[ORP] Fright Night - Spooky Clutch Hatching Feast - Open

[Thaliawen]

“It’s nice to meet you, Strigonth,” he scratched at the blue’s eyeridges before looking back to his brother. He studied him, quietly, for a long moment. “I’m fine,” he said. “I was worried about you. If you need any help caring for him, you can send HM to me.”

Oh, no. He recognized that expression, he needed to quell D’mar’s anger. “Dolly, I’m fine,” he insisted, immediately. His injuries were nothing compared to Things that happened when Dolly had left. “There was this awful green, Dolly. She attacked almost every boy on the sands, and she spoke to me. I thought she might be mine. She did this.” He vaguely gestured at his face. “She said there was no point in having a twin if we didn’t match.” And really, it didn’t matter. He was worried about Dolly! He was fine.

He looked to Shahera. He looked away. “No, I didn’t,” he admitted. “I came to find Dolly, but I couldn’t...” He’s headed back to the candidate barracks. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Faesinger”

]

“Shinosbee”

 

[Revel1984]

Serfie had been avoiding A'iel ever since the Hatching had ended, she'd vanished the moment they'd been allowed to get off the Sands. She felt guilty about how easy it had been to avoid A'ral too, with him being totally distracted with the death of the candidate. The whole while leading up to the feast she'd been frittering away this and that, packing a small, easily concealed, easily carried bag. She'd even debated just not going to the feast, since everyone would be distracted by it but it was a great chance to grab some food, plus she really didn't want to leave without seeing A'iel first but she knew he'd stop her if he knew her plans, however she'd kept her promise.

She managed to find some really nice clothes and after dressing she sat down, scrawling a letter for A'iel that was only just legible, a few weeks wasn't enough to make her writing skills great but it was enough that she could get her point across to her very first friend. In it she'd explained her need to leave, to get her head together again but promising she would be back and would use her flits he had gotten for her, to keep in contact with him when she needed to.

So as it was, she was dressed, clean and had her scruffy hair tied back out of her face, looking more confident than she felt, with a small gold flit on one shoulder, a blue on the other. She glanced around for A'iel for a moment but headed straight for the tables, piling her plate up with the more meaty things, the spiderclaw legs, the Sea Wherry meat, some of the grilled fish and the meat pies. More food than you would think someone her size could eat, and she moved off to a quiet corner, away from the new baby dragons especially, though she'd had to pass a few on her way to her darker corner.

ShinosBee

for A'iel mention

 

[magnadearel]

Candidate Rinis

While she was standing there staring at the others already mingling, someone came up behind her. She turned to see a spiffy dressed young man with a young brown at his side. Rinis gave him a nod and a smile, remembering him from the beach. "I did. I see you impressed though. Congratulations to both of you. What's his name?"

Chaek had twisted his head around on his neck to peer at the young dragon. He gave a chatter of welcome. Rinis glanced back toward the feast. "I was, ah, thinking about it." Just as she had been equally thinking about not. Maybe now that she had some company it wouldn't be as bad. "Should we head to the tables first?"


Vosin and Killakeeth

People seemed to be mingling well. Vosin headed to sample the fare laid out among the tables and a glass of wine. First she could fill up then she'd dance. Candidates, weyrlings, weyrfolk, and guests were all over the place. With a plate full of dainties to try, Vos made her way to a table to sit down and enjoy them. All the while keeping her eye out for suitable dance partners.

Smerdle

For O'len and Aleyath with Rinis

 

[Meepfur]

Rio

The atmosphere in the Candidate Barracks was understandably subdued, less on account of people being disappointed that they hadn't been chosen by a dragon than as a result of all the blood spilled. Some were still in the infirmary, while one...one would never be seen again. For those of them who'd never Stood before today, it was a cold, harsh dose of the reality of Hatchings. It was one thing to be told to expect maulings, to be aware that deaths did occur, but it was a different matter entirely to see it, and be helpless to do anything. The weight of it had settled in his heart, and it was a mood he could easily have let take him, but it would do him nor anyone else any good.

