Wyaeth's a daddy, the eggs hatched. Part one.
RL Date: 11/18/07
IC Date: Estimated at 3/22/14
NC is down, so this was held on TooMUSH. The date is estimated. I'm going to try to get everyone's name in the tags, but I apologize if I miss someone; it's spammy.
To recap, there were 12 eggs (sometimes counted as 15) that resulted in 1 gold, 1 bronze, 2 brown, 3 blue, and 5 green dragons.
From the sands, Ciath spreads her pale gold wings, humming fit to shake the very grains of sand beneath her talons as she prepares to welcome the occupants of her gently-rocking clutch of eggs. The yong gold reaches out to nudge one the One Layer After Another Egg as it starts to tip from the exertions of the hatchling within, helping to settle it on its side.
From the sands, M'yr's a nervous wreck, his fists shoved deeply into the pockets as he pants from racing to the sand. He paces back and forth, dark eyes darting about the area. "S'kris." he nods, lips in a tight line, brows furrowed. "Shards. Where's my flask when I need it."
V'delin's missed out on the good seats before, and he's not about to this time. He's here as soon as the dragons begin humming, Imirath's wings flashing above as the dragon settles into place on the ledges. At least the Skysentry rider is freshly bathed, a fact the towel still resting over his shoulders suggests. He rubs vigorously at his hair, drying it before the cold Fortian air can freeze it solid, and slips, innnocuous and proud, into a good vantage point.
V'ryce scrambles the last few steps into the galleries, apologizing as he moves his way among the crowd, to finally find a tight fitting seat near S'kris and M'yr. Overhearing the Weyrleader, he murmurs with tight excitement, "Mmf, here you are, Sir." then passing him a large flask.
From the sands, Wyaeth arrives late-- but you know the saying. He rids himself of N'thei some time before swaggering on to the sands, picks up the humming with a gritty voice, more grating out sound than humming as such. He settles down opposite Ciath to book-end the eggs, to wait with a swell of undue self-satisfaction.
T'rien is sitting, oddly enough, in the midst of a sea of greenriders. One happens to be Jaenie, from his wing, and the other to his left is T'mic. Jaenie occassionally leans in to say something to the wingleader, who nods casually as he watches the sands. Every so often he lobs a small pebble over the heads of the riders on the bench next to him, dropping them deftly onto the head of his younger sister, Seliene, who is here for the hatching with the rest of the Istans.
T'mic's been more comfortable places than sitting beside T'rien - most of them, in fact. But though he sits stiffly, on his best behavior, it doesn't stop him from smirking at the brownrider's decoration of his sister. After a few moments of quiet he leans over to murmur something into the taller man's ear.
From the sands, At last, Zahava makes an appearance on the sands, dressed up for the occasion in a long, fringed skirt that shimmers in golds and oranges, her short top loose and flowing - perfect for the sweltering sands, if not the chilly spring weather outside. She hurries out onto the sands, noting Ciath and Wyaeth, and glancing towards the stands. A hand lifts to brush her hair back from a slightly-flushed face and she takes a breath before venturing out farther.
Kylin stands near an Igen greenrider, whispering urgently and tugging at his arm until the lanky rider finally moves so she can slip past for a better view. With a blinding smile of thanks, the young lass shakes her head just 'so', allowing the hood of her cloak to call back. Another oh-so 'casual' gesture and her long locks cascade down. "It really was sweet of you to stay for the hatching F'anel, honestly, no one will mind I'm missing my cleaning shift down at Igen.."
N'thei, complete with a black eye and a hastily-dressed look, climbs the stairs at his leisure. The only glance he sends to the sands so far is speculative, more the look of someone who's got marks riding on the outcome than of someone involved with the whole shebang. Casually, he rolls down his sleeves, puts his cuffs neatly buttoned at the wrists, and succeeds in appropriating a considerable portion of a bench with a very bad view.
Jazra comes sauntering in. She's dressed as if coming directly from a sweep. And she hurries unwittingly for the swarm of greenriders. "Hey T'mic. Mind if I take a seat?" She asks casually. And then a different swarm sails in. Five firelizards. Four make for the ledges. One, a bronze, makes for her lap. Jazra strokes the bronze as one might a cat, and he's enjoying every scritch and humming every second.
