Ista Weyr Log: Nalaieth and Jekzith's Hatching, August 2007

Nalaieth and Jekzith's Hatching - August 25, 2007

Hatching Sands
The black sand of the Istan hatching grounds is quite famous, and it also sends a bit of darker air to the entire cavern, since it doesn't reflect light as well as the unusual sands of, say, Igen. Of course, the sand is not only warm, it's baking almost as if it's been in the sun all day, even when the Weyr is under a hurricane warning! The huge cavern arcs overhead, a volcanic bubble in black matte rock, while the tiers of the galleries provide seating for the spectators.
Besides the span of the galleries to the south, one can head over towards the entrance to the hatching grounds, or into one of the Queen's tunnels to the southeast and southwest.

A long, low rumble whispers through the Istan ground. Earthquake? A shiver of the nearby volcano's digestive upset? The sound intensifies but the soil moves no more or less than it had before. Rocks remain still, items on shelves perfectly steady. A little louder still and the thrum takes on form - hundreds of voices singing the draconic song of new life. The dragons hum. A hatching begins.

The stiff breeze brings a welcome, temporate coolness to the Istan air. Today's festivities are anticipated, apparent from the milling drudges with water pitchers and cups and the arriving crowd decked out in their best. The presence of several Healers on the sidelines recalls the dangers inherent to the candidates, though their preparations are readied. On the sands, the clutch's mother broods excitedly, her tails swishing as she regards the eggs, a maternal hum encouraging them to leave their shells at last.

P'draig crosses onto the Sands, still tucking one edge of his shirt in, though Nolee's holding one of his arms. The brownrider seems just a titch out of breath, but he smiles down at the goldrider at his side. "Ready? Here we go," he murmurs in an undertone and steers them towards a safe spot from which to observe the proceedings.

The Weyrwoman and her weyrleader emerge from the tunnel that leads down from their weyrs, pausing just inside the hatching cavern to scout the situation. Early arrivals in the stands gain an expansive, welcoming wave from V'lano, while Griere keeps close to his side and squints across the sands. "At least she's here in a timely fashion," sniffs the Weyrwoman to her mate, who takes that as a cue to glance over at Nolee himself. "Wasn't she pretty quick for Nalaeith's first, too?" he asks, but Griere's answer is unhearable in the sudden swell of the dragons' humming.

Nolee's in her usual state of disarray, trying to lead Paddy even as he leads her, to as close to the edge of the sands as she can manage. "Ready! Even she is, though -- I'm sure the sand they have will be just fine," she tells Nalaieth. "Look, even the other dragons know it's time. Just stop fussing."

Nalaieth leans side to side, humming loudly and nudging at some of the eggs, maternal worry and excitement in her whirling eyes.

Fadra could make an effort to look a bit more pleasent from where she's set up camp on the sands alongside B'ryce, both of them surveying the wiggling eggs with a sort of detached dislike. "Ready?" she wonders of the older rider absently, and B'ryce simply shrugs glancing around. It makes Fadra follow suit, and she is quick to wonder, "Have y'seen T'mic? I swear t'Faranth."

Tegara comes out of a yawning tunnel onto the Hatching Sands.

Jekzith thrums away, blue eyes whirling with excitement. He's giving one egg a last nudge, then he moves over towards Nalaieth, doubtless trying to distract her a little, let the eggs do their thing.

Bivalve Abode Egg shivers a few times as if cold and stirs in its little nest of sand. Black grains run fleeing from the sides of the egg, one fanned rim of seashell seeming to bulge outward away from the rest, then subsides, all well again.

Dalanor steps onto the heat of the hatching sands with the rest of the candidates. Swathed in white, he's recognizable by the broad chesnut braid which Thirion recently set in his hair to keep its length from stumbling dragonettes. His eyes have a glaze about them as he sets his focus upon the eggs which are beginning to rock in the throes of hatching.

The white-robed candidates file as a group onto the sands amidst the dragon thrums. Together, they bow low to Nalaieth and Jekzith before spreading themselves evenly in a half-circle around the eggs.

Derik's eyes are wide as he takes in the view of the sands as if he's not seen them before. With a shake of his head to clear it a little he tears his gaze from the rocking eggs to look towards the Stands. "So many people!" he murmurs to anyone who's around him as they all file into place around the eggs. He sticks close to Trace, keeping the other lad in sight.

T'mic trots, double-time, onto the Sands, tucking a hanky into the back of his waistband. "Here!" he says as he comes within reach of Fadra and B'ryce. He attempts to mask his nerves with a smile, but it's a sickly and anxious thing. "I got caught in the crush in the living caverns."

Seliene takes her steps slowly, eyes focused on the eggs and the pair of dragons behind them. She stops and gives a respectful bow to the dragon pair before approaching any further, acknowledging both dam and sire with an inclination of her head before proceeding.

A cold shiver trembles the shell of the Snowveil egg, causing it to vibrate at such frequency it almost seems that gauzy fabric slips across its snowy surface. A second shiver is so violent that the veil nearly slips; creamy shell is revealed among the wide, feathery 'flakes,' then the egg lies still.

Trace enters the sands, does the business, and then moves to spread out as the rest of the candidates do. He makes sure Derik is nearby as he fans out to his proper spot, then finally turns to face the eggs. His eyes seem uncertain as he watches, both the eggs and the gold and brown that are already on the sands.

Izarit's bow is simply made, accompanied by a flash of smile less genuine than usual for her, as she heads onto the sands to set up her post there, among the other white figures. There, she seems to relax a touch more, stance more natural for all she's eyeing the eggs with some amount of trepidation.

Nelyo is half walking, half-hopping on the hot sands as he moves into position, bowing low to the clutchparents as he does so. Then he stands still, not far from Seliene, retreating and focussing on this event, obviously ready for anything. Or maybe...nothing. It all depends on the dragonets now. He shivers and looks up as Leeanna makes an appearance to settle on one of the small firelizard ledges in the galleries.

Alexiel makes her way onto the sands with a respectful bow to the clutch parents. She heads off to stand to one side of Dalanor, glancing at her fellow candidate. "Good luck," she says to anyone who might be around her before turning her attention to the already rocking eggs.

Rooklen lingers in the center of the group, plodding along dizzily behind Seliene and gawking around them at the now more lively eggs and the growing group of people in the cavern. Timberly trips along behind him, her hand clutched tightly in his still. Once again, he gives his infamous avian bob of a bow, looking rather silly.

Nolee vaguely clings to P'draig's arm as the candidates arrive, giggling as they bow. "I know they're supposed to do that, but jays, it's so funny to watch. All those robes, all those people."

P'draig looks over at Jekzith and Nalaieth fussing and grins over at Nolee. "They've never stopped doing that the whole time, have they?" He looks up as the Candidates make their way out. "Y'know, I'd never really noticed before, but it's a lot of white bobbing around all at once." The brownrider's gaze remains there for a moment, then turns towards shaking eggs.

Dalanor rises from his bow to glance aside to Alexiel with a smile. "You too." He offers with a thumb raised for good measure and a nudge towards the bivalve. "Told you he wants out." With that said, his face grows more serious and he looks towards the eggs. He breathes.

Fadra's chin tilts slightly, and she grunts, unconvinced. "Clearly." And yet somehow everyone else made it beyond that, including herself and B'ryce, who looks at the other greenrider with the expression of one who's being annoyed by a giant bug. "Just...stand there. And try nay t'look so sick." There goes Fadra, ever maternal and gentle.

The Bivalve Abode egg gives a final quivering quake and breaks apart into three distinct sections, releasing what looks like a pearly brown egg onto the sands, so tightly and compactly coiled is the hatchling within. It takes a moment or two for the Reckless Mollusk Brown hatchling to unfold and unfurl himself, gleaming wetly with the remains of his former home.

Pearly pale brown gleams in subtly shifting layers along this sinuous dragon's hide, muted taupe grayed out in places until he moves and then the soft shimmer of tawny sienna married with creamy swirls of lighter tan reappears in a tantalizing tradeoff of tones. His proportions are all skewed in favor of length and a horizontal quality persists through an elongated neck and the lean lines of his body which moves low to the ground on too-short legs and is accentuated by his trailing tail. Slender wings of pearlescent taupe cleave closely to his body when folded. His face is long with with a flat muzzle, wide, flaring nostrils, a broad, intelligent forehead and elegant, streamlined headknobs that angle back sharply towards his skull. Liquid eyes are darker than most dragons', favoring indigo, forest and plum, rather than lighter colors to signify his emotions. Faded striations add interest to his hide along his tail, like the effects of ocean water on a mollusk shell from the deeps.

After shaking and shaking and shaking some more until it's lying on its side, the blooms on the Friendliest Flower egg suddenly expand and contract then explode outward, vanishing, transformed into a shower of shards. From within, a dainty little green pads forth, head and tail held high, wings spread a little, looking this way and that intently. Within moments she's run over to a tall, lanky lad with a shock of black hair. "Daisyth? Yes! We will get you something right away!" Stumbling a little, O'drel leads his lovely lady off the sands to start their new life together.

Derik's gaze slides from eggs to the clutchparents to watch them as if the gold might actually stop the eggs from hatching. A silly fear that he keeps to himself. Quickly though the parent watching gives way to egg watching and he's turned his attention just in time to see the brown arrive. "Oh!" is all the surprised boy can manage to whisper, his eyes locked on the brown.

Nelyo watches as the brown hatches and his eyes widen. He shifts his feet, trying to cool them, and watches the dragonet intently, wondering what he will do, who the brown will go to.

Izarit edges sideways slightly, swapping places with one boy next to her so she can end up standing by the more familiar Rooklen and Seliene. "Fancy meeting you here," she greets the pair, with a strained smirk before the hatching eggs gain her attention again.

Alexiel draws in a deep breath, barely stifling an exictied gasp as she watches the first two dragonets burst from their shells. "Oh, Dalanor, look," she's pointing from one to the other, though her gaze seems to be more closely focused on the little brown.

Dalanor offers a silent muttered phrase of good humor under his breath. Those near him might catch 'Shoulda bet on him hatching first.' He grins, giving the brow an encouraging thumbs up for his determination.

T'mic bobs his head and shuffles a few feet farther away from Fadra - closer, it might be noted, toward the clutch parents. He straightens, hands clasping behind his back, and gives the Candidates' backs a quick once-over. His eyes linger longer on a particular strawberry blonde Candidate, so that he misses both the arrival of the brown and the Impression of the green.

Nolee laughs, agreeing with both parts of what Paddy's said. "They haven't! If it weren't for him, she'd never eat, either. Wonder how they even get off the ground after sitting here so long." Nalaieth doesn't find her rider's sentiments amusing, and redoubles the force of her hum, trying to urge the eggs onward and to drown out Nolee. "Did something happen?" she mouths as the first egg cracks.

Trace's eyes widen, narrow, and then widen again as the brown comes forth from it's shell. There's something rather different about it when you actually are out on the sands...Blue eyes watch the dragonette carefully a moment before he glances sideways and Derik and grins slightly, "You okay?" He calls softly to his friend.

