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If Stella was hoping to get C’ross to drop his prickly armor, then unfortunately she had another thing coming. They were still in public – at a Hatching – and M’onk was right there. If C’ross had just given up a little piece of his soul to establish where he stood in the roiling political mess that was Warden’s Weyr, then he would be damned before he undermined that by admitting weakness in front of the Warden.

“Not everyone solves their problems by binging on alcohol until they can’t function,” he shot back dryly. “But thanks for the charming mental image.”

And then… and then there was someone moving towards M’onk who was not a crippled old greenrider, and C’ross’ hypervigilance caught the faintest glint of… was that metal? Had he imagined it? It was too far a distance for him to be sure, and his paranoia had gotten the better of him before.

Nonetheless, better safe than sorry. Without so much of a word of farewell to Stella, C’ross was heading across the sands and towards the Warden, and he was loading another bolt into his crossbow.

+++++

A stretcher was happening. Ralvyn was, in fact, quite grateful that he wasn’t expected to get up and walk off the sands. While there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with his legs, strictly speaking, his head was still pounding horribly. Not to mention the wooziness and the little black spots dancing before his eyes.

…That was probably the blood loss, wasn’t it. Well, at least Bereck wasn’t wearing it anymore.

“Ready when you are,” he responded. “Er, Zenaith can come, can’t she?”

I go where you go, the little yellow crooned, taking another piece of meat from Haliath and nuzzling her sister gratefully. And look – Poecileth is Malta’s now. You two will be weyrlings together!

With her rider more or less out of commission when it came to anything more complicated than staying still and not getting in the healers’ way, Zenaith more or less took over handling Oggie. I will look after him, thank you. But I am not a gold.

[Emmitod]
Ah! That green, the canary green, was very pretty! He admired this jewel of a creature loping, looking for it's rider. Such a lovely show. He wondered if it was ending?
Oh?
A glint of metal out of the corner of his eye.
Emmitod smirked.
Looked like the play was still in Act 2.

[Raolan]
Was the blue one digging for something? Raolan had to wonder. Were there more eggs beneath the sands? Or bones, maybe? Or bald prisoners?
Ugh. What was he thinking.
It had to be the heat. Yes the heat. And his stomach.

GROUP HUG egg didn't want to get this crossbow party started alone! It had a brother on one end, being all weird, had some blues runnin' around, had a table full of deliciousness and hell no.

The small egg rocked, and rather enthusiastically, before rolling out of it's little resting place. It took approximately for a little gray to push the eggshell apart from the inside, and tumble out onto the sands. He squeaked and flailed briefly before he righted himself, decorative in all of his smallness. The majority of him was a steel gray, with a lighter, more pinkish gray near the stomach and arms, with dots in the lighter area. Egg goo went flying when he shook himself off again and started prancing in a most ungainly manner. It brought him closer to M'onk and Spenser.

Guira Cuckoo chirped and cheeped, smaller than a midsized green but not weak looking at all. He was solid, as many of his siblings. It didn't seem he noticed the look of the old Warden, smile frozen and eyes hard.

"Go back to your clutch, arrow fodder." He muttered to the hatchling, too low to be heard by any but. Guira Cukoo stared at him and squeaked, louder than before, and M'onk smiled wider. He didn't notice the bit of civil disobedience going on right that moment with the flurry of motion in the corner of his eye. The old bronzerider caught sight of C'ross coming closer to him, chin rising up a notch in surprise. "... Brownrider C'ross?"

M'onk looked down to the hatchling. It stared back at him.

It'd be damn nice if the brownrider took matter into his own hands before M'onk got to the gray himself.

[Malta and Poecileth]

Poecileth called a greeting to her new grey brother, eating her meat while putting another on the pile.
She looked at the meat for a moment as it slid into the pile.
Wait... Her eyes whirled with some concern as she looked back to her brother, accepting another piece of meat.
she said, so quietly that only Malta and the Cuckoo could hear. She sent a mental nudge to Haliath and Atheth, worried.

Malta busily cut meat, looking up to see the grey hatch. She was feeling too good right now to be worried. She wanted to be worried, though. So worried.

[Emmitod]

Emmitod was actually holding his breath as the grey came out and started chirping at the Warden.
What would come of this scene? Another death? Or...
He saw the crossbow and the knife.
Two?

[Raolan]

Wait, were the hatchlings making a pile of meat on the sand? What the heck?
He turned to the Grey and the Warden.
Oh no. That couldn't end well.