From the sands, A soft shudder ripples over the midnight surface of the Nothingness Egg,
From the sands, Damp Depths Egg shudders, the green tendrils at its base appearing to wave in a current unfelt by any others near it. It cants to the side a little, pale tip darkening thanks to its new positioning.
Seliene seems quite well aware of the fact she's being pelted from above by her brother. She casually picks up a pebble that falls into her lap and whips it right at the Fortian brownrider. It hits him solidly in the middle of his chest with a sharp 'whack!', eliciting a grimace and a pained nod to T'mic. "Yeah, I know. Something tells me it isn't going to be too much of a problem for you, though."
From the sands, A soft shudder ripples over the midnight surface of the Nothingness Egg, its curves stretching a little as the life within stirs, tests its boundaries. Another set of small spasms, and it still once more.
Illya sits in a corner looking her usual grumpy self. The baby is nowehere in view, and she's somehow managed to keep a space all around her - most liekly from growling at anyone that gets too close.
From the sands, R'us plods out on the trail of the candidates, doing a last once-over the group to make sure no one's trailing too far behind. As bows are taken toward the queen and bronze, the greenrider makes his way toward the place set off away from the hubbub for the receiving of new weyrlings and their hungry hatchlings. There he spends these few, short minutes of relative quiet (relative!) helping sort meat into buckets.
From the sands, "Glad to help." Shaela tells Sferrox facetiously. "Be glad the robes are white and not pink." One of her eyes flickers in a half-wink, then she is smoothing her own robe and fidgeting with her tie. The call to enter the sands causes her to stop that and she is moving along with the others. She acknowledges the sire and dam with a respectful bow, then moves to stand in the appropriate spot.
From the sands, Quintar makes his way out onto the hot sands with the rest of the candidates, still chatting excitedly away. "Drink or weyrlinghood? We should take a poll of the riders to see which they'd have preferred after the fact." He grins as he takes his place in the line and bows to both the Damn and the Sire.
Mic's immediate right and left are taken, but there's space a couple of spaces farther down, further isolating T'rien within the sea of green. "Galleries are open," he says casually to Jazra, with a welcoming nod, then outright grins at Seliene's aim. "Not so much, no. Just wanted to make sure you knew. Think Ciath'll let us see the hatchlings?"
From the sands, The Tawny Treachery Egg shivers faintly, as if its surface is tickled by the lightest, warm Saharan breeze. It creates an optical illusion of blades of grass twitching amongst one another on the egg's shell.
From the sands, Lujayn steadies herself as she takes her first steps onto the sands, shoulders relaxing with a deep breath before she bows before Ciath and Wyaeth. A quick glance around to make sure she's not alone, fixing friends with encouraging smiles and then turning to face the trembling eggs. "That's no contest," She answers Quintar firmly.
From the sands, S'kris nods his greeting to M'yr, his own expression oddly ... grim. Nervous, maybe, but he'd never admit to such. "I find that flasks often develop legs and, ah, wander off when you need them most," he remarks in passing, jogging across to join R'us and help him out.
V'delin's chosen spot puts him near enough to the front that he can see the movements of the sand-coated eggs, and he chuckles to himself as the colors come into view. "Well, I'll just be jiggered," he comments, waving one finger about and trying to count each as it moves to get a final tally.
From the sands, "Knew a guy back home," Sferrox remarks to Shaela as he echoes her bow with his own to the dragons, "who always said real men wear pink. Pretty sure he didn't know what the heck he was talking about." He grins, though, and relaxes slightly though there's no denying he's still rather tense, eyeing the clutchparents more than the eggs for the moment.
From the sands, Suvain mills forward, lurching a few steps as the heat of the sands filters past the cork of her sandals. It passes for a bow until she bobbles her head a little more appropriately before finding her spot midst the others. Still seeking that friendly face R'us was not, the blonde teenager slips glance down this way and that, flashing Quintar a weak smile for the question he poses. "Maybe we should've all had a drink before coming out here."