Noemie stands off to the side behind the candidates, watching as they take their places, then her attention is caught by the first dragons to hatch. "Ooh! Just look at that pretty little green," she says to Tegara. Then remembering where she's supposed to be, she crosses the hot sands quickly towards T'mic and Fadra.

A cold frost spreads over the surface of the Snowveil Egg, turning it shiny with the glitter of ice. It seems to expand, like water freezing in a bottle, the tension on the shell stretching it and increasing its glossiness.

Rooklen, shifts uncomfortably and then blinks over as Izzy appears by him. Timberly bounces, pulling at his arm and pointing at the brown. "Look, Rook!" she encourages. Rooklen obliges, gulping nervously. "Hi," he then manages to Izzy. "Err, g'luck," he notes, giving a crooked grin.

"He's gotten to cheat. Done drills and stuff. I'm sure Nala'll remember though," reassures P'draig, patting Nolee's hand gently. "Everything looks fine from here ..." he continues, head turning this way and that to track all the sudden action.

Derik shifts from foot to foot, an action brought on not only by the heat of the sands but by nervousness also. "Fine." he squeaks towards Trace, daring to look at his friend for a moment. A quick smile is offered. "You good?"

Seliene's eyes flicker toward Izarit briefly, but her expression doesn't change. "Yeah, fancy that," she mutters, voice most likely hidden in the commotion surrounding them. She clasps her hands behind her back and shifts her feet, watching the hatchlings carefully.

"Likewise, to both of you," Izarit drawls to Rooklen and then Seliene, though she flashes them a brighter smile for those words. And then, sly, and not above needling Rooklen even now, she asks, "Can I have your other hand?"

Seemingly Sunken Egg gives a spasmodic set of quivers in its bed of black sand, as if testing the stability of the ground beneath it. A few more shakes, and it slowly stills, for the time being.

Tegara stands quietly with the Weyrling staff, waiting for the next pair to stumble along and occasoinally making nervous checks of the stocks of meat and oil that they'll be needing.

Duvell walks onto the sands from the entrance to the Hatching Grounds.

B'ryce, upon seeing T'mic move further from Fadra and closer to himself, has the good graces to look only slightly annoyed before stepping away from the rest of the group to fetch O'drel and Daisyth and gesture them both to meat and oil.

Nolee nods absently, watching the Snowveil egg move. "Ohh, that one, it's my favorite. I'd be very happy it made a good dragon." She squeezes P'draig's hand back, then points as there's more movement. "Which one's good luck if it's first? I forget."

Rooklen turns and looks ready to gripe at Izzy, but given the situation, he gives up and thrusts his hand out harshly, almost as if he were going to hit her, not take her hand. But the hand is there, offered out anyway. Timberly, eagerly bouncing on his other side seems to bounce herself free, her face pur glee next to Rook's stark fear.

Trace nods in return to his friend, the grin remaining. "Yeah, I'm good." He tells Derik. His nervousness doesn't show at least, which is good. His attention turns back fully to the eggs then, glancing at the green as she Impresses and hmming softly to himself. His attention shifts back to the new brown then, glancing only for a moment towards the snowveil egg as it seems to...change?

Griere glances away taking a moment to cast a look over the stands and the ledges above. If she sees anything of particular note, it doesn't register on her cool features.

Alexiel begins to shift in place, the heat of the sands starting to get to her as she her gaze travels back and forth from the brown to the remaining eggs. Which will hatch next, who will impress next? So many questions, and though she's eager to find out the answers, Alex manages to remain fairly calm on the outside save for the dancing motion and a slight trembling of her body.

Reckless Mollusk Brown Hatchling stands blinking in the light of the cavern, looking around him taking it all in, the other eggs, his dam and sire hovering above, the white-robed Candidates. He heaves a deep, long sigh and gives himself a long shake from head to foot as if getting rid of the kinks from being shelled for so long. Then he eyes the Candidates again more narrowly and with, what one would swear was a grin, takes off at a loping pace towards them.

Izarit beams outright at Rooklen as he complies with her request. She sticks her own hand out to take his, giving it a light squeeze as she settles in, more relaxed for having someone else to cling to. "It happens fast, like they said," she observes after a moment. "Are you scared yet, Rook?"

Nelyo is still there, shifting his weight restlessly. "Good luck, Seliene!" he calls before going back to watch the brown hatchling on the dark sands, admiring the dragonet's sinuous beauty. As the little dragon moves quickly towards them he steps back just a fingerspan, then forces himself back forwards again, though the heat...and perhaps a good share of nerves...has him dancing relentlessly.

Snowveil Egg grows softer, fluffier, as if the drifts and blizzard its shell suggests has come to life. But within the storm, shafts of color appear, pale tea and ocean shades glimmering and concealed again by shifting shards of shell. The sticky substance that's held those cracked pieces together loses coherence at last, and the puddle slips apart, revealing a damp and thoughtful-seeming green.

She holds her head high, this tall and regal green. Her hide glistens like damp silk in pale shades of celadon frosted with a thousand microscopic gems over her throat, chest and belly, darker and less sparkling along her spine and tail. Her legs are long and her paws are small, her talons so dainty that they're translucent. Though sparingly built and slender through the haunches and shoulders, the great span of her wings dwarfs her body. Even folded, her wingsails conceal the shape of her, a shelter from storm or prying eyes. Those sails are a cool tea green, and her 'ridges the same; the latter rise like a fine collar along her lithe lady's neck. Her facial features are almost miniature, though her cheeks are high-boned and her chin quite prominent. Small, sloped eyes contain a secret unsatisfied light in their whirling depths, and above them slim browridges arch high into narrow points painted in dark ocean teal.

Dalanor is almost but not quite distracted from the heat of the sands by tthe cacophany of sensory overload provided by the clambor of the crowds, the press of eager and trepidatious candidates, and the thrum of dragons. Almost. Unable to just stand atop the sand, he finds it kicked onto his ankle and between his feet and sandals by nearby candidates. His feet shift with the agony of heat, ocasionally lifting to kick his calf and free the sand beneath his feet. Of course this is what his neighbor is doing so he's inevitably kicking sand on someone. And so the madness continues with blisters in the morning. With the approach of the brown, Dalanor grins. "He's a brazen one that." Seems he can appreciate the determination.

Derik rocks back on his heels nervously watching the young brown hatchling to see which way he's charging towards. "Good. See, all's good so far." he murmurs to Trace. Derik alternates his attention from the eggs to the brown. Egg...hatchling. Egg...hatchling. Suddenly he nudges Trace. "Lookit, a green. Oh, aint she beautiful!"

Rooklen huffs and shakes his head. "Scared, why would -I- be scared?" he scoffs, doing his best to sound like he means it. "Uh, is it me...or is that brown running?" he asks, voice pitching awkwardly with his obvious lack of fear.

Every hatching there's always one or more of the candidates who accidentally empties his gullet the second his feet hit the sands. This time was no different. Duvell, still a bit pale around the cheeks, occasionally bends into a crouch as if he were expecting to be thrown off his feet. As the others around him continue to dance, he adds in the occasional 'bob' to his routine when his head becomes as light as a feather. The heat beats down upon him and draws the sweat from his pours so that his tunic is moist to say the least.

The weyrleader's attention is on the hatchlings - and on the candidates to whom those hatchlings, so far so few, are paying most attention. There's a seriousness to his demeanor, a deep concern stuck beneath the wry and thoughtless grin with which he watches the proceedings. The hatching of the clutch's second green has him bending a little to murmur in his weyrwoman's ear, a single tan finger extended to point at the new hatchling.

Nelyo eyes the beautiful green as well...two dragons to watch now. Careful, mustn't get run down. He smiles. "She's beautiful!" But he keeps a careful eye on the charging brown.

Seliene manages a small smile toward Nelyo, lifting one hand slightly in his direction as she tries to keep her eyes on the dragonets. The hatching of the next green catches her attention and she sidesteps just a bit, away from Rooklen and Izarit and their banter.

Quivering delicately, the Endless Love egg seems to slip its beads off a string that floats down into the black sand, only it's not beads but the flaking of the shell as it peels away. Gradually the egg itself breaks into little bits that speckle the sands with white leaving a pale-hued blue behind. The little fellow cracks open an eye and then closes it again a little hesitant about what he sees out there. Then he pushes himself up to his feet and unfolds, taking his time to find The One. A dark-skinned, dark-haired lad with knobby knees is his destination and once Impression is made, V'reet calls out his new lifemate's name joyfully: "His name is Marryth!"

Alexiel eyes the loping brown with the slightest hint of nervousness, "Brazen indeed, I hope he doesn't knock anyone over in his excitement," she comments to Dalanor. Then of course, her attention is drawn to the little green that's just hatched. "She's pretty."

The weyrleader's attention is on the hatchlings - and on the candidates to whom those hatchlings, so far so few, are paying most attention. There's a seriousness to his demeanor, a deep concern stuck beneath the wry and thoughtless grin with which he watches the proceedings. The hatching of the clutch's second green has him bending a little to murmur in his weyrwoman's ear, a single tan finger extended to point at the new hatchling.

Trace looks to the green as she arrives, actually smiling slightly? Yes indeed. He nods without actually looking at Derik as he responds, "Yeah she is." He agrees, his eyes shifting around, keeping all the different dragons in sight, adults and newborns. As the blue hatches and Impresses nearby, Trace glances at them and then away, back to looking at the now approaching brown, body tense.

B'ryce has hardly returned when he finds the second Impression standing there - there's a brief glance at Fadra, who shrugs helplessly in response, and the greenrider weaves his way to tap V'reet on the shoulder, murmuring, "Marryth, is it? Well, come on then." And barely on the sand a minute, the assistant hurries his way back to the corner of the Sands.

Seemingly Sunken Egg resumes its dance, wobbling and shuddering - ebony grains inexorably spilling away from the mound it lies balanced upon. Its seemingly sunken-in, scrawny shell develops a large network of minute fissures over most of its surface as the life inside seeks freedom.

T'mic starts as B'ryce passes him - again. He takes a few uncertain steps after the other man, then stops as B'ryce intercepts V'reet. The greenrider tosses a 'help me!' look over his shoulder at Fadra, then towards Tegara and Noemie as well. After a moment he nods to himself and straightens his shoulders as if to say that he'll be ready for the next one.

Reckless Mollusk Brown Hatchling winds his way forward, body tracing an S-curve across the Sands, starting on one end of the ring of Candidates. He's quick to make up his mind. Nope. Nope. Nope. And keeps going past white robe after white robe. The sand crunching beneath his feet draws his eyes down, musing on the sound and he /almost/ trips, but he catches himself with a rather smirky, amused look and keeps right on going.

Nalaieth does not take kindly to the mess on her sands, and she nudges Jekzith, interrupted in her moment of pride by the sight before she's quickly crooning and humming, humming and crooning, to the eggs as they wobble and the hatchlings as they arrive.