Rio set it aside in favor of one of his better shirts, deep pink, trimmed in gold, and left mostly open. He would look himself, and in so doing feel more himself, he determined, pulling boots that came almost to his knees on over dark brown breeches, and finished off with a sash that matched the trim of his shirt. There. Presentable - and with a pang of guilt that, unlike many, he sported neither stitches nor bandages, not so much as a bruise or a scratch. He, and all of their little group on the Sands, had been so very lucky, and there was something almost painful about having been spared when others had not been. But there was nothing any of them could have done, not that would have helped, which was a could comfort.

He put away those feelings once he arrived at the feast, collecting a glass of wine for something to hold as much as for something to drink, and set about looking for his friends. Despite the fact that he barely knew any of them, he applied the word sincerely. It was the girl from High Reaches he spotted first, striking and even more difficult to miss now that she had a white dragon at her side, sitting alone at the end of a table. That simply wouldn't do! But he hadn't forgotten the look Brancath given him, and so his approach was careful rather than cavalier, absent a friendly reach to place his hand on her shoulder; instead, he offered a bow, and when he straightened, a warm smile. "Isilje, Brancath," he greeted. "I regret that I didn't say so properly earlier, so please, allow me to offer my congratulations now. You make a lovely pair."

-_Wish of Tevarae_-

 

[Masterharper]

Waiver

Cedarian
The young man did not expect the brown to remember him, and was inwardly quite pleased when his approached was greeted so enthusiastically. And when the brown bowed...well... he couldn't help but let his usual dour expression turn into a genuine smile. Glancing to his rider, the long-lashed man gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand. "It's quite all right, really. The fact you're here at all is impressive -- I'd rather not send you back to the infirmary in the name of etiquette." That bronze had done terrible things for seemingly no reason. He had not forgotten the joy and laughter that had gone hand-in-hand with Dolmar and Gavryl's attacks.

When the other asked him about his chosen honorific, once more, he felt surprised. While he felt that his opinion should be well regarded, he never thought something like that would be asked of him. If he were any less a gentleman he might have stood a bit straighter; choosing to say hello to this brown rider was a good choice indeed, especially for his wounded pride. "G'ryl," and he tested the name. "I think it quite appropriate. It rolls off the tongue nicely, and compliments your Sarcoth's name as well." Not changing it would have been blasphemous to Cedarian, and G'yl, or Gar'l, or Ga'ryl were not at all befitting.

When Sarcoth touched his hand, Cedarian immediately looked down at the source. All his life he'd never heard a dragon speak, and today, Sarcoth had done so twice. It was quite the honor, really. Just getting to touch that soft hide, even for a moment, was the crowning achievement. And if a small part of him ached with envy, he kept it buried for later. He would not spoil the feast. "You're both quite welcome," he spoke aloud, softer, perhaps a touch less stiffly formal. "I am glad the both of you will be okay." And that was quite sincere. After seeing Dolmar and Farellen mutilated, and the death of Henwas.... He knew that bronze could have made things so much worse.

But that was neither here nor there, and such thoughts did not make for polite conversaion. Instead, he focused on the brown's cape that had slid off the other's neck. "If it is not too forward, might I assist? Such a lovely piece should be shown off. You are quite dashing in the fabric." He complimented the brown. He wasn't sure if he should be talking through Gavryl or to Sarcoth himself -- and could only hope any faux-pas he might make around the baby dragons would be forgiven.

At G'ryl's question, the boy shook his head. "I made it out relatively unscathed," he confessed, a twinge of guilt causing his stomach to twist. He had been next to them both, and they had gone down. The bronze had even rubbed up against him, like a friend... before turning on them both. "A few cuts from an ill-timed wing spread, but all quite superficial." He glanced up the other man and gave a slight tilt of his head. "And how's your prognosis? If it's not too forward of me to ask." He added hastily. They weren't exactly bosom buddies -- prying into ones health could get personal.  