From the sands, Prospector's Prize Egg gives a gentle shudder, the glittering portions of the egg catching and reflecting a thousand bejeweled beams of light which are quickly hidden by the descending cascade of sand-dust from the egg's apex.
Kylin shivers in unison with Tawny Treachery egg, her shivers purely from excitement. Peering down at the eggs, she doesn't bother to turn her head as she idly comments. "Never been to a hatching anywhere but Igen -- they look just as nervous down there as they would on our sands though."
From the sands, The Nothingness Egg pulses with energy imparted from whatever lies within it, the glassily dark ovoid then jerking once, twice. A few fine spinnerweb cracks begin to fissure the shell at both ends, while the apex bulges ominously.
From the sands, Damp Depths Egg wriggles again, the shell rippling outwards as something stirs its otherwise peaceful surface. Down in the murkiness a few cracks appear, though they're hard to spot unless you're looking at just the right place at just the right time.
From the sands, M'yr continues his random pacing, kicking up sand when he makes each curve. His hands come out of his pockets when low and behold, he sees Jenna jogging toward the sand. Motioning to her with a wide arc of his arm, he then blinks at S'kris' back as the man joins R'us. "Jenna! Hurry?" he calls out, hazarding a smile.
Jazra nods and thanks T'mic with a nod. "I just got off sweeps. We were about to go home when Liaoth suddenly starts begging me to go to Fort, << Eggs are hatching! >> she says. << Can't I go watch? They're so cute! >>" She imitates the green's pleasant soprano with a chuckle.
T'rien rubs at his chest absently as he watches the first of the eggs move. "I'm thinking she won't have much of a choice..." He sits up and forward slightly, as a glint of gold is revealed. "Is that a gold?"
From the sands, Though a few of the eggs twitch a little, most lie still in the hot sands of the hatching cavern. Suddenly, with no warning at all, the Peekaboo Egg simply crumbles as a small, brown hatchling tumbles onto the sand. He creels with surprise, drawing a comforting rumble of encouragement from his watchful mother. After slowly righting himself, he heads straight for a young boy from Half Circle Sea Hold, nearly colliding with him before he can stop himself. "Oh, careful, Polkath!" exclaims the boy, even before understanding begins to dawn on his face.
From the sands, Sybil gets quiet as she enters the sands, bowing to Ciath and Wyaeth. She looks around to see who else looks nervous, and spots Suvain. "Good luck!" she calls out softly, smiling warmly at the girl. She shifts uncomfortably as her feet start to get overly warm.
From the sands, The Tawny Treachery Egg shivers again, grasses waving in the wind. It seems one can almost hear the whisper of those blades crossing - or perhaps that's just the sand shifting beneath the smooth shell as it moves.
From the sands, Prospector's Prize Egg shivers again with invigorated effort, the seeming folds in the shell's surface undulating over one another and creating an illusion of movement that ceases in the same breath in which it began.
From the sands, Jenna reaches M'yr and says a few low words to him. Eyes go coldly up to the gallery, and then pointedly to Wyaeth. Then back to M'yr as she says another few words before giving Zahava an encouraging smile.
From the sands, The Nothingness Egg gives a sudden, convulsive heave, its glassy surface appearing to ripple as the life within tries to break free. The swelling at its apex bulges, and the cracks that developed there earlier have no time to fracture -- the end simply exploding outwards with a loud snapping sound as two dark blue forelegs punch through. Slithering free just after them are the head, shoulders, wings and tail of the emerging Demon in the Dark Blue Dragonet, who practically vaults from his prison to the sands -- a menacing hiss escaping him as he sprawls to the sand.
