Count: 1 destiny fulfilled. (Okay, technically 3, but listen, the point is…) This one is Ghaliya's. He almost misses it. Tiridyn's eyes were following bronze and baker a moment, two, three, even after impression occurred, possibly reassuring himself that yes, for sure, yes, that's done. His eyes only just made it back to the powdered blue as he leans into the weaver candidate. "Liiiiiyaaaaa!!!" That might not be her name now, not that it ever was, but the fist-pump in the air and little jump off the sands is wildly emphatic congratulations for the candidate who was never sure, and now… will have to be? This seems to be enough to buoy his flagging spirit, the sunshine in his face slipping out from cloud cover as he grins at her and her new lifemate before he's looking toward the newest egg in motion: This Egg (that) is an Egg. It softens the grin from bright, glaring sun to something softer, warmer. For the moment, he'll be lost looking at the remaining six eggs.

Beyond the Veil Green Hatchling picks herself up, setting limbs to rights before surveying her options. A little look to the left, a little look to the right, a moment to think and then off she goes… and down she goes, as new-baby limbs don't quite cooperate they way they should. Whoops!

No Corners For You Egg has a version of motion barely catchable by the naked eye - it appears to just be vibrating slightly. A nice, steady but subtle vibrato. Nothing up here, really.

Orrion mutters something impolite — yet another crafter down! — but, sure, fine, he's relieved, so relieved and that can carry over belatedly to Ghaliya and her blue too, and abruptly he's laughing. Is he okay? Let's say he is. Even if there are more hatchlings out there.

There's no way that Alexa could hear that impolite mutter and yet, she still shoots a look at Orrion. DO YOU FEEL THE EYES????

Nothing to Crow About Egg cannot wait any longer, it is all too exciting to endure for another moment! Another hop, another twirl and the shell splits neatly in half, falling away from the boisteriousy broad brown hatchling contained within. The bounding does not stop with the shell, however, the dragonet immediately bouncing forward to the same tribal beats that had rocked its shell.

You're Welcome Brown Hatchling
Short, squat and muscular, this bounding little brown is the perfect picture of the eager hero. Thick legs pound the sand, keeping true to the beats that had rocked his shell, and while there is a tumble and a spin, he somehow manages to make them look intentional, even when he lands upside down before a weaver apprentice with flowing mahogany curls. Eyes lock, and in an instant the pair are smitten, Sina's quietly mellow voice rising on a merry laugh. "I am absolutely certain that you did lasso the sun for us, Mavamoath," she croons. "You have to be starving from such a heroic effort." Helping the burly brown back to his feet, she keeps her arms around him, smiling broadly as they're guided off the sands.

Velorn gapes at the girl on the other side of the beastcrafter, "Ghaliya! Congratulations!" And a smirk at Orrion when he narrowly avoids a bronze. He's happy for the newest pairs, especially the weaver-girl. And then another green is hatching and he half steps behind Aranthi. Nothing to see here. There's no computer crafter hiding behind the dark haired woman. Nope!

Aranthi bounces a bit on the balls of her feet, gaze sweeping the Sands once more. Wide grin flashes at her fellows and then she's noticing the dark emerald green hatchlings, and a low whisper escapes parted lips. "Wow…whoops!" She tugs on Velorn's hand. "Look at the green!" Tug. Get out here.

Beyond the Veil Green Hatchling is going to try this walking thing again! First one leg, then the other, then the third, then the fourth — all accounted for and properly beneath her? Great! Now, altogether now… forward! This time, she's far more successful, even if there are some questionable moments along the way.

This Egg is an Egg begins to almost pulse with a flurry of determined movement until — ah, there! A healthy push finally succeeds in creating the first, visible crack that grows rapidly with an impulsive rock. It did it! It promptly falls still once more.

Orrion just might FEEL THE EYES. Certainly he twitches, rubbing the (sweaty) back of his neck, but that might just be the hatchlings after all, and abruptly stops laughing. For now. He's got work to do: leaning this way and that, trying to match the eggs that remain — if there are any, hard to see from this angle — with what comes out of each. Along the way, almost gleefully, "The weavers are going to be pissed."

I Do Not Like This Egg sits next to one of its fellows, an odd-egg among two. Will it move like the others? Is that something it might do? Pleasantly round from some angles, less ovoid and more ball: It keeps sitting right there, doing nothing at all.

Aranthi grins towards the green, nodding in encouragement even though, y'know, she's over there. "Att'a girl, you got this," she murmurs. "Oh, Orrion, the weavers knew this could happen. We need Craftriders!"