[Shaddaling]

Yevalee and Gallath

It seemed to have been too long since they had last worn their regular attire, let alone anything meant for festivities. Yevalee opened their chest as Gallath lazed nearby, the green having been fed and oiled. They, they had bathed and their arm was rebandaged though the wounds would probably be scabbed over completely by tomorrow morning.

The first square of fabric was imported linen and dyed with indigo to a rich vivid blue and soft. The second square was pina, translucent and sheer and dyed rich purple with the use of snail ooze. Sarongs were all about knots and layers to create outfits. The blue cloth was wrapped around and tied in the front and the ends went behind their neck and tied again and tucked under forming a collar. Then they raised the helm up and over a shoulder and tied again. This added a second layer and a tied knot at the waist shaped it. It was short for a dress, so they tossed on a pair of black leggings underneath to not be quiet so scandalous.

They tied the edge of the pina cloth inwards, making holes for their arms on both side and slipped it on for a light airy cape. They picked up a pair of black slippers and slipped them on, followed by a necklace of mother of pearl discs and their dark baroque pearl earrings. They tied their hair into a bun and followed up with their sea silk net and pinned it in place.

That… That should do it. Yevalee shut the trunk and secured it, remembering all to clear Gallath snacking on Oerlean candidate robes. Not their clothes! Or jewelry, or well good sandals. They sighed and smiled ruefully at Gallath as she stretched, waking from her nap. Yevalee wouldn’t trade her for the world, even for unchewed clothing.

“Ready to go down to the feast?” They asked, stroking over her head knobs and smiled as she nearly bolted upwards.

Mmh, Feast? Will be as good as earlier? She questioned stretching out. She wasn’t truly hungry but perhaps a few small things? Of tasty things? She butted against hers, pausing to sniff at the clothing. Mmh?

“My clothes are not food,” Yevalee said sternly, watching the hatchling sniff and pull back. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Gallath,” they added, softer, stroking her oiled hide. “And I doubt my clothes are tasty.” They grinned. “Now lets go down and show off.” They said and led her down.  

[Sinders Path]

Roana

Roana was happy to let some of the madness in the brackets die down before she took her time to change. Her leg still ached but she had avoided the healers and cleaned it up herself. They had enough to worry about, besides it was not deep enough to need stitches or anything so dramatic. And they had enough to worry about with the recent hatching injuries. Instead she dug out the first aid kit that was always kept in the brackets for any unexpected emergencies. She took out ethanol, a roll of bandages and linens with a few pins to hold it all in place.

After that it was a simple process of cleaning up the wound through unpleasant stings of the cleaning alcohol. After it was bandaged, she stood, testing her weight on the injured limb. It already felt better than it had on the hatching sands, however the scratch did go almost the full length of her leg so every time she bent it there was a nasty twinge. She sighed, it would have to do.

Then it was time to change. Only too happy to be rid of the torn and bloody white robe she exchanged it for a pair of form brown hide trousers that flaunted her 'assets'. Ontop of that she wore a clean white cotton shirt with a handsome emerald green vest over it embroidered with silver thread and fitted with shinning brass buttons. The cherry on the cake was added as a set of heavy gold earrings and actual heavy rings on her fingers . She even tried to tame her mane of copperish red hair. However the mass of curls refused to look any different from start to finish and she was forced to admit defeat.

Looking quite dapper (even if she did say it herself) she headed out of the brackets and towards the sound of merriment and rich smell of inviting food. As a last thought before her exit she snatched up her ruined white candidates robes.

Before she gave into her desires and headed for the feast however she had another task to do. As the path entered a fork she walked right and headed down to the beach where the blaze for the deceased candidate was throwing embers into the air.

Soon the heat of the fire was full on her face and the flames themselves licked out towards her fine attire. She took a steadying breath, balled the white robe into her hands and threw it into the consuming bonfire. It was an acknowledgment. She hadn't known the young man but he had not acted out of orders. He had not tried to provoke the green in any way. It had not been his fault so it could have been any of them. She watched silently as the fire caught the white cloth instantly and devoured it hungrily. She stood there until every trace of it had vanished in the dancing autumn colours of the pyre.