From the sands, -*- Demon in the Dark Blue Dragonet -*-
From broad muzzle to whip-like tail, this blue is a landscape of umbral tones -- ominous midnight predominates, overlaid with swirls of menacing indigo, chilling gunmetal, and midnight teal as if spilled oil smothers his very hide. The trailing lines and whorls of those inky hues slide and flow down strong shoulders and vanish utterly across matte wingsails, longer than are quite comfortable. Menacing browridges sweep back to meld into squat headknobs, which in turn mark the beginning of aggressively prominent neckridges. Sleek curves and strong lines comprise the rest of his form, his rear limbs lean with taut promises of a dark power that can be unleashed with sudden intensity, long paws ending in needle-like talons of dark burnished grey.
Acadia hurries up the stairs, searching for an empty seat in the galleries. Her hair is windblown and face is pink, but she made it.
From the sands, Za moves towards Ciath, beaming with pride at the first Impression, reaching out a hand to stroke the clutch mother's leg, before shooting a glance towards Wyaeth, and then lifting her hand to wave to Jenna and M'yr, her chin lifting slightly.
V'delin sits forward on his perch as the first pair impresses, snapping his fingers and cursing softly under his breath. "Lost on that one. Brownpair. Who guesses brown as the first impression? Shards."
From the sands, Quintar smiles his reply. "I suspect you're probably right." He says as he tries to get himself settled comfortably on his feet. "I hope it's quick, I was standing out here for what seemed like a day the last time." He just can't stop chatting, trying to calm his own nerves in the process. "Ohh he don't look happy does he!" He murmurs in a bit more of a subdued voice as the blue makes it's menacing appearance.
From the sands, Shaela laughs silently, or maybe it is aloud--who can tell in all this noise? "Sferrox, that man--" But she doesn't finish because her attention is drawn by the first hatching and Impression. Suvain's comment about a drink reaches her, though and she nods, "Best idea I've heard all day."
Jazra's eyes widen. "Shells, that's a fierce looking blue. Lookit T'mic. Nasty looking fellow. I just hope he doesn't start charging candidates." She shudders. "But still, he does look kind of handsome."
From the sands, Wyaeth remains mindless of pointed looks. He can hardly be held accountable! He goes on sort-of-crooning to the eggs, more like rumbling his throat at them, likely not the prettiest sound to behold promptly at birth. Seems to be making him happy though.
T'mic was watching that brown, applauding politely for the Impression, but at the mention of the metallic he pauses, goggling at T'rien for a moment before whipping back to the sands. "Nah. Couldn't be. Even with that mess of bronzes Telgar threw. Is it? --Shells, look at that blue."
From the sands, S'kris fidgets just a little, then espies Polkath and his rider, motioning them over. He murmurs a few encouraging words and herds them over to the weyrling nook for R'us to tend to. The latest blue elicits an arched eyebrow and a wary, almost concerned, look to the candidates.
From the sands, Demon in the Dark Blue dragonet quickly heaves itself up to all fours, deeply crouched amidst the wreckage of one end of its shell as it sizes up those nearest it. Wings unfurl slowly, to mantle about its dark form as menacing red eyes glare at the white robed things. A grating sound emits from its throat, and the little blue is suddenly in motion, scampering, almost slithering at times across the sand. It nearly bowls over two lads trying to get past them, easily parting the semi-circle to emerge on the /outside/ of the humans. Whirling about a little clumsily, the hatchling growls at those who once surrounded him, and begins a slithering pace as he sizes up each pink, squirming thing from the safety of the edge of the Sands.
From the sands, M'yr stands close to Jenna, leaning toward her during the whispering she sends to him. His dark eyes flash when he peers into the gallery, nervousness gone in favor of.. well.. something else. All he does is nod. For now.
From the sands, Lujayn is taking deep breaths, gray eyes wide. Smiles are intermittent, as if she has to remind herself to do so. "Not too quick," She hopes fervently, looking here and there to view every event. The first brown dragonet has hardly impressed when her head turns again to catch the hatching of a blue. "He looks vicious."
T'rien draws back, somewhat alarmed at the blue's behavior. "You aren't kidding," he murmurs. "Shards, that one's gonna be a handful." He tosses another pebble toward Seliene, who catches it and hurls it right back. *whack!*
V'ryce only smirks at M'yr's nervousness while the Fortian Weyrleader talks to Jenna, the younger bronzerider sipping from his flask and watching, listening.