Duvell's copper-green eyes flick to the emergence of the second green. A broad smile creases the soured expression on his face as he watches her move and notes the almost imperial bearing. As V'reet's voice echoes off of his skull announcing the name of his new life mate, he quickly forgets the acidity of his stomach. It's happening. Riders are being chosen and he could be one of them.

Fadra looks...dismayed, to say the least. "Did he just upchuck?" she wonders with a vague, noncommital gesture towards Duvall, the question directed at anyone close enough to hear it. "Y'have t'be kidding." T'mic's false start is caught in her periphery, and she notes, "Not quick enough, T'mic." Her arms cross over her chest, her fingers tapping a small rhythm on her arms as she rocks on the balls of her feet and back to the heels, patiently. "There'll be plenty."

Graceful already, the Imperial Tea Green Hatchling plucks her dainty paws out from the ruins of her shell. As though she forgetts already her humble origins, she pauses just a few steps from those snowy shards and lifts her enormous wings; the muscles in her shoulders shudder and strain with the effort, for her sails are still egg-wet. A soft creel, almost a croon, of dissatisfaction escapes her narrow throat, and she starts out with chin high toward the white-robed treats lain out before her.

Rooklen shifts nervously, though his look of fear seems to have abated some now. He watches the brown with apprehention and then takes a moment to get a look at the green, one brow lifting as he looks her over. Then, he checks in with those around him again, Seliene and Timberly on one side, Izzy on the other.

Izarit nods toward the eggs, the hatchlings coming from them. "Brown, green, green, did I miss one?" she rattles off what she's seen so far. "I don't know if I should wish they'd all hatch at once, and get it over with quickly in the chaos, or for them to hatch one at a time so I can actually, you know. Watch." She grimaces.

Jekzith swivels his head around as Nalaieth points out the mess. He missed it, too absorbed in watching the dragonets emerge, warbling and crooning welcome after warm welcome to /his/ little one. The brown however, trots over dutifully to bury the foul-smelling mess under a deep layer of sand.

Chantha comes out of a yawning tunnel onto the Hatching Sands.

Chantha has been here the whole time, hanging back in uncharacteristic shyness and jaw-dropped nerves. Even now, she's not actually managing words. More like hopeless longing looks at the brown and green that wander the black sands.

Nelyo shuffles around, getting sand stuck between his foot and sandal. Ow that's hot. He kicks to losen it and hops about a bit, watching both the brown and the green, wondering if either would pick him. Why did some Impressions seem to happen in seconds and others take many, may moments?

There's something about the long, slim form of this lanky brown that hints at the personality within. It might be the rather deadpan expression of his features; maybe the slightest hint of a smirk at one corner of his mouth; perhaps the aura of mystery lurking behind his outsized eyes. Whatever it may be, it's well-disguised by the relatively uniform duskiness of his leanly-muscled, brunet hide - the cool-toned klah coloration stretching uninterrupted from squat headknobs and wide, strong wingsails to the whip-like tips of his tail. A thin, horizontal splash of inky sable-brown shades his eyes and upper cheeks, its created illusion of shadow successfully shielding them from all but the most intense of inspections - while a more carob tone swirls from chin and the underside of his neck into a barrel chest - a 'vest' of sorts beneath his formal coat of darker hues. Large paws sport sharp claws of onyx-black, lending even more credence to his angular, blatant 'take-or-leave-it' stance.

Noemie knits her brows slightly. "So it wasn't just my imagination?" She asks Fadra, then smiles at T'mic's eagerness. "And soon, probably," she observes, as her face registers delight at the hatchings occurring on the sands.

Dalanor looks to the next hatchling and leans aside to Alexiel. "I remember that egg. The one the blue hatched from. I bet they're going to be quite the pair." As the brown begins to 'inspect' the line of candidates, he straightens and watches the approach of the restless molusk hatchling. "I used to go diving for the likes of you." He quips with a remeniscent smirk.

Trace continues to watch the brown carefully as it makes it's way along, blinking and grinning a bit as it starts to trip and picks itself back up. He coughs quietly into his hand quickly however, resuming a look of neutrality. That was interesting...The youth glances at Derik and nudges him slightly before nodding towards the brown, "Did ya see that?" He says quietly.

Winding his way across the sands with oddly fluid grace, the Reckless Mollusk Brown suddenly bounds exuberantly forward, careless in his enthusiasm. He runs straight for one of the youngest candidates, a small boy with unkempt, sandy blond hair. He practically bowls the fellow over, leaning up on his haunches, dragging his claws across the lad's shoulders, staring right into his dark brown eyes.

Nalaieth is pleased, yes, beamingly pleased as only the clutchmother diva can be, at Jekzith's response, removing the blight from her sight so she too can join in crooning a welcome - this time, to an angular brown just hatching.

Duvell mutters to himself and anyone near him, "Look at how she walks..." His eyes dart between the two greens to note the differences in their character. The sound of a cracking shell draws his attention mid-step in his dance to see the emergence of the newly hatched brown. A half-chuckle escapes his lips as he continues with the other candidates. "Proud, that one."

Nelyo watches the second brown with great curiosity. Things were starting to get confused and he was starting to snap his head around, trying to look at everything at once. Chantha catches his eye and he gives her a thumbs-up sign before he starts hopping again, hoping to be chosen...and then his stance falls again slightly as one of the browns picks a lifemate.

Nolee sheilds her eyes, as though that'll help her better see. "Aw, Nala -- I thought there wouldn't -be- any people getting hurt with this group." She rolls her eyes, looking apologetically toward P'draig, "Jesk, er, Jeksee--your dragon's so nice. It's probably because -her- sire is from Telgar."

E'rik manages a grin as he watches the brown. "I did, yeah." a nervous chuckle escapes him. "Didja see the blue impress?" he points one hand towards the new rider pair making their way off the sands. "Oh look, a new bro..." whatever he is about to say cuts off as the brown suddenly bounds towards him and is right /there/. "Seith? His name is Seith!" he hollers out excitedly, placing both hands on the brown./

Alexiel nods to Dalanor as she listens to him, though her gaze never seems to leave the action on the sands. One minute she's looking at the excited brown, who's apparently impressed, and by nearly bowling a lad over she notes. And then it's back to the dragonets on the sand still searching for their partners.

One of those delectable little creatures draped in white seems to have caught the Imperial Tea Green Hatchling's attention. She pauses mere feet from a line of candidates and raises up her head, looking down through one whirling eye at a boy who's doing the bathroom dance. He stops and stares wide-eyed at the imperious-seeming green, his urgency temporarily forgotten - but then there's a cry from another candidate behind her and in a flash the hatchling's leaping like a gazelle toward the sound. She throws out her great wings as she flies by, her wingspar's 'elbow' impacting Dalanor in the shoulder with such force as to send him reeling.

Fadra barks a curse or three when the brown finally picks his lifemate - and proceeds to tackle him down and get those claws where he might cause injury. "Shaffit. Go, Mic," she says, giving the greenrider no time to hesitate. "And send B'ryce back." She shoos him with an amount of exasperation she usually saves for later on in the hatchings.

"Hmm? Oh ... shells ..." P'draig's face wrinkles up as he sees what Nolee's pointing out. "Doesn't look too bad though. And ... there, all cleaned up," he likely echoes Jekzith's statement as the clutchsire returns to the gold's side, nosing at her gently before renewing his deep hum and welcome after welcome as more eggs burst to release tiny dragonets onto the Sands.

Trace's eyes move from the brown near the candidates, to the green, to the newly arrived brown, blinking once more at the coloring and...look of it. "Derik...look at that." He says quietly, eyes still on the sable brown. It's then that the brown inspecting the candidates rather tackles his friend, causing Trace to step away and face the boy and dragonling instead of the eggs. The youth blinks, then smiles down at his friend, seeming more then happy for him. Even if it is a dragon.

Chantha is so happy, and so--well, *ouch*, poor Derik--and all of that bursts out into a happy ringing cheer for him, and unexpectedly for the beautiful little green and her choice as well. "Oh--congratulations--Nelyo, do you *see*?" Never mind that some people are bleeding and that Dalanor was just sent sprawling, it's all so *neat*!

T'mic won't be left behind again. As soon as Seith's up on his haunches, Mic is hot-footing his way across the sands to intercept the new pair. "He's a handsome one, huh? Come with me, you two. Gotta get you taken care of."

T'mic walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

E'rik walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Izarit's mouth is starting to gape a little, surprise becoming more apparent as things pick up further. "Rook," she says, matter-of-factly, "I'm just going to be edging this way, back behind you," she tells him, though she makes no move at all to do so now.

Seith walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Nelyo nods to Chantha's words. "I saw. This is so fascinating. I'm not afraid. I'd rather be clawed than undergo one of my father's disciplings. At least being clawed has some dignity to it."

Rooklen's eyes go wide as Dalanor has a run in with the green. "Shards," he states, hand tightening on Izzy's. "Hey, no you don't," he suddenly squeaks when Izzy tells him her plan. However, he doesn't try to stop her, continuing to watch the small dragons more carefully.

Dalanor watches the hatchings with all the anticipation expected of someone who is facing their possible lifemate. His mistake is in kneeling and placing his center of balance very much at the mercy of the dragonettes frantically hunting for their partners. Knocked over by an enthusiastic dragonette, the hatchling takes the path of least resistance in her hunt and tramples over the the fallen Dalanor. Hot sands, sharp claws, and a weighty dragon make Dalanor lay there in quiet agony for a moment before he rolls onto his stomach and rises slowly with a hand held to his ribs. On his hands and knees at the moment, he shakes his head slowly as he swallows the pain.

Dandelion Clocks Egg starts to roll, almost threating to roll off the Sands before, somehow, randomly returning to its original position where it proceeds to rock violently, as if ready to explode in every directionp . Someone in there wants out, and the sooner the better.

Nolee oohs and ahhs, admiring the finely-crafted tea green as she moves around the sands and --oops, enthusiastically knocks people out of the way. The healers on the sidelines watch, wait, and stay clear some murmuring among themselves.

Izarit snorts at Rooklen's words. "Why, you wanna hide behind me instead?" she asks him, brows arching. "Because I think I'd fit better behind you, to be honest. It's getting rough," is her observation. "And you're sturdier, too."

One of the blotches on the side of the Scribe's Assistant egg bulges outward as if growing from within. A moment later a crack appears in the middle of the stain and then there's a hole where the marking was and a little muzzle poking out of the side of the egg, shoving at the shell and breaking more pieces off. Meticulously the hatchling plucks its way out and eventually a sturdy little green is standing there, shaking shell and goo off of her head and wings. Carefully she tests out the sands and then stumbles off a bit awkwardly in search of her lifemate. Several boys are tested and rejected before she settles on a gangling blond from Keroon. "Parchmeth! You found me!" exclaims G'bril.

A not totally nice word escapes the weyrleader's mouth as Dalanor goes down. "Welcome to Ista," he murmurs under his breath, though there's a tone of wry bemusement to it. After a moment V'lano stretches, putting one hand into the small of his back, head shaking, and grins: "At least we know she'll be a fighter, won't she?"