Satisfied with her own small ritual she bowed her head respectfully and turned to head back up the dunes and into the communal area of the weyr where the feast was in full swing. Her head turned to try and spot someone she knew. Either Kiri, Nicara or Iathe.  

[Shaddaling]

Rylyrr

Rylyrr hadn’t impressed and it weighed on him. It always did. He didn’t consider that he could have done anything different, anything better… but it was just a sort of expected and heavy tiredness that they just weren’t there and they had been prepared to leave home. It was just an odd soft of disappointed and relief because he wasn’t leaving home, or his family to start a new one.

It helped that Aly’on had been here, his brother had hugged him desperately when they left the stands, just opening glad he had not been hurt and just babbling. Which was like Aly’on.

The fact his best clothes had been packed with a note was pure Shyn’ar and he was thankful. Soft grey wool pants, a long tunic in deep scarlet red cotton. A jacket of deep black that went over it. It was warmer in Western so he decided against wearing the jacket, and would just bring it. His knee-high boot in black leather. He donned them after cleaning up… sand always managed to get everywhere.

And he had inchor and blood and …

It had been an eventful hatching and he was glad to get clean and change in familiar clothing. He walked out and down to the feast, wondering if he would be able to find Akaris about.  

[Masterharper]

J'lar & blue Loreleth -- the Bonfire
Life had changed in the most unexpected of ways. Standing in front of the fire, the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man stared down at the little collapsed heap of blue in his arms. Though the Feast had kicked off, his blue was not yet feeling up to leaving. In fact, since he'd Impressed, the little blue hadn't done much but quietly keen -- either through their bond, or vocally. Since Henwas' death, the little creature had been near inconsolable; hushing, humming, petting, rocking, reassuring, kissing -- it didn't matter. The blue's pain and hurt and sadness seemed to radiate around them like a cloud; and Jal could only press against all that pain with promises that life wasn't all bad.

. . . so maybe he was a hypocrite.

Up until today, the only thing keeping him going was the knowledge that Kharin would have gutted him from beyond Between if he'd broken his promise to carry on, and alcohol. He had a high enough tolerance naturally to the stuff, given his rough upbringing, but the past few Turns had really turned him towards the bottle. The drink had kept him from spilling his emotions, and weeping for lost chances. He had no family; he had few friends; he'd done horrible things before being Searched, and feared he'd wind up doing them again out of sheer desperation for a place to belong; his lover had died; and he'd been spurned by all the High Reaches dragons. Life had not been especially kind to the scarred up warrior, but he'd taken it a day at a time. Breath by breath. He'd been idle, lost, and without purpose or direction.

But now?

Now he had Loreleth, and he knew, with every fiber of his being, that this was his new beginning, his new life, his new everything. Caring for this round, little butterball blue, with his perfect dark skin, his big, soulful eyes, his pudgy little legs, and his chubby little belly... Honestly, the man could hardly tear his gaze off Loreleth to look at, or notice, anyone else. He'd never felt so whole, or so healthy. Oh, certainly, he was keenly aware of Loreleth's aching pain -- a pain that almost brought him to tears on more than one occasion; but he also felt the little one's need. The blue was lost, but Jal was his lighthouse; he was always there with an encouraging word, or a swell of love to buoy the dragon when he started to lose himself to the pain. While J'lar lifted Loreleth up, the blue, perhaps, wept not just for Henwas, or for Huarwar, and Aelyx, but also for J'lar, for Kharin, for lost childhood, and many missed opportunities. There was a lot of grief and regret for the little blue to feel...and though he tried to temper that pain, he wasn't planning to stop it.

Let his beloved feel. He dared anyone to come up to him and tell him to stop.