From the sands, Sybil watches the blue dragonet warily, edging back a little as she gets jostled by one of the boys who were pushed aside by him on his way by. "He's...intense..." she says, watching him and looking around, eyes wide.
Kylin sips from the wineskin passed her way and charmingly chuckles but it's a charm that's hollow even to her own ears and the girl giggles outright, much more naturally. "Da told me to be on my best behavior but as I'm not one to behave that often it's ... a puzzle." With a studiedshrug the fifteen winks and passes the skin back to her Igen companion.
Rahna sneaks between a bluerider and his weyrmate for a better view of the sands. She seems intrigued by the fierce hatchling.
From the sands, Now the hatchlings take Sferrox's attention. As more of them hatch, including the blue that prowls around the outside of their circle, the big candidate is watching with a readiness to his stance. "What idea's that?" he asks Shaela, having apparently missed Suvain's suggestion himself. He's distracted-sounding in conversation now.
Ven's watching the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, fascinated by the dynamic, and his keen blue gaze tries to follow Jenna's when she peers into the gallery - not certain of it's destination, his eyes pass over N'thei's chosen bad seat locale, and he smirks to himself before scooting even further from the clutchsire and over toward V'ryce, who has that alluring flask. "Mind sharing a sip of whatever you've got there? Have a feeling I'll need it."
From the sands, Rings begin to crack, fine lines darting across the smooth shell as the Festive Bands Egg begins to open. A fine, green paw pushes through first, but with the tension broken, it is only a moment before the newest hatchling has emerged partly from her shell. A large sectioned of yellowed squares clings to her back as she begins to search the sands for her lifemate. Occasionally, she pauses to try to dislodge it, but hunger and need for her companion drive her on. It's not until she's stopped before a tall red-headed apprentice Weaver that the piece is lost - the new rider reaching out to remove it as she says, "Ug, that IS terribly itchy, Salibath!"
From the sands, The grasses on the surface of the Tawny Treachery Egg sway in their silent, mysterious breeze, their movement revealing a great leaking crack. Another seeming gust of wind shivers the savannah more, and now the leak turns into a flood. Out rushes the bulky shape of a large bronze hatchling, his dripping head held high to give him the best vantage on the results of his successful escape.
T'mic leans well out of the rock-throwing alley, but he's watching that blue. "Handful's putting it nicely. /Aath/ was a handful. /He/ looks... shells. Whoever gets him better be pushy and stubborn. Pushier and stubborner."
From the sands, Suvain manages the weakest little grin at Shaela's return comment, her fingers flexing in an uncontrolled fidget that tugs at her too short robe. "Seriously though." Tense, the Bollian blonde tries to forcibly relax, the succession of dragons hatching doing little for her nerves. "Hey," she notes low to Lujayn near by, apprehensive, "If he's vicious, does that mean we should get ready to jump out of the way?"
From the sands, -*- Coarse-Cast Stalwart Bronze Dragonet -*-
Rugged already, this solid and broad-chested bronze did not spend long beneath the smithy's hammer. Left rough in shape and plain in coloration, he seems not unfinished so much as unpolished. Bulky muscle, well-fed and eager for use, conveys a gravity that lends itself to an authoritative stride. Nowhere but in keen eyes and wicked talons is his color dark and shadowed; a bronze opalescence strikes fire into his fallow and khaki hide, sun-blinding and warm along arched neckridges and in the spartan planes of his wingsails. His tail is sinewy, his belly high and lean, and his shoulders so prominent that with every movement the workings of his joints are revealed in waves rippling on the surface. Wrought by an expert and artistic yet hurried hand, his face might have suggested aristocracy. Instead, its rough angles and hard lines achieve a wild youthfulness.
From the sands, Shaela eyes the prowling blue impassively. "Probably just hungry." She shrugs, unconcerned for the moment, as it isn't near her. "Have a drink before we come out on the Sands. Calms the nerves or some such thing." She answers Sferrox before returning her attention to the pile of eggs.
