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[K'yne]

He'd received his room assignment and headed to the feast as soon as possible. Psaumith plodded along obediently enough, seeing the benefit in mingling so early on. He'd not remember in a few weeks but the riders would, along with his own. The light brown kept an even pace, heavy with food and the contentment of Impression. K'yne kept his hand on the browns head as if he were worried he'd blink from existence if left alone for too long.

It didn't last long. Psaumith went to the Weyrling table and flopped down at a chair he claimed for K'yne's, however silently. K'yne shot him a flat look, his other hand tight on the Weyrling knots, and he looked back to the food. Psaumith would want to eat again and soon. In the meantime, there was food to be had. Psaumith kept his eyes on K'yne as the short boy went to the table to get himself a meat pie.

This is going to be a fun night. He muttered mentally, sarcastic, quiet. Psaumith chuckled in return, and yawned.

I'saak wasn't sure how he felt about sharing living-space with someone. He'd been in his own quarters since he arrived at Trine, a small space just off the forges that he had claimed for his own. He had little enough in the way of belongings that the move had not been cause for concern, but...Sahar. He didn't even know the name. Someone he had never seen before, and Corloss was rooming with a greenrider, a Candidate he didn't know. At least, he supposed, he wasn't as unlucky as Kaeyne or Kharmeen, who had been partnered off with girls. I'saak wondered idly if that prejudice still held water. As far as he was concerned, it was a matter of personal comfort, rather than a matter of safety. If he was to be paired with someone for the better part of a turn...better for him that it was neither a girl nor Corloss.

He was a little disappointed that he wasn't bunking with Kaeyne, though. That might have been interesting. Still, he made a mental note to keep an eye out for the silver that had hatched and introduce himself to Sahar as soon as possible.

I will look for Rineth, Ellibreth announced cheerfully as they paced into the cordoned-off space. She stopped while I'saak received his knots, eyes whirling happy greens and blues, and crooned low. A gentle headbutt in affection. Now you're a proper rider.

"Other people's families are here," I'saak answered quietly. That hurt. S'aak ought to have been there, to see his son Impressed. He had talked about it. And now he was gone, off at Benden or Malvren, no doubt. It made I'saak uncomfortable to think about.

Then don't think about it right now, I'saak, Ellibreth suggested gently. There's Psaumith. I'll go say hello, and you go find his rider. There wasn't any room for quarrel, really, because Ellibreth was already moving at as brisk a trot as she could manage, as made of knees and elbows as she was. She sprawled out at the chair beside Psaumith's, touching noses with her clutchmate and apparently impervious to personal space. Hello, Psaumith. How is yours?

And I'saak was alone again. ...Right. Kaeyne was over at the table where the pies had been laid out. I'saak drew alongside him, a little hesitantly. "Hey," he said in a low voice. "Parties aren't my thing."

Kh'men had taken the whole day to get used to his new name. He had met up with his cousin and together had introduced Maicoth to Phiroth. The green didn't particularly care that the brown was small but she did like his pattern and greedily agreed to be his "cousin" if only to have access to a new shiny. The brown had taken it with a grain of salt.

Maicoth, now oiled and shined to his best, troddled next to his rider, occasionally looking around at the the crowd. They approached a table and took their seats. Kh'men read the note and looked around. He was sure only two girls had impressed and one of them was a green rider. The other girl was a healer if he wasn't mistaken. Hopefully she would be easy to get along with... "Do you know which one is Phasianth? We have to bunk up with them."

Maicoth snorted and gave a grrr. I do not. I can ask, I suppose. If you need me to ask. I would prefer we look in our basket and get something to eat.

Kh'men shrugged and looked around. "I don't know anyone here. And Ahmenna can't join us yet. Personally, I would sit and watch, wait for the Weyrwoman's speech."

Then let's eat.

Tacelon had gone through the day between the Hatchign and Feast in a bit of a daze, though he took care of Poth dutifully. She was fed, cleaned, slept, fed and slept some more (was that all that all hatchling dragons did, or was it abnormal somehow? Sure, baby humans and flits spent most of their time eating and sleeping, but he had no idea if dragons did as well.), sometimes the newly bonded pair had short conversations between eating and sleeping, and at some point someone asked Tacelon what his new name was and he shortened it to T'lon. It was just starting to sink in that Poth was really (really) going to be with him forever when the Hatching Feast rolled around.

T'lon wanted to look his best, so he had washed his face and hand, combed his hair, and then was stuck deciding what to wear. He only had two choices really; his Gather clothing or his work clothing. But his Gather clothing was all in Harper blue, left over from when he'd spend a portion of every Gather performing with the other Harpers. It was nothing too fancy, but it was well made, neat and formal, while his work clothes were utilitarian and worn from use. But he wasn't a Harper now, and would wearing Harper colors be like somehow denying he was a rider?

As he fretted over the decision, Poth was reclining on her bed and dozing. She cracked one eye open to look up at her rider and ask, What are you fussing over?

What to wear to the Hatching Feast, he responded absently.

What's a feast? She asked, adding, I know what hatching is.

A feast is a special event where a lot of people gather to celebrate something and eat a lot of food--

Food? Poth interrupted, her head shooting up as if spring loaded. Will there be meat?

Rather surprised by her reaction, T'lon responded, I'm sure there will be, but--

Then what are you waiting for? she interrupted again, and scrambled off the bed. Come on! Or there won't be any food left. When he still hesitated, she added, I'll go without you if you take too long. Just wear the nice one.