So it was, the scarred ex-merc cradled his baby blue. The grey-eyed dragonet stared at the flames and keened. It was not a loud keen, not like on the Hatching Grounds, but soft, quiet, mournful,and strangely beautiful. It was a haunting sound, a song for the lost, and those left behind. "There, there, baby," he murmured, leaning down to gently nuzzle the top of the one's head with his scruff. He refused to put the little one down, not when he was so distressed --besides, he knew Loreleth liked the closeness and protection.

It still hurts. He still hurts. And the little grey-eyed one turned his head to stare at Huarwar.

J'lar gave a little grunt. It's going to hurt for a long time, baby. There's some pain that doesn't get any better...but it won't always hurt so close to the surface. He rocked his blue, as the dragon cuddled closer. He wasn't a large dragon, thankfully, and though he wasn't light, J'lar's size and lifestyle came in handy for carrying him. Just give me the pain, and the hurt, all right? Lean on your Jal. I can take it. He encouraged the blue, still awed that the being before him knew his every thought.

The dark blue dragon's keen softened, even as he closed his eyes and leaned heavily into J'lar's embrace.

It was going to be a long night.

((J'lar & Loreleth are down by the bonfire if if any one wants to bump into them.))  

[Waiver]

G'ryl and Brown Sarcoth
G'ryl grinned appreciatively at the other's decorum. And when the offer to assist with Sarcoth's blanket came, Sarcoth's gaze shifted from Cedarian to his rider and he hummed a bit, Don't push yourself, Mine, Cedarian may.

G'ryl nodded, “Would you mind...? He insisted on the bla- er, cloak.” The rider's expression was gentle, a small fond smile upon his lips as he looked to his dragon.

Puffed up proudly for the compliment on his sense of taste, Sarcoth turned around around, wings mantled a bit so as to better accommodate the blanket when it was spread upon his back. This one has a sharp eye, Mine. When the fabric was reset, the brown turned back to Cedarian and sat, posed regally with his head high, eyes whirling blues and greens in contentment. His was here and his cloak was settled well, all was right with the world.

G'ryl chuckled, “He says you've a sharp eye.” The comment gave him reason to look the other over once more and indeed Cedarian seemed to pay attention to detail. There was a bit of flair to his hair that G'ryl appreciated and the clothing fit properly, accentuating the other's features nicely. Tailored, fitted and finely crafted... the stitching was tight and even, well matched the fabric. The hems were perfectly even and wrapped twice to prevent fraying – a particular feature he demanded in every piece he purchased. The cravat was an excellent detail, the embroidered detailed intricate and symmetrical, even with the carefully arranged folds. These were pieces made to last. He tucked away a note to possibly share his collection of handkerchiefs with the other, thinking he might appreciate a finely-embroidered piece. The brownrider wasn't sure if he should trade compliments or if it might be too boring – who cared about the craftsmanship of handkerchiefs after all? – and sat quietly admiring the other's outfit while he fumbled for words internally. When Cedarian asked after his health, G'ryl blinked.

“Oh! Ahh...” He grimaced and offered a bit of a shrug, “Scars for the most part... My face, leg, ankle, and shoulder got the worst of it. Said I was lucky the ligaments around my shoulder weren't torn to shreds, doesn't feel like it though.” He lifted the arm in the sling a bit with a frown, “My thigh is the most concerning... without much mobility, I'm going to have difficulty keeping up with Sarcoth's needs.”

You could ask what tailor he partronizes, Mine. The brown suggested, leaning into his rider as he watched Cedarian intently, pulling the concepts out of G'ryl's mind, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge.

G'ryl nodded, tilted his head, “I... ahm, what tailor do you prefer? They produce fine work.” He gestured at the other's clothing, “Good craftsmanship is uncommon. Your fashion is both sturdy and refined, an elegant frame for a fine piece of art – well chosen, finely finished to best compliment the centrepiece.” His gaze was critical as he looked the other over, gaze lingering on Cedarian's hair, “Do you prefer your hair on the stiffer side? I've found a vendor that makes the most admirable pomade – maintains shape for hours but also offers some flexibility. I swear by it.”