Jazra watches the blue with the eye of a seasoned rider. "I think we have a speed demon on our hands. Lookit how he ran. Those candidates had better watch out. I just hope that bronze isn't as bad. That's the last thing they need down there. A blue /and/ a bronze crashing around."
Yes yes, N'thei's getting death-looks. It helps clear a little space around him when people gradually put two-and-two together, can't complain with a little extra elbow room. He drinks quietly, handy-dandy flask, watches with an unfettered smile.
From the sands, Coarse-Cast Stalwart Bronze Hatchling prowls forth from the ruins of his shell, a twitchy shrug of his foreshoulders flicking wet droplets this way and that, dismissing the shell-shards from which he came. He does not quite dismiss his sire so easily. A few plodding steps out onto the sand and his eyes whirl faster, his snout pointed toward the beast so like him, yet so different. A little whuff of hot air escapes his muzzle and after another shrug to coax his hide to fit him proper, the bronze hatchling's focus fixes on those bodies in white. His maw hangs open a second, almost like a grin, and he starts their way.
From the sands, The Damp Depths Egg ripples one last time, the eye in the darkness blinking once before the egg appears to implode. Where once there was egg there now stands a tiny brown hatchling, teleported from the safety of his shell and out into the confusion of the real world.
From the sands, -*- Timeless Trickster Brown Dragonet -*_
Pale sienna washes over a miniaturized form, giving this brown dragon a permanent dusting across shoulders and back. His face is dark, leathery, with headknobs that seem squashed down into place. Likewise his legs are shortened, stunted even, but their color is less pure - in places they are almost black, as if dampness has settled in his hide. His stomach is lean and pale, echoing the brightness that cloaks his back; the colour darkens as it sweeps down his stubby tail. Only his wings seem normally sized, falling almost comically about him in a deep sepia cloak.
From the sands, Quintar is having difficulty trying to stand still while still keeping his eyes on what is happening around him. Especially that prowling blue. "Is it wrong to be nervous that he's behind us while everything else is in front of us?" He checks as he flicks his gaze back and forward as some pairs start to get led away already.
*** I lost my connection here, and may have missed a couple of poses. ***
From the sands, Coming up close - maybe close enough for discomfort - to the candidates now, Coarse-Cast Stalwart Bronze Hatchling pauses near a little cluster of boys and exhales a steamy breath their way. One of the boys steps forward, hand out, thoughtlessly bold. But the dragonet's whirling eyes reflect in their facets other white-robed shapes, and just as that boy with the outstretched hand takes another step and reaches farther like he might dare to touch, the bronze strides away to consider a few other possibilities, tail lashing powerfully in his wake. The healer's son who almost touched him is left to jump out of the way lest he earn more than experience.
Kylin startles at the nearby voice and manages to tear her gaze away from the sands. "It never grows old.." With a quirk of her lips, the girl explains. "That look of terror, hope, sweat and confusion. Cute, really.." With a wriggle and a slight jump, the teen makes room for Acadia, patting the now empty spot. "Igen's duties, ma'am."
From the sands, Suvain is not reassured. Not in the least, but Lujayn's uneasy laugh results in her own in response. "It's happening too quickly," she remarks, somehow displeased even if she's a mess of nerves. "I promise I'll push you over if anything comes our way if you promise to push me too. I don't know if my legs will rightly move anymore." Again to Lujayn, a quicker, more silvery smile flashes before she's attentive to the goings on of the sands once more, particularly watchful of that vicious dubbed blue.
From the sands, The Seamless Puzzle Egg begins to rock, tipping wildly back and forth as seams begin to mar its surface. When it finally opens, it is as though a hatch comes apart, spilling the dark green inside onto her nose. She rights herself immediately, shaking herself off without a second thought, then marches straight towards a lanky brown-haired young man known as Wathenal. W'nal wipes at teary eyes as he guides his lovely Meskiath off the sands.