No Corners For You Egg continues its vibrations until they've increased to the point where motion against ground sends the egg lifting for a couple of seconds up into the air, puffs of sand rising up with it, and landing again to create a slight dent and biiiiig crack down the side. Hopefully that didn't cause any damage!

Traitorous Egg waits for the ideal moment to make its move, the first hint of a distraction setting it to rocking hard enough that a thin tracery of cracks forms across the surface. It freezes the moment that attention sweeps its way… Nothing to see here! Move along.

Tiridyn's Count: ASSORTED faces in the galleries. He spares only a glance when a singular shout of his name in a feminine voice manages to single itself out from the din. Maybe he heard it, maybe he imagined it, but it pulls his attention away from the impressing brown, such that he has to look back to see just who it was that the dragon paired off with. "Yeah, Sina!" He calls to the second weaver apprentice. Then, though, he has to shift his glance because there's a new egg-cum-hatchling and she pulls his attention, brows lifting before there are a few blinks. The way his brows go back down and furrow with a little thoughtfulness might mean that one thing he was late to the party on is considering if, indeed, he did impress, here today, just what a particular color might mean. It's fine. IT'S FINE, OKAY? Forethought is no one's friend. Hush it, Orrion.

This Egg is an Egg doesn't so much shatter, but is cleaved apart by one final, forceful push from within. The shell falls away in four, almost-perfect pieces, leaving the hatchling it once held to slowly unfurl her frame like a budding blossom that has finally been brought to bloom.

Windward Wandering Green Hatchling
How lovely and lithe, this fair-faced lady, who is artfully formed in a verdant, soothing symmetry. Lush, apple greens, reminiscent of an early spring, bloom outward over a frame more graceful than gangly despite the length of her limbs. Over the hills and vales where neckridges playfully sprout, a host of subtle shading begins as if a thousand petals tossed their heads and landed perfectly in place to accentuate her slender curves, growing toward her extremities in a gently flourishing geometry. Dew-kissed wings, only slightly paler, almost shimmer when unfurled into a delicate stretch of never-ending lines as they reach ever upward to Rukbat's warmth. Though her gait is spritely for one who stands so tall, there is a solidity to the plant of her paws that tells of a sturdy strength, toes limned with grassy smudges as if they were once rooted too-long to the ground.

Velorn has every intention of hiding from that seeking green. Sure, she's pretty, all deep shades and light accents, but… she's green! He shakes his head a little and snorts in amusement at Aranthi's encouragement.

Windward Wandering Green Hatchling is openly marveling at the wide, wide world in which she now finds herself once she's taken her first steps forward. Up goes her nose so that she can better look all the way up toward the ceiling without the enclosure of her once-egg to limit her, and up and up and — oops, there goes her balance, sending her sprawling into an adorably awkward heap with a muted noise of surprise that's soon followed by a little nudge of talons into the sand, then another. Don't mind her; she's going to be sitting here amazed at her first pawprints.

Aranthi snorts at Velorn, giving him a look. "It's too late now," she teases him. "Look, another green!"

I Do Not Like This Egg finally gives a twitch, unseated from where it sits. That's all it has been doing for months on end — simply sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! This is not to its liking, not one little bit! From within, a sudden bump! How it makes the egg seem to jump! With a push meant to rack, the shell fractures with one crack.

Orrion mutters back, "Look at you and your we." Not that he's looking at Aranthi. He's scoping out that big old No Corners Egg, staring at the height it manages, muttering something about toes. He doesn't look at the still egg for long, nor the one that's just still when he looks at it, or — or — no, it's that egg again and then more greens — "At least these are small?"

Beyond the Veil Green Hatchling has made it! Steadfastly forward, unerringly straight (if you don't count those little wibble-wobbles when baby-legs stopped cooperating) and she has come, at least, to the one she was meant to find. With a determined look and delighted creel, she plants herself on her rump before a dark-haired young woman.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Beyond the Veil Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Aranthi drops Velorn's hand (sorry) and stands there for a moment in utter shock. Wait, what? Was this actually going to happen? She didn't think it would, if she's completely honest. "I…I choose you, Siyaneth," she whispers, reaching out tentatively to touch her muzzle. "I…" Tears come to her eyes and she exhales shakily. "I choose you."

Traitorous Egg realizes the jig is up! The time to act is nigh! The moment the decision is made the shell falls away, scattered hither and yon by a violent shake of the dragon muscling his way onto the sands.