Sarcoth chuckled mentally as G'ryl found his stride not in small talk but in the details of craftsmanship, sending waves of support to his rider. He knew the other defaulted to such clinical discussions when he wasn't sure of himself but there was also a certain glow of passion about the man. G'ryl was a discerning individual and his endorsement did not come lightly.

Masterharper

 

[TheWishling]

Meepfur

Isilje and White Brancath

She'd been picking at her food, taking only small bites here and there. It wasn't until Brancath let out a keen of displeasure. Why was this MALE coming near her beloved? Wings spread, and she half-climbed over Isilje's shoulder to let out a baby bugle, warning him. The young albino carefully pushed Brancath down, ignoring the whirling red and yellow eyes, smiling her apology. Rio was a good man, she told Brancath. He and his friends had helped keep her safe, and had been wonderfully kind to her. The dragonet mumbled something about distrust, the feeling beating against Isilje's breast too, "Rio. Thank you so much. I...I'm sorry I didn't stick around....She was pretty intent on what was going on being private....she doesn't....trust boys. Either dragon or people, it seems." Concern knit her brow for a moment, the warm mug between her hands a nice distraction, "I...I'm glad you came to find me, honestly. I get really nervous, and it doesn't help that I'm not FROM Western. You, L'nik and Alya were the first people I talked to...and..." And now she wasn't too sure what to do, "I still...can't believe it. Back home...whites aren't..." Whites were expected to die. To Between at least. Whites were so frail and delicate.

If anyone thinks me delicate, let them meet my claws. The huff from Brancath got a giggle, "But Brancath is strong, and very loving and kind. Just very wary. After seeing her brothers, I don't blame her."  

[ShinosBee]

D'mar & Strigonth

"Apparently," He bit back at Shahera, tone equally flat, though the look on his face was pure acid. "So you can manage that much at least. Mopping up the mess after you've let it be made." Strigonth hummed a warning, pressing again into his rider's side, and though D'mar's look away was cutting, he seemed ready to let the matter rest. Again, for now. How could she? How could she risk all he held dear? He felt Strigonth begin to speak in his mind, but in his upset he all but pushed the blue's thoughts aside. Stunned, and upset, the blue's eyes whirled a sudden gray, leaving D'mar to pick up the pieces of his tantrum. A faint crease had marred his brow, and he gulped a large dram of the klah, hoping the buzz from it would kill his blooming headache.

"Apologies, Strigonth. I'm calm. It's fine." The blue hesitated, before relaxing again (though his eyes remained only slowly whirling, a grayish tinge of greeny-gold). Marinel lived. That was what he needed to focus on. He'd been savaged by the same green that had killed, and he wasn't dead. He wasn't. He was fine. And he was fine too, he reassured his blue. And forget the bronze that'd come for him...if the green ever showed a sign of looking at his twin again, he'd drag her between himself. So help him Faranth...Strigonth whined again and he threw his hands up in disgust. It was like the head injury had left him devoid of all control over his emotions.

Therianth, for all our sakes, it would be better if you took your rider...elsewhere, for a time. Mine needs time with his egg-sibling. The blue smoothly tried to intercede, before pushing his head back into Marinel's hand. Perhaps sensing the blue's thoughts, D'mar nodded, slowly. That'd be best. Marinel...for my heart's sake, please tell me you let them finish looking you over first? I'd much rather be...unmatching twins than see your hurts linger..."

faesinger

thaliawen

 

[faesinger]

Shehara inwardly seethed at the accusation, though her conscience piped in to say that was exactly what she had done. Outwardly she shrugged. Therianth could feel the wave of anger that was about to come crashing down on D’mar and when Strigonth spoke to her, Therianth tried to stop it. She tugged at Shahera’s dress and whined a little, sending a feeling that they should go but too overwhelmed for words.

“He has feet and is capable of using them.” She said it sarcastically. Her tone turned serious though. “There was no time. The baby was gone as quickly as she arrived.”

