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Beka was stunned, such a wonderful blue out of a little bit too big egg. The thing had seemed... lost however, and soon a horrible feeling was torn through her heart. The little dragon went between where no one could ever reach him, because he could not find His. It tore her heart in two, and the pain was openly expressed on her face. Tears flowed freely for the first time in years, down the red head's face.

A green hatched, and Beka was slightly pushed out of the way as the green found Hers. Beka still cried, still mourning the beautiful blue. There was no happiness in her heart, and when someone mummered that the last egg was still the tears just flowed harder. If there was one thing in life that she loved more than the sun, it was dragons. And every dragon that was not born, or went between made Beka hurt.

Her knees slowly sunk into the hot sands of the hatching ground. The tears blurred her vision, she couldn't see. Her fingers were in the sands, and she didn't see the boy run out to touch the egg. It was the screaming Queen that brought her too.

The Queen wasn't far from where Beka was, and she took in the scene in seconds as shock cleared the tears from her emerald eyes. The pale girl stared in disbelief that someone had done that! Really, she could be thick headed about things sometimes, but this??? Really??? Anger coursed through her, and she swiftly stood.

Mostly from anger, but also because an enraged Queen wasn't something to throw a stick at, Beka left the hatching grounds. She was no longer crying, even if her eyes were puffy and red from the amount she had done earlier. The little dragon had gone between, the last egg had never hatched... it continued to wrench her heart.

If he had believed the hatching to be chaotic upon arrival, with the demise of the frenzied and panicked blue dragonet, true chaos erupted. Everything seemed to have happened in a flash; from the worrisome creature pushing this way and that, screeching and screaming until suddenly it was no more. . . The sharp cries and keens of the dragons had been something he had not expected. Only too late he remembered one of his lessons or another speaking of dragons mourning the loss of any dragons death. . . but never had he expected the horrible heart-wrenching sound of this.

It was enough to cause the lad to shrink back and away, shock and surprise turning in to a cold defense. Candidates, weyrlings, the dragons surrounding them and those in the tiers; some were shrieking, others were sobbing, and the plethora of emotions surrounding him were too much to handle. Cheoth's agonizing shrieks were horrible and all the grief radiating from the dragons was far too hard to fight.

Darcir wasn't heartless. Stiff as he might be, any grief he felt was turned in to agitation and sadness. Another egg hatched but it went unnoticed by the lad, and as the final egg was lifeless, it would seem the hatching was over.

So he . . .didn't Impress.

On top of dealing with the shock and horror of a suiciding baby, he now had to deal with the idea that he had let his family down and furthermore, himself. Deep down, somewhere, he had been fairly confident he would not have been left standing. After all, if Merik and Balin had found their life mates, why shouldn't he have? One a walking mouth and the other as personable as a mop (no offense intended at his now-ex-roomies, of course).

But here he stood, rejected by every dragonet that broke shell, and even scorned by a blue that would rather kill itself than be with you. Now that . . . that was a hard pill to swallow. Yes, logic understood that dragons didn't just pick and choose as some sort of punishment or judgment; it was all about. . well. . . being the right fit, or whatever the heck that meant. The dragonets presented had found in others the perfect display of traits meant for them. . . .

But the mystery was no one knew exactly what a dragon looked for! Empathy, of course, but not every rider he'd seen was sweet, or kind, or loving. Some were hardened and cold and yet had powerful dragons besides them . . . Comments he'd heard while doing the drudge work assigned promised him that much.

If you don't Impress, then your dragon hadn't cracked shell yet, was the most common reassurance given. But . . . . but that didn't take away the wounded pride and humility felt any less. And yes, it was rather humiliating to be 'one of those' left. Especially hard as it was his first hatching and he had felt the pressure of needing to succeed. This was business, an opportunity to start something great and . . . . here he was, rejected. Rejection wasn't something Darcir understood how to handle and most certainly wasn't something he liked.

It . . . it did rather hurt to know he had to face his family so stoically and listen to their petty complaints and arguments. He was certain they'd tell him to pack his things and return home at once, but that was something he refused to do. He wasn't leaving so soon. . . No. For as much agony as it felt to stay in an over crowded place; for as awful as it was to sleep on the floor, and as secretly intimidated by everything as he was, he . . . . liked it at Ista. And could only hope that the next Hatching might be better recieved.

Someone wasn't here for the little blue. . . and that meant the baby had died. Darcir would refuse to not attend a hatching, even if it killed his pride and meant insufferable humility to be turned down once again, so as to never witness a baby death again. It was his responsibility and duty to stand; Faranth forbid he go home and get married or settled back in to routine and be the cause of a dragon's death.

No.

He wouldn't be that irresponsable, couldn't be.

But oh, standing there amidst the chaos, did it hurt.

Retreating, unable and unsure how to comfort the weeping and angry strangers around him, Darcir looked empty and hollow. If he had been any less proud, he may have openly wept but as it is he refused to add to such grief nor look so vulnerable. He had to be happy for his friends, had to congratulation B'lin and M'rik (or whatever they shortened their names too); he had to look composed for his family, for the other weyrfolk around him. He . . .he couldn't let his disappointment show through, no no no!

