Hatching Sands
The sands. The most prominant 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.

It's a bit chilly outside, air nippy, and so Inri is taking that as an excuse to — not be outside, because Kouzevelth won't let her stray that far, but hiding off in the nook and reading rather than sitting right out on the sand itself. Because she wants to enjoy the nice weather any way she can, even if it's somewhat simulated as the outside air never gets there. Kouzevelth's tail stretches out toward the nook's entryway, so that she's well aware if anyone tries to get near Inri or if Inri's going to leave. Her focus is intently on a medium-sized black and red egg, which apparently isn't sitting right no matter where she puts it — there are two recently emptied mounds nearby, and she's rolling the egg to a third location. The frustration is made evident by mental thunderclaps touching anyone who gets close enough to be within her (small, as it's not deliberately projected) range. Inri can occasionally be heard muttering, "Stop that."

Kainaesyth settles down on the ledges upon the sound, his faint flute-like greeting drifting downwards towards the sands. His mind reaches out gently for the gold, the breath of new life sweeping through his thoughts, and ruffling the growth along the edge of the river. « They are beautiful Kouzevelth. »

The thunderclaps settle into rhythmic rolling, a trickle of rain meeting that river with a satisfied, « Kainaesyth, » as if perhaps Kouzevelth needed that mindvoice melding to identify him for sure. That, or she's simply careful to pronounce names, as she rarely speaks much, but a name is important. « You tell stories? » she clarifies, curious storm-wind spinning in tiny little pocket-sized tornados.

« I have many stories which I can share. Ones which end in joy, and others in sorrow. Some which teach a lesson and others which simply give insight. All are important. » The tunderclaps are welcomed, the rain seeping into the ground which drinks them greedily. « Do you wish to have some to tell to the younglings? » For the creatures insde of the eggs are already reall to Kainaesyth, and his heart yearns towards them, though he keeps his distance.

Kouzevelth uses the winds to attempt to pull the young bronze closer; Rhenesath has not yet risen, though Kozuevelth might tell you she thinks the youngest queen's time is soon, and she has sent Tovihasuth off to find her things to eat. So there is plenty of space, and the clutchdam gives that offer that Kainaesyth must want, even if maybe he doesn't realize: « You may come, » she urges, « whisper to them tales of growing up strong. »

The ledge is abandoned in a heartbeat, with Kainaesyth drifting down from the ledges to touch onto the sands. Forward he drifts, his eyes focused on the smallish orbs on the ground. His admiration swirls wordlessly through his mind, his joy giving them gentle strength. « Shall I tell them a story of strength, or one of wisdom? » There is wistfulness in there, that the small ones would be his, though he would not take them from Tovihasuth.

There is nothing wrong with collective parenting; Kouzevelth would have anyone who loved them enough to come help nurture them into good health and long lives. This is another one of those things she simply conveys, her mental presence far stronger than her verbal. She noses one of the larger mounds to uncover five solid-looking eggs, rolls the little black and red wanderer closer. « They are awake, » she explains, because would a bronze be able to tell? How can she even tell? Inri sure doesn't know. « Do you have one that is both? Or a favorite. »

Kainaesyth scoots closer to that egg, allowing his tail to curl forward around the offered egg, love and gentleness. « I know several. Once there was a people who had fallen on hard times. The summer had dried up their water, and food was becoming scarce. Soon it would be winter, and their stores were gone. It was important that one go to find where the water had gone….» His voice is soothing, dipping up and down as he relates the story, of the hunter that had vounteered, and the hardships faced within his search for where the water had gone. How in the end it had required wisdom and a loving heart to convince the clouds to allow the rain fall again.

The little dragon minds in the awake eggs are stirring; it's possible by now that Kainaesyth can tell they're listening, especially the black and red one. Kouzevelth, too, has curled up just about as small as she gets around a few of the sleeping eggs, tail tip no longer trying to trip up Inri as it's sitting on the edge of her snout again. « Good, » she sums a lot of feeling up into one single word: he is good at this, it was a good story, the unhatched think it is good. « You must tell them tales often. The others have not gotten turns. » There are nine still asleep, after all.

« I will tell as many stories to them as you wish. » His eyes whirl a bright green, his inner joy showing outwardly clearly. He pulls away gently from the egg, and settles a bit of a distance away. « Winter comes soon, and there will be much time for stories. »

« As long as you have time, and I am here, and it is not — too crowded. » Sometimes it's Kouzevelth and Inri and Tovihasuth and Br'enn and D'ani, too, and there may or may not even be more eggs at different gestation, soon enough. But she is always happy to share the privilege, and get tales told to her young ones. « Once they hatch you can tell them stories by a bonfire. » Fort has plenty of those, apparently.

« Many hearts will make the young ones more strong, for love is most important. » Kainaesyth cannot tell if the babies are awake or not, and so he pulls away a little more. Rather than stay on the sands he pushes off carefully and returns to the ledges above. « You will call me when you wish them to be told more? » It is wistful, and hopeful, wrapped about with the scent of wet sage and jasmine.

The tiny trickle of occasional raindrop transforms into a full on gentle rain; warm air, steam rising from the ground around a jungle river shoreline. « I will, » Kouzevelth promises, « and you may visit from there anytime you like. » She is not always there. Just about all of the time. She stretches her wings once in a blue moon, and if Tovihasuth does not want guests she will not force him to endure them — but why would he not, when they are so pleasant?

« Then when work is not required I will come. » It's a promise that Kainaesyth gently carves into the rock of the canyon, for that memory is stronger than the typical one made. « For now, I must go. I will choose just the right story to tell them when I come again. And perhaps Ha'ze will come to view from where they see. For the are beautiful. »

« He is welcome, » Kouzevelth promises, with the quickest of lightning flashes in farewell. « Inri likes his company. She might come up and say hello. » There is a mental image of cupcake, which might be something Inri has, or could share. « We will see you soon. » We: her, the eggs, and her lifemate.

Cupcake. The thought is tucked away gently to see if he can tempt Ha'ze out with it. It's doubtful, but HE WILL TRY. « Our love. » The final statement is given as Kainaesyth disappears back into the sky, greeting the sky as he lifts. Too bad it's starting to get cold…