She watched D’mar talk to Marinel almost thoughtfully. “You know, you might be surprised what he can do if you would just let him. It seems like you think Marinel can’t do anything without you. Nothing without you there to guide or assist. You help him with everything. This is not a service to him, in any way shape or form. It is pretty much stifling his growth. He’s not still the ten year old you knew.” Shahera usually took more care with her words and would have stopped at end of the first bit and never mentioned their relationship. But she was tired, stressed, and pretty much done with all the bullshit of the day.

Therianth’s tried pulling on Shahera’s dress again, sending a wave of love and worry through her. Mine. Mine. Please, this is not the time for the rest. Therianth’s eyes whirled ever paler and when Shahera looked down she blanched at the sight. Placing a hand under Therianth’s chin, Shahera nodded to her new bonded. Then let us go. Without another look at the boys, she turned smartly on her heel and began to walk away.

ShinosBee

thaliawen

 

[Thaliawen]

Oh. No, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Marinel first looked to D’mar. “It’s not her fault,” he said, quietly. He wasn’t going to argue, he didn’t even—he didn’t like her. But she was Dolly’s friend, and he had to help. “She got me off the Sands. I would’ve stayed there like a dimglow, bleeding for who knows how long. Saimwen was screaming like a sick wherry.”

No, he hadn’t let the healers finish looking him over. He didn’t want to worry Dolly though, not when he was hurting so much. It didn’t matter. There had been much worse injuries, and the only thought in his head had been to find Dolmar. “I’m alright, Dolly,” he assured him. He stroked Strigonth’s head. “I’ll have someone look them over in the morning, if it makes you feel better.”

And now Shahera was leaving, with some sharp words. He stared at her. “I don’t think he stifles me,” he protested. And he did plenty! Plenty without asking for aid. He turned his attention again to his twin. “Please don’t fight with your friends over me,” he said.  

[BastetAmun]

Skylla and Neith

Neith let out a low purr at Suwayeth, wanting to let the young dragonet know she was not in any trouble and neither was her rider. Skylla kept a soft smile on her features. "I do understand wishing to indulge them, especially at this age. You are newly impressed, the bond and love you feel towards one another can be quite overwhelming."

She saw Kieza look towards Suwayeth and heard the mention of some roast with garlic and she nodded her head. "Yes, that is fine. Once again not too much. If she eats too much then she can handle she will end up getting thick tail and that is not very fun for any dragon to go through, let alone one newly hatched." She made sure to stay friendly throughout the entire thing, not wanting to seem like she was lecturing the girl, because she wasn't.

"You are doing a good job Kieza, both you and Suwayeth. I want you to know that you can come to me if you need anything or have any questions. Especially come to me if anyone gives either of you trouble, I'm sure they won't but I'd rather you feel safe. Feel free to go back to the barracks if you begin to feel overwhelmed, or you can take a walk on the beach, just make sure you are back before the twelfth candle mark." She turned to walk away, smiling again. "Have a good evening you two,"

Happy with how things went, Skylla moved away from Kieza and her bonded, knowing the two would be alright, though she worried more about how they felt being in the crowd. She had always been protective over the weyrlings, when she had the ability to be. The first couple of days after impression allowed her this ability before she had to steel her heart and mind for those who might not make it to graduation.

Mewsings of An Angel

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Huarwar

He felt someone move up behind him and press themselves against his back, easily knowing it was Aelyx without having to ask. He smiled softly, though it was strained and he was not crying now as he stared into the flames, he found that even though he hurt and felt as if he wanted to cry, he could not cry right now. He was stoic as he worked everything out.

Lost in the dance of the fire, the sound of a soft keen brought his attention away and he looked over at where J'lar held the small blue. He was not annoyed by the sound, the keening, though strangely haunting was also slightly calming to him. "Please, tell your little blue, I will be alright and I thank him." It was nice to know that among those who were mourning, one of the dragonet's cared about what had happened and the suffering. He was grateful to the little blue and he knew that J'lar was lucky, as the blue was, to have found his bonded.

-_Wish of Tevarae_-

Masterharper