Darcir thought he did well and lookd composed. But to any who might see him, he looked white as a ghost, and incredibly uncomfortable and upset. It was too hard to fight with the waves of emotions the dragons radiated, and that heart-piercing keen. . . but he'd take a trip *between* before anyone caught him shedding a tear.

He wasn't that much of a pretty boy, thanks.

Stepping out of Sands, the hatching officially finished, Darcir was unsure where to go or what to do. So many people were grieving or talking or yelling; the dragons keen and wailing was disconcerting and he did not want to find his family. Not . . . not yet. If anything he just wanted to curl up, cling on to Liu and her reassurances, and just have the world up and leave him alone for awhile.

But that wouldn't be proper, would it? He would be expected to change and to attend the feast; to greet the world as if it had no effect on his cool exterior. But he wasn't a machine nor was he full-blooded Bitran. It just wouldn't happen.

An anguished cry broke his heart even more, and a little green fire-lizard tackled him. Liu cried and cried, burying her face against his cheek and half-strangling him with her tail. That was all right though. . . Reaching up, he offered the little creature what condolences and reassurances he could offer, numbly making his way back to his room. Best to get out of his robes, dismiss the day, and do everything expected of him.

He could go on autopilot. . . he could properly sulk and grieve later. Whe no one was 'round to witness.

'Rish closed his eyes, breathing slowly before muttering, "I want to go home." This had not turned out the way he thought it would. He knew it would be a bit rough...but never though one of the little ones, and a blue at that, would go between.

Rom nodded, scooping up her bag before gently ushering her cousin out, a hand resting between his shoulder blades. "It be alright. These things happen." She kept up the light pressure to direct him away from the bloody sands.

"You're right," E'rik agreed. He felt a bit stupid for not having considered before that Kyllae's room would not be a safe place for her this evening, but he was glad one of them had thought of it before something happened that would later prove regrettable. For the first time since his arrival he would probably find himself attending the Hatching Feast, doing what he could to calm people down. He had no real authority in the Weyr, but he didn't think anyone who had authority would want a riot that ended in violence. Not really. The events at the Hatching had been unfortunate enough.

As he considered the fact that he'd have to still be alert for the Feast and regretted it a pair of firelizards came at him. Wonderful. He was somewhat used to Mal - no, M'al - and his little bronze monster and he was very used to Firyal's one-person Numenor, but that didn't mean he went around expecting to be assaulted by firelizards. His own blue Cobalt was pleasant enough, though perhaps a bit lacking in intelligence. Half a moment's thought wondered where the blue firelizard was before while he raised his free hand to ward off his attackers.

"I'm trying to help, you stupid creatures." He couldn't muster up enough energy to sound angry, or even indignant, which was closer to how he actually felt anyway. He would need to find some energy somewhere, though, if he was to be of any use at the Feast.

E'rik, Haanyath says that she will take care of the girl if you bring her outside. I think you should. She will be very safe with Haanyath. Dara's message broke though his concentration, but it was a welcome interruption. Just thinking about the Feast had the unfortunate effect of making him tired.

"Kyllae, Haanyath thinks you will be safest with her, and I'm forced to agree. I'm going to take you outside to her, all right?" In the back of his mind he could hear Dara relaying his message to his green clutchmate. He was glad Haanyath had proposed this measure, and wondered if it had been a product of T'ka's mind or the dragon's own innovation. Either way, it was a good thing, he decided as he changed direction and headed for where Dara said Haanyath was waiting.

E'rik was relieved to see Haanyath's unmistakable stocky bulk once they got outside. They had been fortunate enough not to encounter anyone along the way, but luck really only held for so long before it broke and it seemed that Kyllae wasn't very lucky lately anyway. He didn't really blame the blue's death or the unhatched egg on Kyllae. He was well aware that these things happened. It was just that everyone had expected violence from this Hatching, if the eggs hatched at all, and the unfortunate conclusion, barring that last green's Impression to some girl he didn't know, did seem to support everyone's concerns. It could have just been some miserable coincidences occurring that evening.

"Haanyath," he called softly to alert her to their presence. He remembered that dragons weren't exactly able to see in the dark, and though the foul-tempered green was often compared to a wher she was not, in fact, gifted with that particular skill, he assumed.

"Everything's going to work out," he told Kyllae in his most soothing voice, hoping he was right.

"If there's anything I can do, have Haanyath tell Dara and I'll get right on it." He wasn't sure if Haanyath spoke to Kyllae, but he knew Kyllae could speak to Haanyath at least. He wasn't really sure what there was to be done, either. Like most of the Riders, he'd been obliged to learn to defend himself, but he did not excel in those lessons. His best bet would probably be to hide behind Dara should a violent situation ever arise, which was a blow to his pride but a nod to practicality.

He didn't ask if T'ka knew what her dragon was doing because he honestly didn't want to know the answer. Subterfuge in dragons was not unheard of, but he couldn't imagine the Weyr would approve. It was better if he remained ignorant.