Duvell chirps in, "He'll be ok. It was just an accident. They don't realize, "he watches the Tea Green stride here and there, "... how big." His words are distracted, watching how their claws sink into the hot sands as they move, the bunching of their shoulder muscles to pump and flex the egg-wet leather of their wings.

Rooklen makes a face. "No, but..but.." he begins, giving up before getting much farther. "I didn't think they'd be like this," he admits, looking at Seliene to see if she is okay.

Dandelion Clocks Egg trembles for a moment before beginning to rock violently. A web-work of cracks cover the egg, which splinter and fall away one by one, until the rest are pushed away, leaving a somewhat baffled-looking bronze blinking in the light, sitting in a pile of broken eggshells.

Radiant, lambent light plays along this august bronze's body, liquid fire in the shape of a dragon. A long, wedge-shaped head, graced with powerful jaws, distinct eyeridges and sharp, backwards-swept headknobs, tops a neck of lithe muscularity, molten bronze running from his snout to pool in dark eddies along the underside of his jaw and around large, deep-set eyes. Rich radiance flows down his neck, pooling again around muscular shoulders before fading in a lightening trickle of copper at his forepaws, brilliant highlights accenting dark claws. His shadowed neckridges are distinct and uniform, each tipped with fiery brass. Wingspars, both long for speed and broad for power, support wingsails of pale gilt translucence. Fire accents rippling muscle and powerful sinew, flickering down long, strong hind legs, forming dark eddies tinged with sparks of red-gold. His tail is somewhat flattened, a dark whiplash tipped by a broad fork.

Sardonic Sable Brown Hatchling looks around in utter shock at this new world, then down at the remnants of his former home. A low, musical creel of protest is given as he lays there, followed by the encouraging croon of his dam. Looking up again, this time at Nalaieth, the sticky little brown slowly rises on wavering legs - giving a snort that expels egg goo before him as he now sizes up those white things on two legs - his head swinging like a pendulum.

B'ryce can't catch a break - already he's had not a second to take a break, and out he comes again to watch a green knock a lad head-over-tail, and he stands watching suspiciously until the boy recovers his feet beneath him. Satisfied the injury isn't enough for him to concern himself over, he moves instead to take Parchmeth and G'bril back out of the way of the rest of the rampaging hatchlings.

Alexiel, nearest to Dalanor momentarily forgets the dragonets and the eggs as she looks to Dalanor, who's just been bowled over by an eager green. "Dalanor," she exclaims as she moves closer to him, "Are you alright, do you need some help?"

Chantha looks to the bronze--hard not to, he's so bright--despite her knowledge that she's not got a chance with the likes of him. "He's lovely...maybe he'll go to Dalanor? *Someone* should." She would, but she has neither healing skills or the will to move anywhere but closer to the eggs.

Seliene is fine, by all appearances, standing a bit off to the side of the bunched up group, trying to keep enough room between herself, the candidates and the hatchlings to avoid any further 'accidents'. She shifts her weight occasionally on her sandalled feet, the only indication of discomfort from the painfully hot sands she seems willing to give.

P'draig takes a deep breath and lets it out, up on tiptoes a little to see what's going on. There's shells everywhere now and several dragonets searching out their Weyrlings. "Hey look ... a bronze, Nolee ... a bronze!" There's jubilance in the brownrider's tone as if he didn't quite expect to see metallic hide on the Sands.

Trace watches as E'rik and his dragon are taken off the sands, smiling faintly after his friend before he turns to face the eggs and dragonlings once again. Let's see here..."Hmm...interesting." Is all the youth says, mostly to himself, as he gaze goes from the green, to the brown, to the new bronze. Quite the...hatching. He winces at Dalanor as he goes down, and just shakes his head slightly, trying from his vantage to make sure the other candidate is alright.

Nalaieth croons at the Sable Brown, urging him to go forth and find his match. She lowers her head, wide eyes reflecting many angular little hatchlings back at him, and whuffles, then croons to Jekzith -- aren't they perfect?

Dalanor takes a few shallow breaths. He'd tried a deep one but that hurts. He rocks back onto his heels, and does indeed extend a hand to Alexiel to help him up. Once on his feet again, he gives her a thankful nod but keeps his free hand across his lower ribs. His robe looks torn in spots but nothing truly damaging. Just a few spots of blood showing.

The Imperial Tea Green Hatchling pauses to listen, but no further cries seem likely to come from the candidate who just had her interest - and has now lost it. She turns away, lifting her paws high and keeping her fine little nose in the air, past another string of candidates, all island boys. For them she has nothing, not so much as a sniff or a snort or a hungry glance. Her whirling red gaze is fixed already on another. A few more long, unhurried strides take her to the spot before her chosen one, and at last the prideful green's head bows - not in obeisance, but as if to inspect her selection. She arranges her overgrown wings along her sides like a cloak and waits, poised and prepared for what comes next.

Nolee just about jumps up and down as P'draig points. "He did it! Jays, a brown, made a bronze! Er, I mean -- I didn't know he could. Good job, Jesk--dragon papa!"

Healers on the sidelines keep an eye on Dalanor, and on anyone else showing telltale signs of red streaking white. As long as he is still standing, and there are sharp hatchling claws, they'll just be over here, not interfering.

Izarit's nose wrinkles, hand tightening briefly on Rooklen's. "Me, either," she confesses. "There's a bronze one, did you see? How much longer--I think my kitty egg hatched, by the way," the trader finally notices one of the eggs in particular missing from the whole ones remaining. "But I haven't seem a very cat-like dragon yet, so maybe I just missed it."

Nelyo looks at the bronze and at t the second brown with interest. The green he also watches...but only because she seems to be dangerous. "A bronze, Chantha!" he cries. "How wonderful for the Weyr! I wonder who he'll pick?"

Rooklen watches the brown curiously and then turns to gawk at the bronze. "Do you think their color makes them any more likely to err, get rough?" he wonders aloud. The man shifts his feet, seeming to suddenly realize the heat is taking a toll on them. "Oh come on, it wouldn't be too feline-like," he scoffs.

P'draig laughs outright and gives Nolee an exuberant hug. "Yes! Good job to /both/ of them," and he looks around beaming at Jekzith and Nalaieth.

Duvell watches the Scribe's assistant egg bobble and burst forth with a Green. "I knew it..." he comments. He watches it curiously for a moment, trying to see where its eyes take it. It's hard not to be disappointed when one of the eggs you have been watching pairs with someone else, but the Imperial's change in demeanor grabs his attention. Like watching a game on a large board, he can't take it all in at once. "What is she thinking?" he wonders audibly as she seems to be deciding something.

Squishy Puffed Sweets Egg doesn't seem to be doing much of anything at all. Over the din of the hatching cavern, it might be hard to hear the sporadic scratch-scritch-scratch that comes from within the white shell, barely audible proof that the egg is not so dormant as it appears.

Seliene turns her head slightly, making eye contact with the green hatchling who so coying snuck up beside her. She moves her body, tilting her head to the side as if listening to something...and her eyes widen, expression changing into something indescribable. "Oh? Will I?" she murmurs. She smiles, radiant as she falls to her knees and reaches out toward the green. "Her name is Eileyth!"

Fadra glances at Nolee with what can only be slight embarassment - since Nolee seems to lack the emotion for herself, someone's got to do it, right? She shakes her head, watching the bronze. Seliene's announcement - Eileyth; a pretty name - makes her head snap around to regard the girl. "Hmm. Noemie." And she gestures, pointing towards the new greenpair and indicating she should be thier escort.

Alexiel continues to hold the offered hand, looking him over a bit worriedly, "Apparently, you were in her way," she comments to Dalanor to lighten the mood before turning her gaze back to the hatchlings to find that... shards! There's a bronze on the sands! And the second brown doesn't seem to have moved hardly any at all, unlike his excitable green sister.

Izarit frowns. "I don't know," she tells Rooklen. "I expect it's more personality than color. If they're mean, or maybe just that clumsy." She shrugs. "Oh, Seliene!" She spots that impression right beside her and her companion, staring.

Rooklen turns and suddenly stares in disbelief. "Oh, Izzy...Seliene!" he yammers, tugging at the girls hand eagerly. "Err, congrats, Seliene," he offers, face lighting up for her for the briefest of moments before he crams the emotions back down again, clears his throat and turns his head away.

Eileyth lifts her head high, as if she might avoid Seliene's hands reaching for her - but at the last moment she seems to change her mind and turns down her nose, nuzzling gently into those open palms. A soft huff suffices for the more vocal approval another dragon might offer - then mild impatience takes her and her wings ripple at her sides, twitching as her eyes begin to whirl with egg-starved red.

Noemie nods to Fadra. "My turn?" she asks excitedly, then heads across the sands towards Seliene and her Eileyth. "Come with me, then, you two! I bet she's hungry." A wide smile with a slight look of camaraderie is given to the new greenrider and dragon.

Chantha grins sidelong at Nelyo. "Likely he's for you," she teases gently. "He'll grow big enough so you needn't worry about him carrying you...oh, Seliene! She's beautiful! Oh, good job! You won me a quarter-mark!" Never mind the hot sands, she jumps up and down, cheering along with the throng.

Seliene gets to her feet, laughing softly at Eileyth's demeanor...and demands for food. "I understand. Yes, there's food nearby..." She looks up as Noemie approaches, expression changing to grateful. "Where to?"

Trace's blue eyes shift to watch as...Seliene Impresses. He offers her a grin in congratulations before he turns back to the brown and bronze quietly. Occasionally his eyes do still shift up to adult dragons, but most of his attention seems to stay on the hatchlings, even as he shifts his feet occassionally to keep from burning up.

Sardonic Sable Brown Hatchling peers at these unsteady legs of his, but uses them all the same - lurching out with a lanky saunter...and crashing right into his bronze sibling. The brown is driven back to his haunches in an ungraceful sit, clouds of dark sand puffing up around him - those irritating grains suddenly driving the somewhat smaller hatchling to sneeze violently.

Dalanor squints a bit as he tries to focus away the pain he's feeling. Its hard to focus on any new hatchlings but when Alexiel mentions a bronze... He does his best to look its way. "Inspiring." He manages to mouth out.

Duvell waves at Seliene after he hears her call out the Imperial Green's name. He seems quite pleased at the pairing. Chantha and Alexiel are two of the candidates he's spent the most time with and so he turns towards them to give them a big smile hyped up by the recent union.

Seliene walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Noemie walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Eileyth walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

"Did Seliene just Impress?" P'draig asks after a moment then grins broadly as he spots the pair moving off together. "She did. T'rien'll be /so/ happy." The brownrider leans a little to the side then he's distracted by more movement on the Sands.

Nelyo takes Chantha's teasing with a gentle smile. "We'll see, Chantha, we'll see. And all right, Seliene!" he calls over the din, one arm raised and fist clenched. He pumps it up and down repeatedly before going back to his hopping Sands dance, watching the poor brown hatchling sneeze.