You'll Never Catch Me Bronze Hatchling
Cloaked in a dark bronze hide, this hatchling is all long and lanky limbs corralled together and capped with cape-like wings that cleverly conceal his transgressions. He studies the sands in silent scrutiny before, ah-ha! That is the one he seeks! Bow-legged baby-limbs propel him forward with surprising speed before he comes to a half-tumbled stop before a tall, skinny candidate with stringy black hair. A press of his nose to chest and the deed is done. The youth smiles broadly, his arms wrapping tightly around the length of the dragon's neck. "A'mes… I can live with that, Aldrith," he agrees with a shaky laugh. "Yes. Yes… we'll get you food right now."

Velorn is abandoned! Or, well… not really, but he is left without anyone to climb cling to. He steps back from the newest greenrider, an odd look on his face as he blows her a kiss, "I knew you'd Impress, Aranthi!" Beat, "She's beautiful, too."

Tiridyn's Count: 1 favorite egg (that was an egg) no longer an egg, but a lissome green whose appearance as each movement reveals more and more of her has his eyes going wider and wider. This time, there is no unconsciously spoken word, just awe. LISTEN, RAAANETH AND AZIRATH, not that all your babies aren't SUPER GREAT AND ALL except maybe the ones from those SUS eggs, but this one seem to do something to the young man who can't seem to pull his eyes away from the newest green. It's so consuming that he does, indeed, miss Aranthi's impression. The sprawl of the Windward Wandering Green has him stepping one half step forward, but he stops, because of course he does, he must; there are RULES. No running on the sand. Especially toward dragonets freshly hatched. He tears his eyes away to find Aranthi speaking to the slightly older green and grins. "Aranthi!" That's excited, so pleased for her, if belated in his congratulations.

Orrion checks his flow chart again — forethought! he likes it! even if it's starting to smear — and almost, almost misses the other journeyman's Impression and that shakiness and those tears and then he's twitching again, muttering something that's supposed to be congratulations as he pulls away. Supposed to be. A long glance aims for the exit —

Windward Wandering Green Hatchling finally manages to right herself after some moments, setting herself on a meandering path toward the crowd of white not so far away. Her progress is steady, but distracted; there are too many movements about to look at, too many sounds to track. Whether she's on sensory overload or simply deciding which stimulus to follow first, she picks her way forward more delicately, stopping now and again to gaze with interest as some of her other siblings go right up to those — beings in white. She's not quite close enough to engage with them, but near enough to wriggle down to get more on eye-level with some of their feet. Without talons. How fascinating!

It's okay Tiri. Raaneth knows it's not her fault some of those eggs are sus… (She will take credit for the non-sus ones, though)

Hey, wait. Azirath is the least sus dragon in the Weyr! In PERN, maybe!

Azirath is a boy bronze, isn't he? Totes sus.

Kouzevelth is pretty inclined to blame the fact that Velokraeth sired Azirath for the sus eggs; please ignore that she was responsible for that choice.

Azirath is just going to have to agree to disagree.

Tiridyn's Count: SEVERAL shots fired. ON THE HATCHING SANDS, NO LESS. Raaneth, breaking your own rules?? Surely, that must be against them. Tiridyn doesn't look to Raaneth nor even to Azirath. Once he's looked away from Aranthi and her new lifemate, his eyes scan briefly over the eggs remaining and back to the green that's righted herself, some quietly satisfied something settling into his face as he watches, like a man standing in a meadow just drinking in the simple joys of watching something beautiful be. As she wriggles down, his lips tug into a bemused smile that does more than just reach his eyes. Nevermind that these captivated looks are exactly the kinds of things that someone was a little concerned could happen here on these sands today. Is that someone forgotten? For the moment? Hard to say~

No Corners For You Egg is fine. Don't mind the fact it basically brained itself on the sands here. Everything is fine. Except for how all of a sudden, the egg is in pieces and leaving a gooey dragon - who is still vibrating - where eggshell once was.

Combined To Make One Perfect Blue Hatchling
The explosion of the cornerless egg — not that any eggs have corners, but that's beside the point here — leaves behind a gooey and excitable medium-sized blue. Another BIG SHAKE frees him of the goo (which likely splatters on anyone nearby who is in range) and reveals more detail: his headknobs are a little oversized, his hide is mostly sky-blue with a bolder, darker and more vibrant underbelly and under-wing. He's quite careful and precise as he makes his way along, evaluating his own feet more than the candidate options, with an intense focus on where each talon lands on the sand — until he's shaking off a forepaw as if complaining that it's too hot. A sympathetic giggle from a foot-to-foot hopping young Mogritan of Peyton Hold has eyes meeting and Impression bond made, with the announcement of their names being M'gito and Neyrenth.