Maybe he could have stopped. Would have stopped. Maybe Jadenth would have crept, crept, crept back into his brain. Whispered easy, gentle, slow. Maybe he would have let go of the knife.

Maybe.

But there, there. A second gray. Tiny creature. Jadenth had been tiny, a blue no larger than a green and fragile from birth. Jadenth had needed him.

And here. Look. The gray. Fragile. Small. In danger.

Needing him.

Did he notice the crossbow? Yes.

No.

He didn't always notice the things he noticed. Sometimes, Jadenth had to point them out. Sometimes that voice that wasn't really there had to say easy, gentle, slow.

No more time. No more time for slow. There he was. Monster on the sands. Looking at the Gray like it was already dead. Like he could see its ichor on the sand, like he liked the taste of dragon's blood on the air.

Spenser was a tall man. Skinny to the point of looking starved with a shock of unkempt red hair. A hard man to miss. He had tried sneaking, and now that was done. No more time.

Now, at last, he got to act. Jadenth was waiting.

Jadenth had waited for him for so long. Not again. Not this dragon.

He began to laugh, a high, sharp, hysterical sound that was as much keen as amusement.

In a sudden, jerking motion, he was on his feet, covering that last ten feet between himself and M'onk.

Priorities. He thrust himself between the Monster and the hatchling. The hatchling that was/wasn't/could have been Jadenth. In his urgency, he pushed the Monster off his feet.

"Not again!" He did not hiss. He did not mutter. He shouted and his voice was high and wild and utterly mad. The knife came out. Bright. Steel. Shining. "Monster! Not. Ever. Again."

A green? Joscelin had not expected such a color from the Golden Melody egg, though she was patterned with nearly yellow green stripes, bright colors. In a way she could be said to match her shell. Sort of dainty and frail looking and hopping about awkwardly. He didn't think the whirling yellow in her eyes was a good thing. Good luck little thing.

The blue had found an egg? He chewed his lip slightly before slowly standing, making sure not to step on his robe and to keep the patched part in hand. Ripping it would not be a good thing and he could see round smoothness. Which really didn't mean anything. It could be an egg or a blasted rock.

Grey.

He gave a single step backwards before stilling. That cheerful little egg was a grey? Over enthusiastic 'Hi there!' lick your face was a grey? A rather cute looking little thing, calm. So not all grey's were rage monsters intending on taking out people. Good to know.

Ooh little one, can't you tell you shouldn't go near him? Joscelin took a few steps forward towards the little hatching and stopped, unsure if he should bring attention to himself. To get to the grey he would have to bypass the anxious little green and the blue. Shards and spit.

What was that noise? He jerked, startled and there was a blur of red and skinny and attacking M'onk? Joscelin nearly raised a hand to touch his own red hair, captured under white cloth and likely frizzing something horrible in the heat. ... What... no... yes... He winced, eyes shutting not caring to see the glinting steel slice into M'onk.

Even if M'onk possibly deserved it.

Jaykkial

Atheth needed no such nudge to notice the hatching of another grey, and the subsequent rise in tension as he pranced his way right in front of M'onk. Haemath and his were already inching their way closer. Atheth's eyes flicked between the hatchling, the Warden, and the rest of her siblings before they returned to Jaykkial. They can't be allowed to kill him.

Jaykkial was already on her feet, taking to the opposite side of the sands from Canoake and Haemath. Atheth hopped at her side, head slow, wings wide and mouth parted in a hiss that was slowly increasing in volume. Haemath, Be careful. We'll draw their attention if needed. Though she couldn't hurt them, Atheth was fully prepared to harry them and prevent the bowman's focus. Jaykkial could do more, even in nothing but her white robes.

Luka

Wooooaaaaah! Loph watched two of his green sisters tense. Ladies It's alright! Lophorinth is here! No need to worry any longer. His mouth hung open in a wide grin. One sister was already gone, having ignored him as she and Hers took off across the Sands. The other though, Lophorinth slipped in beside Poecileth and attempted a croon. His tail rapid thumped against the ground and the wooden table legs.

Luka slid onto the bench, surprised that they were allowing the prisoners knives to cut their own meat... sure they were all Gen Pop but still. She picked one up, and glancing at the other weyrlings subtly for guidance, she began to hack the meat into clumsy pieces, grimacing at the raw texture.