Nolee looks out at the sands, nope, no embarrassment here! "Who? Which one was that? They all look the same in those robes. They need big names embroidered on them, all down the side or something."

August Lambent Bronze Hatchling looks about, baffled for the moment but quickly getting his bearings. Bits of shell are stuck to him by remnants of egg goo, one piece in particular sitting on his head like some bizarre crown. Slowly, he wobbles out towards the candidates -- only to run into the Sardonic Sable Brown Hatchling, knocking him over-- yikes! The little bronze snorts disdainfully as he wobble away like a drunken sailor.

Trace blinks in surprise and steels himself as the two dragonlings collide, shaking his head slightly and lowering his eyes. "Watch where yer going." He says to the dragon, though it's muttered generally to himself and perhaps any other nearby candidates.

Alexiel casts a glance in the direction of Seliene and her Eileyth as the two head off the sands, a grin plastered across her face. A good hatching so far, and that excitable green was off the sands too. A smile is offered in Duvell's direction and she mouths the words, 'good luck' to him before her gaze is once again on the brown just in time to watch him collide with his bronze sibling. Uh oh. "Oh dear, he's just run into his brother, I hope he's alright."

Izarit chokes back a giggle as the hatchlings continue to collide, but now with each other rather than candidates. "They're going to be lucky if everybody and everything on the sands doesn't get clawed up by the end of these," she remarks. "It'd be kind of funny, except for the whole pain and blood part."

B'ryce makes it out in time to see that Noemie has the newest of Impressees, and he hastens to move back to the rest of the Weyrlinmaster team if only so he can murmur, "You owe me a drink," to Fadra. She flashes him a fleeting grin (after all, if people see her grin, the world might not survive) and nods. "I'll get y'two, aye? 'Tis nay m'fault Istan dragons are a bit insane." And demonstratively, brown and bronze collide, giving cause for Fadra to gesture that way. "See?" And she looks expectantly for support that Istan dragons /are/ indeed, insane.

Rooklen can't seem to get rid of the crooked grin that has spread over his face like butter on hot bread. "That's great fer her! I'm glad," he actually admits, smiling so much his eyes almost get lost in squints. "I s'spose she was pretty, you know, for a green and all," he notes to Izzy.

Seeming to shine all the more brightly for a few moments, the Brilliant Jewel egg pulses a few times then simply shatters outward, it's occupant flying out as well in a tumbling heap of blue hide. The hatchling lies still on the sands for a moment as if getting his bearings then collects himself, one leg at a time. It takes a few tries to get his body turned around and all his limbs under him, but then he's finally set and off looking through the white-robed crowd. No, no, no, no. And more no. He starts to get impatient and seems on the verge of having a little tantrum when he suddenly stops, stock still and stares across the sands at a lonely little girl with fat black braids and a too-long robe looking down at her feet. Then he just /charges/ across the sands and bowls the poor lass over. Squealing in fright and then delight, Patsy throws her arms around his neck. "Diamanth! Let me up!"

August Lambent Bronze Hatchlingsteps are still wobbly but rapidly gain in firmness and confidence. With rapidly growing assurance he shakes away the fragments of shell, then paces the ranks of Candidates, checking first one, then another, then another. Nope, not this one, or this one, or this one.

Squishy Puffed Sweets Egg begins to twitch faintly, each of its little scritching sounds growing louder and punctuated by bands of crackling along its sides. Sections begin to stretch with the heaving of their inmate, still held by captive by the egg's membrane even as the shell weakens.

Izarit notes, "Greens are usually pretty." She grins sideways at Rooklen, nodding toward the sands. "And blues and golds. Some bronzes. Browns are kind of plain but really, it's not their fault, I suppose, for looking like mud."

Duvell quirks an eyebrow in question. The sight of the egg-shell crown upon the bronze strikes him still for a moment; an epiphany. "He's a king...." The thought almost draws a snerk out of him but he thinks better of it and continues the dance of the sands. The proclimation of a new pairing, Diamanth, draws his copper-green eyes for a moment - if only to see if the candidate was someone he knew very closely.

Noemie walks over from the far end of the Hatching Cavern.

"I'm pretty sure that was her," says V'lano, lifting his voice a bit so it might carry to the clutchsire's rider and Nolee a little distance across the sands. "I've been trying to keep track, but nineteen is - well, I guess I'm not used to so many." He looks away before it can become too evident if that was meant to be flattery or just truth, attending again to the hatchlings searching among the white-robed gathering.

Chantha is startled into a giggle by the two colliding dragons. "You can't Impress each other," she mock-scolds the bronze and brown. "Come on over here and choose! There are plenty of good people to pick from." She stops for an instant, watching the bright little blue for a few hopeful moments, then shrugs and goes back to cheering when he picks Patsy. "Figured her for a blue," is all she says. "Oooop, here he comes. Mind those claws Nelyo, Duvell, Dalanor." Because the boys are the only ones who need worry.

Rooklen frowns and shakes his head. "I don't think the first one looked like mud. He was sorta, hrm, smooth and pearly," he notes, rolling his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I don't think a bronze wants to be 'pretty'. I mean, they're big and tough and..." he leaves out male, though it is implied.

Trace watches as the blue emerges and chooses a lifemate, still mostly silent now that he's kind of by himself as candidates impress all around him. So instead he simply shifts on the sands idly once again, blue eyes scanning all the various dragons on the sands quietly, seeming rather neutral about the whole thing.

Dalanor coughs a little, lifting his hand to wipe a bit of blood from his lip, as he watches the hatchlings with a little more wariness in his eyes. Its hard to be brazenly confident when you've had the wind knocked out of you. The collision of the bronze and brown is noted but his response is limited to a furrowed brow.

"Manly?" Izarit supplies instead, voice dry. "Good of you to think outside the box, Rook dear. The first one... He was that lightish one, wasn't he? Pretty, for a brown," she concedes.

B'ryce corrects again, "Three drinks," before he steps away again, grinning at Diamanth, informing Patty of exactly how handsome that particular blue is, and then takes her gently by the hand to pull her out of the sands so they can both trek thier way to the far ends of the Sands, with the blue hop-skipping just behind them and being entirely too vocal about his hunger.

"The one who used to work in the kitchens. T'mic's ... friend." Explains P'draig as things get more and more hectic out on the Sands and he's getting visually challenged.

Alexiel watches the bronze brute for a moment, before turning her attention back to the poor brown. "You ok over there, Dalanor," she questions her fellow as her gaze travels from dragonet to another and then to the eggs. All the while, she continues that bouncing hop from one foot to the other.

Nelyo slits his eyes. "Chantha can you see if the brown's all right?" he asks. "All this movement it's hard to keep track of things. And I'll be careful. I don't want to get clawed if I can help it."

Sardonic Sable hatchling can afford no more time with diversions - his stomach now rumbling so loud those nearer him can hear it. His red gaze swings almost shyly between one white-clad figure and the next, the tentative young one treading cautiously as he concentrates on finding the One... *There!* Shock interrupts his musings, and the Sardonic Sable Brown hatchling gallops suddenly, clumsily - careening into the legs of a lad with a sandy-blonde runner's tail. Rainbow eyes lock with light blue ones, and the hatchling gives a melodic croon to *his* boy.

Rooklen huffs at her and goes to fold his arms over his chest, which of course doesn't work since Izzy has one of his hands. He sighs and shakes his head. "Well, it seems plain and simple," the man notes, clearly happy in his stuborn and dim manner of judging things.

Duvell peers over towards one of the eggs that have yet to hatch. The growing sounds of the scritching and the stretching of the sides would suggest that the dragon within is moments from bursting forth. "Must be a thick shell..." he comments to whomever's near by and even gestures with a flick of his chin towards that part of the sands.

Nolee looks toward the sound of V'lano's voice. "That was her?" Back to P'draig, "Oh, congratulations to your boyfriend, then, if he knows her too?" Poor Nolee; spreading accidental rumors about Paddy since the day Jekzith won Nalaieth's flight.

Even Izarit, of the Igen roots, is starting to look a little hot, leaning one shoulder against Rooklen as she shifts her weight slightly. "Rook, hun, and I say this with all the love in my heart, but you are such a chauvinist." She mutters something additionally to him.

Chantha squints toward the dragonet Nelyo's mentioned. "I think he's all right...oh, you'll get to see for yourself, here he comes." She's up on her toes, ignoring the hot sand trickling into her sandals, ready to run if that clumsy gallop comes too near her. "He's awful close..."

T'ace continues to watch idly along the sands, eyes shifting from the bronze that everyone seems so enthralled with, to the brown...who's...T'ace ends up face down in the sand next to the brown, taking a moment to pull himself up and spit sand out of his mouth before he looks at the dragon. And then, something seems to hit, his face changes expression to one of...realization? "Eldenth...yes, it was a while. But now you're here and...yes, we will eat." He says, /smiling/ at the dragon as he picks himself up and places a hand on his head gently.

Shifting organically like something hidden in a pile of laundry, the Big Ole Comfy Shirt egg undulates and shimmies this way and that, changing shape a few times, even stretching out at one point as if the occupant is spreading its wings. Finally, there's a tear in the side that widens and widens and then pops, scattering shell bits here and there. Inside the remains of the egg, sits a rotund green with blinking sleepy eyes. She yawns once and then rolls out of the remains of her shell, cracking the side further. On the sands, she curls up in a ball and eyes the Candidates from afar. Aha. There. Slowly she gets to her feet and takes her own sweet time ambling over to nose a skinny redheaded girl gently in the chest. "Mine? Oh! Yours! Yes I'm yours, Muslith!" cries out Sebrina and leads the plump green off the sands.

Fadra's mouth ghosts a smile at the corners as the brown finds a lifemate, clumsily but still...a lifemate. And one she can't help but find familiar. "Trace. Or, what, T'ace, maybe?" She shrugs - the mechanics will be figured out later. For now: "Tegara, take Eldenth and his rider." And seconds later it's B'ryce the Hyperactive, hurrying to a different section of the sand to say, "Muslith, Sebrina. Follow me."

Izarit mutters to Rooklen, "... big word for a very small..."

The Squishy Puffed sweets egg seems to expand again, fissures down its sides gleaming wet and gooey. The creature within gives a visible twist, streaks of darkness showing through the pale egg-slime. It is difficult to tell which part of the dragon emerges first - was it a wing? A snout? The dark brown hatchling seems to burst forth all at once, left standing in a pile of shards as he snorts in vicious triumph over his former confines.

Polished and lacquered to a lustrous shine, deep walnut brown has been carved to the shape of a dragon so sleek and sharp that he seems almost stylized. He is pointed in visage with a narrow snout and slim, erect headknobs that lend him an alert and mischievous air. A razor-line of serrated neckridges, age-blackened at their bases, spikes down his back and, paired with ebony claws and a long, animated tail, adds a rakish flair to his rangy form. The tight grains of dark, ruddy wood run across his chest and flanks, lines that accentuate his youthful muscle. But here, over well-formed shoulders and haunches, his polish shows careless wear and dull blotches, as if his lacquer is ready to peel away. His wings, when spread, reveal elongated tips like wicked spines and sails adorned with a hint of angular scrolling, as though decoration has been burned into their delicate membranes. He moves with unthinking ease, the grace of a creature comfortable and confident in himself.