Windward Wandering Green Hatchling has taken her sweet time in this first, all-important sojourn; having paused along the way to watch toes wriggle and how the sand spills so if she lifts her foot at this angle, the tell-tale crimson of hunger gaining predominance in her gaze finally sends her traipsing much closer to the candidates who remain. She's not quite to the one closest to her when a step to the side finally allows her a glimpse of … him. She can't exactly fly to his side, but gives a glad cry as she makes a beeline right for a brown-haired, brown-eyed man, eyes luminous with adoration.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Windward Wandering Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Velorn is all alone now! Who's going to protect him from all the scary greens? He shuffles in place, warily watching the hatchlings and remaining egg. Nothing to see here.

I Do Not Like This Egg is ready at last to make an entrance, structure shattering in near-half. What's left is a little brown, wearing a … hat? Look at him! Just look at him, now: proudly capped in eggshell, he comes forward with a bow.

Now Look What You Did Brown Hatchling
With 'trouble' writ in his carriage from dark nose to tail, this medium-sized brown is anything but pale. Once set on his way, he's an unstoppable force — headed straight for the nearest cluster of candidates, of course! He tries to skid to a stop, sand flying in dry spray, while a girl of Fort's own is almost in time to say: "Wait, Bedelith!" Young Amyllia and Bedelith are now together, forevermore; in their future, there are surely many mishaps yet in store.

Orrion yanks his attention back from out there to back in here. Whether he's any help to Velorn is an open question; certainly, all but leaping away from that beelining green, he's closer than once he was.

Tiridyn's Count: 1 moment to break the rules. He runs. (YOU HEARD HIM RIGHT, RAANETH.) It's a moment after that glad cry, a moment after she's seen him. "Maelisyth!" His is no less glad, no less needful to get to her side, and so to the Red Star with the rules, he's running. They're already together, but the sooner they're together, with Tir'dyn's tear-touched eyes hiding away from the world as his arms curl around the delicate but solid green. "Me too," comes with laughter, laughter that is joy and a kind of exuberant embrace of life and love and all the good things that come in this moment and might already have been, now magnified because he has her to share it with. He's looking around almost immediately for whichever helpful weyrlingmaster is going to usher them to where their first needs can be tended, but his eyes are going to find Azirath and D'ax in that moment, whether he regrets it or not, before turning his attention back to the new center of his world: his lifemate.

Raaneth will allow it.

As the last dragon finds its lifemate, Alexa drops down from Raaneth's leg. Her smile holds none of the mirth or mischief it usually does. Instead, a quiet empathy has replaced it, as she addresses the remaining candidates. "I know it can hurt to walk away without a dragon, but just remember that there may yet be one in your future, if you decide to try again. Take a breath. Take a moment. Join the feast when you're ready. Fort is honored to have you."

Lhiannon is a helpful weyrlingmaster, for all that she's also taking in Tiridyn's Impression with a warm look and allowing the new pair a moment before she approaches them. "This way, " she says with another glance for the delicate green, eyes bright as she directs them toward the other new weyrlings.

Orrion's taking a breath, all right. Lots and lots of quick, panting breaths. He swings his arms. He rubs his arm over his forehead (no doubt smearing the ink further). He nods to Alexa, shortly, then sends a wave back up to the stands before approaching Velorn. "Hey," he says quietly.

You want to know who isn't taking in Tiridyn's Impression with a warm look? Yeah, it's D'ax. And he's looking at the new green weyrling, emotionless, when he looks his way. Then he looks away.

Velorn blinks as the last hatchlings find their lifemates. His shoulders sag in relief. He might be leaving the sands alone, but at least he's not leaving with a green!

It takes Orrion longer to actually leave; he stays where he is for a little while, and then moves away, scoping out the sands with his feet this time: this place without eggs, now, but just their broken shells. Out comes the little paper he'd folded into his pocket, and his pencil, and he gets to work.

It never gets old. With a pat to Raaneth's leg, Alexa makes her way across the sands. D'ax is ignored. Tiri is smiled over (even if he's probs. Long gone) and Orrion is given a glance with a curious tip of her head, though she won't stop him here to talk — it's way too hot for conversation on the sands.


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