Shaking his head, T'lon said, You don't even know where it is, as he started to change into his blue Gather clothes. Not to mention you already ate not that long ago.

But I can smell the food and follow my nose. And I'm getting hungry again. One of the bigger people did say I'll eat a lot and often when I'm little. She hovered by the door, fidgeting like a canine eager to take a walk. Are you done yet?

T'lon changed quickly, fearing that Poth would run off and get into something he shouldn't, then lead her to the Feast. She chafed and fussed while he accepted his new rank knots and greeted the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader. Then (finally!) They were allowed to head to the tables. Poth immediately gravitated to the one laden with food, then stopped, head up, to sample all the delicious new scents. What were all these things?

Hekate

"Looking for someone Wingleader?" A voice purred into his ear the exotic tinge to it easily giving away the owner as Hekate came to lean against the dias beside him. While she would have to find her eventual seat somewhere else until she managed to get a rank of her own that wasn't going to stop her from pestering Z'fer by any means. While the wingleader might be her senior Hekate was certainly by no means a weyrling anymore and the outfit she'd chosen that night lent to that fact by subtly showing off just how much she'd grown. A long sleeveless tunic dress made out of richly colored red, gold, and tan hues clung to her the curves of her waist and dipped just low enough to show just a tease of supple cleavage leaving her delicately boned shoulders and collarbone bare. Beneath the tunic she wore a pair of harem pants of the same light material as her chosen tunic allowing her to remain cool even in the jungle heat of Trine. She'd chosen to wear her hair down allowing the red locks to cascade around her shoulders where Pauper her little gold had draped herself for a nap her shining hide off-setting the simple brass bangles and belt Hekate had on her arms and clasped about her waste the metal catching the light with each twist and movement.

"Don't tell me you're eyeing up all the new greens already." Hekate continued teasing him gently as she reached out to snag a mug of her own from one of the passing servers taking a sip of the rich wine and letting out a humm of appreciation. While she loved Devith more then life itself she had rather missed wine.

Everything since the Hatching had been a whirlwind of confusion. Not a crisis – C’ross knew how to deal with crises, this was something else entirely. This was... well, it was sinking in finally that his life had changed, permanently.

For the better.

And that was Nimith, in the back of his mind, an unshakable steel core of certainty that C’ross had been missing. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that this remarkable dragon had chosen him. It was impossible to be upset about it: there wasn’t any room for worry about the future under the happy buzz of new Impression. The only experience he had to compare it to was when he’d first joined the guard, when the master-at-arms had praised his potential and told him he’d fit in well. It was that same sense of satisfaction, of belonging. He had a place in the world, and that place was beside his blue.

C’ross didn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions that needed moving into his new quarters. Having a roommate was no obstacle; he’d slept in the guard barracks before, which was essentially the definition of lack of privacy, so having only one roommate now was a luxury. The trunk of gifts, too, was a genuinely pleasant surprise. C’ross, unused to being treated to small luxuries, had turned the little bundle of sweets and incense over in his hands, staring at it until Nimith nudged at him gently.

“Right. Oiling.” He needed to oil Nimith’s hide. Rags and a pot of oil had been provided for the purpose, and he knew the basic idea, at least – like oiling leather, it was to prevent the hide from drying and cracking. He started with washing, scrubbing the last of the wet sand and egg-goop and blood off of Nimith. Then the oil. After the first few strokes of the oiled rag, Nimith’s eyes half-lidded with contentment. C’ross paid particular attention to the joints, the bases of the wings, the areas where the hide would have to stretch and flex the most. He found that he could sense through the bond where his dragon’s hide itched. Once he’d hit the problem areas, then he could do the rest of the blue in broader strokes, careful not to miss anywhere.

The difference was noticeable. Nimith had been handsome before, but freshly cleaned and oiled, his midnight-blue hide gained a rich, rippling shimmer like moonlight on dark water. He was beautiful. Ready to be presented before the queens of Trine.

C’ross, on the other hand, was still covered in oil and his own blood. Which was a problem, because he hadn’t really bothered to invest in Gather clothes. All he had was the dress uniform issued to guards for formal occasions, or when they were escorting high-ranking figures. He frowned at it, wondering if it would be appropriate for the occasion and wishing he’d thought ahead a little more.

It’s fine. It suits you, and it states our purpose. Just because you have Impressed doesn’t mean you are no longer a guard. It simply means we will be guarding the skies instead. Nimith leaned briefly into C’ross’ good leg, then strolled off to nose curiously into the propped-open trunk.

He got cleaned up and dressed hastily – there wasn’t much time left before the Feast, after spending much of it taking his time with the oiling. He didn’t want to be late to his very first event as a weyrling. After getting Nimith’s confirmation that the uniform was crisp and well-fitting as always, he set off hastily outside to where the feast was being held, the blue on his heels. He could see that I’saak and K’yne were already there – normally he would have bolted right over to them, but things had been strange and tense at the end of the Hatching, and C’ross still had the lingering suspicion that he wasn’t supposed to have intruded on whatever conversation they’d had about brownriders and... romantic proclivities.

Weyrfolk. Honestly.

He accepted his new rank knots with a solemn bow and the gravity that they deserved, then headed over to the food tables. It was easy enough to spot those who had just Impressed, with their new dragons at their sides, but he wasn’t sure who some of the other people were. Riders, probably, or family of the weyrlings. Once upon a time, he would have been craning to look for D'ros' grinning face among the crowd. But D'ros was at Benden, and hopefully wouldn't be coming in person to congratulate him. Ever.