"Boyfriend?" V'lano echoes Nolee, then glances at his weyrwoman, one brow twitching - but he's not taken in for long before he rolls his eyes with a soft sigh and says, "I suppose that's just Nolee." His attention's on the sands again before he's even done speaking, and the new brown's hatching wins from him a nod of slow approval. "A good fighting mix, this looks like."

Rooklen, seeming in need of some comic relief, grins at Izzy and beams. "Thank you," he states and then his grin falls off at her next comment. "Like you know," he grumbles, looking away in time to catch the arrival of the newest brown. "Wow, that one's really dark," he notes.

"My wha --?" P'draig's distracted for a moment from his scanning of the Hatching-in-progress by Nolee's words. "Uh yeah, that was her," he says bemusedly, shaking his head a little. He calls out some congratulations though as more pairs match up.

Nelyo watches as one brown Impresses and the new one hatches. This was getting exciting. And there was still that bronze out there on the Sands. "Oh Chantha!" he calls, pointing to the new brown, "Isn't he beautiful?"

August Lambent Bronze Hatchling seems to have made his final selection, as his pacing has become more deliberate and is confined to an increasingly smaller area. Gilded talons reach out in impatience to take a vicious swat at Izarit's hip before he moves on.

Duvell lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as soon as the brown emerges from the particularly resilient egg. "Yeah, he -is- dark, Rook." The movement of the Bronze draws his eyes and he makes sure that he's mindful of where it lurches so that he's not trampled in a quick burst of speed.

Dalanor offers a nod to Alexiel. "I'll live. Think I cracked a rib though." His normally projecting voice is restricted to normal speach lest the battered muscles describe more pain than he can handle. An eye flits to the bronze but then that would be too hopeful wouldn't it. He smiles faintly at the irony of his situation and shrugs at himself. Not a wise idea it seems. He winces.

Rooklen turns, noting something moving quickly their way and trying to get a warning out in time. "Izzy!" he yelps, unable to react as the little bronze is upon them. The color drains from his face as he stares at the bronze, unable to move as it takes a swipe at Izarit.

A Sprinkle of Seasoning Egg begins to rock slowly. Back and forth, back and forth. It's not the most obvious movement, not a violent shaking, but it's there all the same for the most astute eyes to notice.

Chantha nods. watching Trace--T'ace?--with a smile. "Be happy!" she calls to her fellow Camdidate. "Be happy with him!" She agrees with Nelyo as the new brown claws his way out. "They're *all* beautiful...oh *shells*, Izzy!" She dodges herself, several quick steps to one side in helpless sympathy. "They're all kind of mean, too."

Alexiel isn't able to share T'ace's excitement for long as a new brown bursts out of his egg in a flurry of shell. And this one is a handsome little brown to boot. Of course, then her attention is drawn to the bronze as he continues his path through the candidates, but she shrugs and hopes he doesn't head in her direction with those sharp talons.

Nolee beams at Paddy, unaware that any faux pas may have taken place. The blonde oohs as a familiar face is wounded, wincing and chewing at her nails until she remembers she's supposed to be dignified. Then she dons an artificial smile, her wide brown eyes worried, and she joins Paddy in wishing congratulations to the forming pairs.

Griere should lurch forward with concern for the most recently bloodied candidate, but instead she just drops her forehead into her hands and shakes her curls. "Will they ever learn to dodge?" she mutters, peeking through her fingers to make sure Izarit isn't, well, legless.

Eldenth tries whuffles his new boy in silent contrition for knocking him over, creeling his hunger a little more stridently. A few cautious headbutts hopefully get T'ace moving in the proper direction - towards the FOOD.

Izarit just rolls her eyes at Rooklen, though it's plain she's biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. "You're welcome, but it wasn't a--" She says a very ugly word, which is what her comment was; but her word doesn't have much to do with that as she's suddenly leaning much more heavily against Rooklen, quite pale as she makes him take most of her weight to get it off the suddenly injured side. By biting her lip, hard, she manages not to cry out more, while her free hand moves quickly to the clawmarks as they start to bleed. "Rook? Might, uh. Healer?" she says, not quite keeping her voice even for all she's trying very hard.

Little White Lie Egg shifts in the sands, its confusingly-colored speckles blending together in a maelstrom of migratory purple. It wedges against the shells of a sibling, and doesn't get far. There are a few irate thumps, then is again still.

Nelyo looks over at Izarit and calls out as the bronze claws at her. "Izzy!" he bellows. He turns his head to Chantha. "I think he got her pretty bad."

The Layered Softness egg suddenly fluffs up and then promptly disintegrates, the shell not so much scattering shards as a layer of fine white powder all around it. The hatchling within gets dusted with the stuff and for a moment, it's hard to tell the color of its hide. One blue foot peeks out though, brilliant sapphire against the dustiness. He sets off across the sands, stopping now and then to roll in the black grains to get the powdery stuff off. This only lends itself to streaks and weird smears though, mottling his hide so is true brilliance is masked. Still, he seems to know who he wants from the get-go. The lone Nabolese in the group is his mark, an impossibly tall lad with long brown locks drawn back in a ponytail. "Tisuth, your name is Tisuth!" is M'lim's exclamation as he and the blue meet up and depart.

Tegara heads over to T'ace. "Hey, congrats there," she says. "He's a fine brown an' Im sure he'll make a wonderful lifemate for ya'. Now if you jus' follow me," and the heads over to the secluded corner where the weyrling pairs are tended to.

P'draig tenses as the bronze dragonet takes a swipe and he catches Rooklen's cry. The brownrider's hand tightens on Nolee's arm and there's a sharp intake of breath from the rider. "Shells, another injury," is all he says though, eyes fixed on the spot where the dust-up is taking place.

Tegara walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

T'ace chuckles softly at the dragon and nods, "Alright, alright. Let's go." the boy agrees with Eldenth, heading off the sands towards the direction he saw everyone else going in. He walks next to the brown, his hand still on the dragonlings head as if he still doesn't quite believe it. As Tegs approaches then, he nods to her and follows after, glancing at Eldenth along the way.

T'ace walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Eldenth walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Rooklen's eyes are huge as he supports Izzy, looking around. "We need a healer!" he calls desperately. "Shards, Izzy, if you were watching and not chiding me," he says, worry showing in his yellow-brown eyes.

Noemie gasps slightly as she sees Izarit get wounded. "Oh my-- brings back memories of when I was a candidate... what is it about Istan hatchlings?" She bites her lip in worry, watching s the other candidates call out to her, making sure that she's okay.

Disreputable Debonair Brown Hatchling is here now, yes, and though some newly-hatched dragons might cower at the noise and chaos, this fellow lets out a enthusiastic squawk, ready to join in the frenzy. As he steps away from his egg, a chunk of shell catches his tail and, without a backward glance, he gives it a carefree whip, sending the remnants of his former home flying toward his dam. Where does it land? He pays it no heed it's time to see who's come to the party.

V'lano, too, winces. He does not raise his hands to cover his eyes, choosing to serve as his weyrmate's informant on Izarit's health: "Looks pretty bloody, but she's standing - if they can get her patched maybe she'll be able to stick it out. Unless you want them to - ?" A dark brow raises over his sparkling eyes and for a moment he glances at the weyrwoman with something like a teasing expression; then he's more solemn, looking out over the hatchlings once more, keeping a bead on the bronze.

Duvell keeps an eye on Izzy as the Bronze takes a swipe at her. Candidates normally get knocked about a little so he's not sure whether he should be concerned or even if he could be at this point. The unions that are forged here and there on the heat of the sands are stronger than stone. As one new pair is lead off the sands and another candidate lays in need of a Healer, he moves towards Rook and begins to untie the bleached white tunic he wears - perhaps as a make-shift bandage.

Alexiel is turning to gave at a new injury on the Sands, it's Izzy. "Dalanor, look, that bronze took a good swipe at Izzy, she doesn't look too good." Worry works it's way into her features, and she has to force herself to remain where she is and let the healers handle it.

Healers continue to stand on the sidelines, appraising the injuries, readying the supplies needed to tend each candidate who takes a clawing or a swiping. Unfortunately, Izarit is in the midst of the chaos, and they are not venturing out there unless driven to it by the Leadership. Glances flick toward Griere and V'lano, waiting for word.

A Sprinkle of Seasoning Egg's movement can't be missed now. Back and forth it continues to rock, but it's upped its speed and intensity. Whatever dragonet is inside seems eager to escape, ready to greet the world. Then, slowly, a hairline crack crawls down the egg's surface, along the exact middle of the egg. Still it continues to rock, whoever's inside knowing that one thin crack is not enough.

Chantha is torn, looking from Izarit's pale form propped against Rooklen to the remaining eggs and hatchlings. "I can't--I don't even know *what* to do, and are we even allowed to leave if we're not hurt?" Biting her lip, she stays where she is, reaching for Nelyo's hand. The Claws won't get her if he's around, probably.

August Lambent Bronze scans the various candidates with a measuring eye. Then -- there! There he is! The one he has been searching for, the one with whom he shall be forever linked. Shaking off sand and bits of egg goo, he strides confidently towards a certain red-haired young man.

Nelyo feels Chantha's hand seeking his and wraps his own long delicate artist's fingers around her and holds tight. "It'll be all right, Chantha. I'm here, I won't let you get hurt." Big brother Nelyo.

Dalanor turns his head at the cry, a little too quickly for his liking, and grunts. His urge to push his way through the crowd towards her is thwarted by the press of candidates about him. "Hope the healers can get to her.." Because he sure can't.

Izarit manages an, albeit pale, glower for the man now stuck helping her stay on her feet as she stubbornly refuses to do otherwise. "Why yes, Rook, make me feel worse about it," she snaps, voice strained and much more waspish than her usual teasing. "As I bleed out on the sand next to you." Deep breaths, and she's holding her hip tightly, pressing the now-bloody robe over the wounds to do what she can to stop the flow, too distracted to even watch for the healers not brave enough to come to her now.

Theres an expectant shudder, and then A Sprinkling of Seasoning Egg finally splits nearly in two, along the hairline crack down its middle. Theres no hesitation whatsoever-- the lithe, slightly mottled blue dragon inside steps eagerly into the world, not even noticing the small bits of shell still stuck to his hide. So /this/ is the world outside of the egg. This is freedom!

Tropical waters carry grayed silt over the hide of this graceful, lithe blue. There are no rough edges to him, fluid regality in both figure and demeanor calling to mind a river's flow. Eddies of tawny silver run down his refined neck and tail, pooling dark and shadowed along his slender belly and lending a shimmer of dust to soften his jungle-dark hide. A lengthy, flexible back sports mottles of variegated lapis and gray, uneven spots and rings reminiscent of feline markings and rippling water. Low, stealthy neckridges of satin twilight patter down his spine and broad wings bear rich azure spars and paper-thin sails of velvet slate. The easy flex of defined muscles and the gentle care of his nimble, jewel-toned paws grant him uncanny lightness of step and silence of movement. There is a knowing look to his features: prominent headknobs add nobility to his finely-boned snout and rounded chin. Wide, determined eyes whirl with confidence and a dash of cunning.

