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Human and dragon did not expect the sudden person right there. They'd been in the middle of a staring contest, M'onk's disapproval for the new colors growing with his smile and the extended contact. Filth. Disgusting little pieces of nothing. It wasn't even as big as a green, probably just as useless. He'd been about to lean down and make the signal again to C'ross, perhaps pull out his own knfe belt when the dragonet trilled and a man M'onk knew only as a guard thrust himself into the situation.

M'onk fell easily enough. For all of his power at Warden's, he was a man not made for physical confrontation at any point in his life. Being caught off guard by a madman with a knife came as a bit of a surprise. He grunted and hit the ground, hand scrambling for purchase or cane. "Guards!" He yelled in time with Spenser, voice rough with alarm and that knife so bright above him. "Stop him!"

He felt it best not to mention his decision to stab an unbonded hatchling in the neck. Maybe someone would assist then.

Guira Cuckoo squealed his alarm at this sudden man right by him. He bounced back on his little claws, squeaking and chittering at Spenser. Not his human, nope, not his at all and so totally not his fight. The little dragon bounced away with another loud noise, talkative thing he was, sunk down onto the sands.

So he has red hair and he really, really, really isn't you, Joscelin! The gray scooted back further and turned heel to bolt towards the Candidates. He took the time to give Meera a headbutt of love in the thigh before winding his way around to Joscelin with a chirrup and a squirm. She's all, like, quiet and alone and stuff and you're here now. I don't want to die even if I'm not a green and someone needs to help the big red man. He had a very nice belt and a loud voice like me.

Joscelin jerked, eyes flying open and wide as a voice curled into his mind and something just clicked in place. Warm and comforting and what had... He moved forward, searching and froze at the little grey. His dragon and he found himself flat a** in the sands unsure how he had even ended up at the dragon's level and pulling Irath frantically in his arms, covering as much hide as he could. His. The rest of the world could eat egg shells.

He breath out his nose, blinking back tears, lower lip caught between his teeth. 'I don't know what to do Irath.' He was a scribe. At most Joscelin kept the archive's shelves and material neat and orderly and in good repair. He filed paperwork and copied papers. He wasn't the fighting type and he didn't want to disappoint the hatching. Joscelin didn't want the little grey to get shot either and frustrated and confused just kept Irath wrapped protectively in his arms, shielding the little body with his.

It took a minute for Vit to get the joke. And he snorted in what could be amusement, squeezed the hand that had not pulled back from him even when he moved his own. Two grown a** men holding hands in the middle of the Sands and presumably not in a relationship, how terrifying. What a fabulous way to make people think he's hardcore.

"Absolutely fantastic, Taavetti." He tried to snark. It didn't work. At about that point, a man decided to go ballistic and jump in the way of M'onk and another gray dragon. A glint of a knife is what it took for him to drop the bakers hand and start pushing his way through the crowd of Candidates and baby dragons. M'onk being a disgusting selfish piece of a human being that deserved to die in a painful way didn't matter, he was about to be stabbed. For all they knew the baby dragon would've grown up to be a colorist bit of sludge himself. If someone were to die on the Sands, it should be from mauling or being unable to find ones bondmate.

"Shoot him, somebody!" All sorts of Secondary Warden tones came back to him, snapping, loud, and his hand groping for his own belt knife. He'd not sharpened it in some time but it was better than just standing there like a bump on a log. "Now!"

For a moment, Zareen was stunned, unsure of what was going on. More eggs had hatched, including another grey, and then a man had pushed his way in front of M'onk, a knife in his hand.

She was frozen, but when the voice called out, "Somebody shoot him already," Zareen was moving, her training taking over. She pulled her throwing knife out of her belt, climbing around the stands to get into a better position.

Once she had it, when it looked as if she had a clear shot at the man, she took it, throwing her knife at Spenser. She wasn't bad at throwing knives, and if it hit, the knife would likely strike him in his shoulder. Unfortunently, if he moved, it would miss, but she had a second prepared to throw if it did.



Whers and dragons and chaos oh my.

There was little he could do at the moment, he had no weapon, not even a rock, and there was still the thought that if he did do something, it would likely end in trouble for him. Even if everyone was distracted.

It wasn't like he cared for M'onk anyways, although he supposed that the man wasn't that bad of a prison warden. Aw, shards. If he died, whoever ended up replacing him would likely to be worse.