Little White Lie Egg is not still for long, its vibrations maintaining the mirage of purple formed of the mingling blue and red spotting its surface. Something inside thumps again, possibly testing for a weak spot.

Duvell may not be a healer but his mother was. Pulling the tunic from his torso, he quickly balls it up into a ball. "Izzy..." he smiles upon approach. "Here, let me put this against it.." With the Healers not on the sand and he being right there, he can't just watch.

Rooklen holds on tightly, doing what he can for the moment which is keep an eye on the hatchlings about them and support Izzy in his strong arms. "Please," he looks around, brows lifting at Duvell as it appears he might be willing to lend his robe. Then, the bronze hatchling is in sight again, there before him. "W-what?" he fumbles. "You mean...but you...he," Rook murmurs, tears coming to his eyes as he looks deep into the bronze hatchling's eyes and then over to the bleeding friend in his grasp. "Arsiloth...I..." R'klen seems utterly lost for words.

Nelyo 's eyes widen. "Ooooh, look at the blue, Chantha. That must be Izzy's feline dragonet, look at him. And congratulations, Rooklen!" he calls as the lad Impresses.

Chantha squeezes Nelyo's hand hard. Other than that, she's completely courageous and unruffled. "I know, and I know to dodge. I just didn't think that...well, that anyone I *know* was gonna get hurt. I figured we'd all Impress together and conquer the Weyr or something...oh. Oh." Rook is studied, as well as the bronze studying *him*. "Well, *that's* got to be kind of a moral dilemma right there." She looks to the blue rather gratefully. "Feline and watery at the same time. Never saw anything like."

Fadra grimaces, but doesn't rush her way to the Candidates, whether or not one is mauled. A glance is cast to the healers, suggesting that maybe they're unaware that thier job is to take care of all that blood. "I feel infinitely safer with them making sure I'm nay bleedin' t'death," she drawls sarcastically. But now, it seems, she's either tired of standing or done watching B'ryce run around like an over-caffinated firelizard (because there he goes again, with Tisuth and M'lim). When the bronze finds his lifemate, she steps away from her nook near Noemie to weave this way and that to R'klen, Izzy, and Duvell. To R'klen, "C'mon, you'll need t'feed him." And then, seconds later, with a pointed glance at Duvell, "You, hold her up until the healers come t'take care o'her." It's classic that Fadra would treat it that way, but she leaves very little room for protest, turning to lead the way.

R'klen walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Fadra walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Dimpling in the glowlight of the Hatching Cavern, the Dimples egg revolves slowly in place in its little nest of black sand. The light catches at each little pockmark on its surface, shadows giving way then reasserting themselves. Around and around then suddenly POP it goes flying a few feet away and crashes into an egg that looks like a wrapped package. The Surprise Inside egg cracks along its side, a gaping hole appearing where the other egg slammed into it. Both eggs sit and wobble back and forth for a moment then the Dimples egg cracks neatly in two and the grass green hatchling inside sits nose to nose with her sage hued sister, emerging from the large hole in her egg. The two greens, one bright one pale eye each other for a moment, then let out outraged matching squeaks and head off in opposite directions to claim a boy and a girl apiece. M'reng and Golth and Tadamy and Gith move away in search of food and rest.

Nolee watches the pairings with interest, her eyes wandering back to the bleeding haircutter. "She did my hair," she lamely tells Paddy, even though she's told him before. "I'd hate for her to be all crippled because of our hatchlings."

Disreputable Debonair Brown Hatchling charges forth, but for all his enthusiasm, limbs still stiff from egg-bound months do give him a bit of trouble. A foreleg buckles and his eager motion is marred by a stumble. Thankfully it slows him down enough that he doesn't crash head-long into a nearby candidate. But oh! White things! He cocks his head to give that closest one a rather conspiring look, only to move on a beat later.

Tegara walks over from the far end of the Hatching Cavern.

Izarit says, very distinctly, "I am never forgiving you now." A look to the bronze, still warily for all she doesn't--can't, more like--move away from him. "Either of you," she includes him. Though, still: "Congrats," is offered. "I guess just--Faranth. Go." She manages, with much effort, to let him go enough to let him go, watching his back and the bronze as she finds her somebody else to cling to, for all not paying enough attention was what got her in this mess to start with.

Tegara walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

"It can't be too bad," murmurs P'draig to Nolee, as he cranes his neck above the chaos. "Fadra's left her with Duvell." His brow is all wrunkled up with worry still though. "I don't think it's crippling," he says firmly. "And the bronze picked Rooklen," he points out after a moment, then falls silent, just watching, worriedly.

Duvell tries to press the wadded tunic against Izzy's clawed cuts. "O..", the sound escapes his lips before he can form it into a word as Rooklen impresses to the Bronze. "It's ok. I've got her," he answers Fadra's intructions. The sight of the newly arrived blue misses him for but a moment until he twists his head around to make sure he or Iz won't be trampled. The silvery lines against the lapis of his hides. "Whoa..." it's all he can say between the two images.

Little White Lie Egg shudders again, a hairline crack sliding across the egg from apex to base. Then there is a raging burst of temper from the dragonet within, sending shards of the blue and red that make up the seemingly purple egg outward in a starburst of color, leaving a birthwet hatchling creeling throatily and standing defiantly among the shards.

Nearly dark as pitch, this compact brown is a mass of well-defined muscle, a creature with alert strength at his ready command. Across his ebon-brown hide, veins of streaked silver flow, streaming thick about his burly shoulders and flanks. Those same streaks fan out so tight and fine across his heavy wingsails that they seem cast in a ghostly light. Energy is compressed in every fiber of his being, ready to uncoil like a taut-wound spring from his protruding muzzle, down his thick legs, and to the tip of his streamlined tail. Blackness clings about his muzzle and small, intense eyes, around his chiseled jaw and up to headknobs that curve inward like horns. That same absolute dark marches down his jagged neckridges, silver-tipped as if the fine metal veins of his hide erupt from each black peak. Silver, too, are the long talons that adorn his broad paws with dangerous intent.

Nelyo returns Chantha's handclasp with gentle strength and eyes the brown, the blue and the two greens. There, he thinks he has every dragon covered. "This is fun...save for the claws part. And lock, another brown!"

Tegara walks over from the far end of the Hatching Cavern.

Alexiel barely notes the feline blue dragonet, her attention on her fellow candidate and her injury. The healers seem to be doing nothing, indeed, the only one moving to help her appears to be Duvell. The urge to help the girl herself is overwhelming, but not more so than the protocol drilled into her by years of watching hatchings, she can't just go storming across the sands. It is with great power of will that Alex remains in place, though her attention stays mostly on Izarit, the girl only looking at the dragonets to try and make sure she doesn't wind up at the end of a pair of claws.

Arsiloth walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Tegara walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Refined Riverbend Blue Hatchling takes only a moment before stepping carefully away from the fragments of shell he's left behind, beginning to walk across the hot sands. He takes everything in, looking first out towards the galleries, then around at the candidates standing near him. It's a gaze momentarily stuck by wonder at this big, wide world, and he pauses, just staring, before moving once more, beginning to explore.

Izarit says "Don't. Touch. Me," Izarit says, each word clipped, as she forestalls Duvell. Not that she lets him go, her own hand still on her hip as it continues to ooze blood into the white of her robe. "I'm okay. I'm--not dying. Immediately," she says, as though half to reassure herself of this, as she tries to look back at the hatchlings herself."

Dalanor looks back as there are several oohs at a hatchling. The blues of the refined riverbend hatchling bring a smile back to his face. "Now there's a fellow worth the reckoning. Call me partial to blue." He spares Alexiel a glance then but seems intent on just holding himself upright at the moment. "How's she doing?"

Tegara walks over from the far end of the Hatching Cavern.

Tall, red hair, freckles: she is the one - and now Disreputable Debonair Brown stops completely before her, with only the sudden intensity of his stare and light swish of his tail against the sand to show his claim. His eyes, simply the red of hunger a moment ago, spark with a love's sudden radiance of violet.

Fadra walks over from the far end of the Hatching Cavern.

The Opal Shimmer Egg shivers a little, its muted colors seeming to flow around the egg in successive waves as the occupant turns within. The round egg doesn't really move against the black sand though the shivering displaces a few grains, the way an earthquake might cause a rock fall. Gradually cracks appear and at last a bronze muzzle bursts forth. He's a little on the small side and lean, but the fellow proves he has strength aplenty, marching off solidly to Impress dark, short and stocky A'tero. "Luneth!" he announces his hatchling's name and they march off the sands in unison.

Refined Riverbend Blue Hatchling makes a wide, lazy arc on the sands, inspecting everything carefully. He moves easily for a dragon just out of its shell, with none of the stumbling that some of his clutchmates are doing. There's a careful appraisal of first one candidate, than another, but as he looks over each, he gives his head a slight tilt, considering, and then moves on.

Duvell can't help but smile at Izzy's independence. "Same old Izzy." He glances over his left shoulder to see if the Healers are ever going to get to her, but the Blue has his attention as well. Remaining beside her as a leaning-post, his dry-mouthed voice croaks out a cheerful encouragement. "I have a feeling that you'll be seeing more of R'klen."

Alexiel glances to Dalanor, moving a bit closer to him, "Here, lean against me a bit," it doesn't take a healer to see that he's having some difficulty. "She looks like she'll make it, if Duvell can keep the cloth pressed to the wound and maybe she gets some healers out to her," Alexiel responds to Dalanor's question. She spares a glance to the dragonets on the sands, noticing first the blue and then the latest brown, a creature that catching her attention, he's so dark in color, and dangerous looking.

Sterling Savage Brown Hatchling moves with rapid strength, flinging himself across the sands before his wings are unfurled to support him. He crashes through a batch of candidates, streaking lines of red down the arms of two boys from Sea Cliff Hold as he plows past. Not what he wants. But he's determined to find it out here somewhere.

The bronze's pick was of interest to V'lano, too, who watched the pair all the way to the corner where meat and oil await along with the growing weyrling class. He bends his head a little to murmur something to Griere, nodding once as he speaks, then lifts his eyes to Nalaeith, grinning his easy approval at the clutch's queen.

Peeling away in layers, the Unfurling Blossom egg seems to truly bloom at last, laying its 'petals' out in long swathes of white onto black sand. Fully open in its heart, the blossom contains a petite green, the color of rose petals tipped with spring green. She too unfurls, wings and legs opening, bending to test out this new thing called walking. Delicate paws embrace the texture of grainy sand and she walks slowly, deliberately across it, looking down every now and then as if to say, why yes, I can do this. Shortly she comes to a halt at the feet of a non-descript girl, brown haired and brown eyed and looks up at her winningly. "Biancath," she breathes out softly so only a few hear. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Seyra leads the hatchling away, with an arm slung sweetly around the green's neck.

Chantha's smile is coaxed back as she watches the refined blue's deliberate path. "He looks happy," she comments to Nelyo. "Hungry, yeah, they all are, but he's not mad about it. Maybe he won't hurt anybody." She cranes her neck, trying to find the debonair brown, as opposed to the new sterling one. "I can't see where he went..."

Nelyo watches as the new brown crashes right through a group of Candidates. "Faranth!" he gasps. "You can hide behind me if you need to Chantha...that new one looks dangerous."

Nolee shifts foot to foot, wiggling restlessly and anxiously. "Hurry up, stop hurting people, jays, this part always makes me nervous. Oh, just a few more -- you be nice out there!" As if her finger-shaking will have any effect.

Refined Riverbend Blue is hunting among those in white robes, though from watching him, it isnt clear if he knows just what it is hes looking for. Then he stops, suddenly, in front of a tanned girl with wide green eyes. Of course. He should have known it was she, all along.

Nalaieth is crooning her heart out, warbling at this pair and that pair as her offspring leave the sand with their newfound tenders.

Izarit says, very slowly, "Hello." There's another very dubious look at that brown, and then a very crooked, strained smile, but it is a smile. "We will be. Maybe you could gloriously carry me because I'm not exactly moving so hot here right now, Kajrath. Or find somebody else to gloriously carry me, not exactly feeling very picky, either," she tells him, weakly. But smiling, still.

Fadra's karma at having watched B'ryce walk around so much is kicking in - she comes back out in time to see that entirely over-confident brown Impress Izarit, and with the hatchlings rushing thier Impressions now, she hurries across the sands to the young woman, saying, "Congratulations, I think. You'll need t'walk with me t'the caverns, yeah?" She'll even offer herself for Izzy to lean upon.

Melting! I'm melting! The Vanishing Ice egg finally and truly 'melts' into the sand, vanishing as if it had never existing, leaving behind only a collapsed pile of shell bits. Inside, there's an exquisite icy-hued blue who slinks along, belly almost to the sands, head weaving to and fro in his search. He considers and rejects several likely looking lads then settles on little Timberly with her blonde braids. Excitedly the girl jumps up and down shouting /her/ blue's name for all to hear. "Glacirth! Glacirth! You picked /me/! You really did!"

Alexiel can't spare quites as much attention for Izzy anymore for the new brown is indeed a dangerous one and unless she wants to end up like her companions, she needs to pay a bit more attention to what's going on around her. But then Izzy has impressed and Alex lets out a sigh of relief, she'll be able to get some attention for that wound. "Izzy's impressed a brown, Dalanor."

The Sterling Savage Brown tenses, his sticky damp nostrils flaring as he tests the air, scenting for his target, listening for the sound, unheard by his dwindling clutchmates, that calls just to him. Then he finds it, and in his urgency, he trips on a cluster of eggshells and pierces his wing on one, leaving a small ichor-damp streak. With a defiant creel, he leaps toward a slim candidate with strawberry blonde hair, landing roughly at her feet: I've found you.

P'draig's hand tightens briefly on Nolee's arm again and he speaks reassuringly again. "It'll be all right Nolee, look, she's Impressed. And ... shells, it's going fast now."

Last but not least, perhaps, the Tattered Cloth egg finally gives out, wrinkling cracks twitching and folding inward. The whole thing seems to crumple around the hatchling within who winds up with a spattered capelet of eggshell as she takes off across the sands, impatient to find her rider among the remaining Candidates. This one? Nope. Too tall. That one? Nope. He's picking his nose. Aha! Eyrn is spotted and the green makes a beeline for her. "Bannerth? Why yes, absolutely we can get you some food!"

Izarit walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Fadra walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Kajrath walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Chantha has her neck still stretched to try and see if the brown went where she thought--to Izarit--when her line of sight is interrupted by the blue. She doesn't move, doesn't blink. "I...I'm here, yes. You were looking for me, Vurraeth? For me?" When she does move, it's to let go of Nelyo and stroke the slim grey-blue head. "Well, you found me. We can go find the food now. You and me." Wonderingly. *Vurraeth*."

Fadra walks over from the far end of the Hatching Cavern.

Nelyo releases Chantha's hand graciously and returns to eyeing that brown. "Congratulations, Chantha. Best of luck to you and Vurraeth."

Dalanor doesn't object to Alexiel's offering of a leaning and shuffles a step clsoer to her. He leans his shoulder against her but not too heavily. He nods absently at Alexiel's proclamation as he watches the impressions occur around him. "Beginning to wonder..." He smiles faintly at her and starts counting eggs and hatchlings. "... about those odds. Looking more Bitran by the moment."

Duvell steps back from Izzy as the Lapis-blue chooses her as his Rider. Now with his tunic gone as her bandage, he's torso is left semi-exposed to the heat of the sun. Bronze-fleshed as most of the island boys, he's not about to crisp into a spider-claw, but it's fairly easy to see which one he is amongst the candidates now.

Nolee's eyes brighten. "She did? Oh jays!" Her eyes brighten again, and she bounces a little, like somehow that'll make things all right.

Alexiel grimaces as the dark brown suddenly leaps at her, so many different types of pain all at once. "Xavelth," she calls out and then the arm supporting Dalanor is suddenly in a good deal of pain that matches the pain felt by that of her new lifemate. She leans just a back against her companion, closing her eyes to focus a moment on ignoring the pain before pulling back, though she doesn't let go of him. "Dalanor," she looks at her fellow candidate and then down at Xavelth, "He's... can you stand?"

Chantha nods vehemently, one hand still tracing the lines of silver-traced headknobs and slate-dappled neck. "Food's real good, and we'll--I'll--get you plenty, as soon as someone tells us where to go..." She takes a few hesitant steps.

Tegara is smiling broadly at Chantha's joy. "Congrats, Chantha -- he's a right beautiful blue. Now, there's meat an' oil a-plenty in th'corner, so if you two jus' follow me...."

It's a slightly frantic rush near the end - B'ryce and another rider, one who's not even a weyrlingmaster but is quailing under the greenrider's commands, have gathered plenty of the new weyrlings. Playing clean-up, Fadra's not far behind them, and she reaches Chantha as unceremoniously as the rest. "C'mon now," she says, patience frayed, "This way." And off she speeds, like a marathon runner.

Tegara walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Chantha walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Duvell walks over towards Dalanor as Alexiel is found by one of the dragons. "I can help him..." he smiles warmly towards her and offers his arm and shoulder. "Congratulations to you both."

Nalaieth whuffles, her nose digging through the shells as if checking to be sure there are no further little ones to hatch, and none hiding under shards. She croons proudly to Jekzith, watching the last little ones find their matches, and nudging at them to go to where they can fill their bellies.

"Yeah, she did," confirms P'draig quietly, eyes still tracking towards the cluster of WEyrlings off the Sands then he looks over the Sands, blinking a few times. "Shells ... there's none left. They've all Impressed." One hand runs through his hair as the last Weyrlings are escorted out of the way. Jekzith croons a bit mournfully, flipping over a bit of broken shell as if to check to see if there's not one more egg lingering somewhere, then starts to pad after the dragonets, ever interested in what they and now their riders are up to.

Though there's a constant cacophany of voices from the galleries and various sounds from the corner where the new weyrlings and their young dragons are gathered, it seems - rather suddenly - quiet by comparison. It takes a moment to sink in: the dragons have stopped humming. All the shells are empty, and all the hatchlings impressed.

The weyrleader turns to face the remaining candidates. "You are all here because you have what it takes to serve Pern, to fight Thread, to be a dragonrider. All today has shown us is that Ista hasn't hatched your dragon yet." V'lano smiles, dark-eyed and merry, chin tipped down, and lowers his voice as if sharing a secret. "A Weyr needs more candidates than eggs to be sure every hatchling can find a rider. You have all done Ista a great favor and served Pern bravely already. You have our gratitude, and with it our hospitality. We welcome you all to call Ista your home."

Now V'lano turns his attention to the stands, addressing the crowd with outspread arms. "We thank you all for visiting and welcome you all to help us feast Ista's new dragonriders!"

Tegara walks over from the far end of the Hatching Cavern.

Fadra walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Nelyo is still out there, dancing and hopping...and realizing slowly that he's out of luck. No more hatchlings do dodge. He stands stock still, seeming not to mind the heat of the sands. Then at V'lano's announcement he cocks his head, confused, before his shoulders slump ever so slightly.

Tegara walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Duvell glances around the sands. He got caught up with some of the injuries and didn't realize that there were no more eggs left on the sands after Alexiel had been found. Standing there with Dalanor, he looks towards V'lano as the ceremony is concluded.

Vurraeth walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Noemie gets a signal, and walks over to where Alexiel stands with her new lifemate. "Alex! And Xavelth, is it?" She beams at the new pair, first dragon, then his newfound rider. "Come, let's get him fed, and--oh! Is he injured? We can give a look to his wing, as well."

Dalanor smiles over at Alexiel and shifts his feet back to his own center. "Go... be with him." He glances to Duvell and smiles. "Thanks, Duvell. I think maybe I should go see the healers. I'll be alright really. Maybe cracked a rib... least I hope its not that bad."

Fadra walks over from the far end of the Hatching Cavern.

Alexiel looks down at the dragon as she hands Dalanor over to Duvell. "It's the sands, they're hot, we should get you off of them and..." Then Noemie is there and Alexiel is glad. "Yes, we should get you fed and that wound tended to."

Noemie walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Fadra walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

After making his statements the Weyrleader walks along the line of remaining candidates, spending only a few brief moments offering a few of them his hand or a pat on the shoulder, encouraging them to dress and attend the hatching feast with the rest of the weyr. Then he's back by his weyrwoman's side, his elbow ready for her to take. "Shall we?"

Duvell waits for the Healers, who should approach now that the young dragons have their riders, to come to Dalanor's aid. He, like Nelyo, is still coming down from the high of the hatching though there is a bit of a confused expression to his face. "What...now?" he asks to anyone.

Alexiel walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Xavelth is heedless of the scrape in his wing, which is already scabbing over. Instead, he head-butts his new companion, then takes off after the one who promised the food, creeling at her to follow.

Xavelth walks down to the far end of the Cavern.

Nelyo walks over slowly to Duvell, his head down. "H'lo there, Duvell. Didn't get hurt did you?"

Duvell shaks his head, a deep sigh escaping his body as the realization settles in from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet. "No."

Nelyo nods. "That's good," he says softly, kicking at the sands. "Now what do we do?" he sighs. "I guess I can buy you a drink at the Sandbar or something."

Nolee stands up on tiptoe, trying to discern familiar faces among the candidates remaining. A soft sigh and a squeeze of P'draig's arm, some quiet words. "Not bad! I mean, very good! We're glad to have every one of those pairs, no matter how much trouble they might become." Louder, "Ooh, there's a feast! I love the feasts. You wanna see? Or are you going with Jesk--him?"