But there was nothing for him to do, and really, the redhead was just doing exactly what he'd like to be doing to M'onk. It was far better for everyone if he just stayed out of it.

He edged slighly away from the chaos, even if he wasn't about to drop down to the sand like that wherhandler had wanted them to. He wasn't in the way of anyone, and the closer to the sand he was, the closer he'd be to being mauled. And as much as he could deal with the pain, he didn't really feel like being mauled today.

Atheth,> Haliath replied, leaving Zenaith with a nod of her head and returning to the meat table to select an offering of her own. she called to all of her siblings,

Perhaps the fates were listening to her.

Hiemal however did not believe in fate, so when he saw a man launch himself at M'onk with blade in hand he saw merely coincidence. He raised his eyebrows, interested to see how the situation played out. If M'onk died so much the better so far as he was concerned, the man was just plain rude!... Oh, and he had presumably ordered the death of that hatchling too.







<...Perhaps.>

In either case there was no compassion for M'onk in either of them. They were in fact both rather disappointed to see one of the Secondaries try to tackle the would be murderer.





<...That as well.>

A lot of people were moving, all at once.

Whers – there were two whers, one on the wall, one on the sands. Stella next to him, Revrend approaching. Another rider, one he recognized as Zareen of brown Zyxth, hurled a knife, and moments after C’tis moved in for a tackle.

There was ultimately only one possible result to this: C’ross skidded to a halt, crossbow leveled but not firing. He had an opening. He had a shot, but it wasn’t clean, and the risk of striking either C’tis or M’onk rather than the skinny attacker (a dragonless man, C’ross’ memory struck, and suddenly everything made sense) was too high for him to justify pulling the trigger.

“I don’t have a clean shot!” he barked back at V’tyai, though his aim stayed trained on the chaotic situation. He hardly even noticed the panicking blue.

Brask's head shot up, eyes swirling with reds and yellows as he lunged at the end of his chain. The wher had been listening, catching what he could of the hatching when he had heard a resounding keen, then roars and fighting. But Brakesh had said they would not go, not with how he'd acted. No matter how he begged or pleaded, she'd ignored him all day. Oh, but here she came, here she came. WE MUST GO. BRAKEEEEESSH WE NEED GO NOW. Brakesh's face pinched in annoyance, he'd been like this all day. "No, we're not--" The guard's words stopped dead as she heard quite the scream from the sands as Brask began to wine. She deftly unclasped the chain from the stall, and the two darted to the sands.
---

Sturnuth gave a growl, watching the entirety of the situation with wide eyes. Chaos had erupted, and she coiled protectively around her rider. To save M'onk was stupid, he had killed one sibling and she had seen how he looked at the second. And if anything the bowman was aiming more toward M'onk and the redman. The gray had scampered off. She reached her mind out to all of her siblings, They are after the Warden. Warden. That was what Marue had called him, right? Regardless, they seemed happy to guard the gray. Perhaps it was best the dimmer kept busy, she supposed. And as far as old Mr.WeakWrinkles goes, I don't feel all that inclined to help him. He ordered the death of my Brother. Let him defend his own life. The yellow's tone was far from quiet, but not near her loudest either. It was laced with an honest malice, and finality. Her snout wrinkled in a snarl as she leaned into Marue's hand upon her head. She had begun to explore her bondmate's mind. Sturnuth had learned that her mother had not, in fact, been a green, but rather a gold. Her father had been a blue. She wasn't sure why, but there were some people that had never wanted them to come into this world to begin with, it was no secret. It was no secret that M'onk had not wanted them from the beginning. Had wanted them dead since before their beginning.

Marue had remained where she was, a new chunk of meat still in her hands, stunned and unsure of how to feel in response to the scene unfolding. She was sure that she herself would never like to kill M'onk. She was sure that if he ever was brought to justice, that his name would be dragged through the mud, and the man destroyed but almost certainly not dead. This would almost certainly be simpler. Much more effective. Might even be able to preserve his reputation this way. He was a threat, and a tyrant. She nodded to her dragon, green eyes turning away from the scene before her. Anyone else she would have helped. Anyone else would have had she and her dragon immediately at their side. But M'onk? Marue held out the piece of meat, and Sturnuth snaped it up.