From the sands, The pocked Prospector's Prize egg gives a final shake and startes to crumble inward from top to bottom, fine powder drifting downwards to scatter into the sand around it, until all that remains is a platter-like curve, still holding the dragonet that lay within. Unfolding gracefully from her shell, this lithe and lissome gold seems to be very aware of her place in life already, head lifting regally to look up at her dam, with all the respect due to the elder gold. She flicks away a little piece of clinging egg gently, flutters her young wings to disperse the dust, and stands poised on the mound of sand and greyed-gold shards that held her. Wide whirling eyes consider the roar of voices from the galleries, and more importantly, the Candidates on the Sands, with careful attention.
From the sands, Shaela shifts to keep one eye on the blue as it pads nearer. "Yup." She answers Sferrox briefly with a bit of a chuckle at his comment about worries. "Watching same as I did in the Galleries back home." She her voice doesn't seem to carry any undercurrent of emotion. "Though it is a bit different being down on the Sands..." Her voice trails off and she's wriggling her toes. "Hot!"
From the sands, -*- Elegant Socialite Gold Dragonet -*-
Graceful elegance characterizes the slender lines of this platinum gold's form. A refined, narrow muzzle broadens to perfectly spaced watchful eyes and slightly curved gilt-tipped headknobs which give an impression of a crowning tiara. The blush of dawn spreads down her slender neck in silken waves, spilling into wide wings seemingly made of champagne tulle, so pale and transparent across the sails that at times they barely seem to keep out the sun. Her hide is lustrous despite her pallor, surrounded by an aura of natural luminescence. The sinuous curve of her body balances on lean, aesthetic limbs, delicate claws splaying long-fingered like the spreading branches of a flowering spray-shrub. Memorable to the last, her tail echoes the same lithe suppleness as the rest of her, curling out into a neat tip, ever so slightly elongated to a flaxen end carried with distinction.
IC Date: Estimated at 3/22/14
NC is down, so this was held on TooMUSH. The date is estimated. I'm going to try to get everyone's name in the tags, but I apologize if I miss someone; it's spammy.
To recap, there were 12 eggs (sometimes counted as 15) that resulted in 1 gold, 1 bronze, 2 brown, 3 blue, and 5 green dragons.
From the sands, Ciath spreads her pale gold wings, humming fit to shake the very grains of sand beneath her talons as she prepares to welcome the occupants of her gently-rocking clutch of eggs. The yong gold reaches out to nudge one the One Layer After Another Egg as it starts to tip from the exertions of the hatchling within, helping to settle it on its side.
From the sands, M'yr's a nervous wreck, his fists shoved deeply into the pockets as he pants from racing to the sand. He paces back and forth, dark eyes darting about the area. "S'kris." he nods, lips in a tight line, brows furrowed. "Shards. Where's my flask when I need it."
V'delin's missed out on the good seats before, and he's not about to this time. He's here as soon as the dragons begin humming, Imirath's wings flashing above as the dragon settles into place on the ledges. At least the Skysentry rider is freshly bathed, a fact the towel still resting over his shoulders suggests. He rubs vigorously at his hair, drying it before the cold Fortian air can freeze it solid, and slips, innnocuous and proud, into a good vantage point.
V'ryce scrambles the last few steps into the galleries, apologizing as he moves his way among the crowd, to finally find a tight fitting seat near S'kris and M'yr. Overhearing the Weyrleader, he murmurs with tight excitement, "Mmf, here you are, Sir." then passing him a large flask.
From the sands, Wyaeth arrives late-- but you know the saying. He rids himself of N'thei some time before swaggering on to the sands, picks up the humming with a gritty voice, more grating out sound than humming as such. He settles down opposite Ciath to book-end the eggs, to wait with a swell of undue self-satisfaction.
T'rien is sitting, oddly enough, in the midst of a sea of greenriders. One happens to be Jaenie, from his wing, and the other to his left is T'mic. Jaenie occassionally leans in to say something to the wingleader, who nods casually as he watches the sands. Every so often he lobs a small pebble over the heads of the riders on the bench next to him, dropping them deftly onto the head of his younger sister, Seliene, who is here for the hatching with the rest of the Istans.
T'mic's been more comfortable places than sitting beside T'rien - most of them, in fact. But though he sits stiffly, on his best behavior, it doesn't stop him from smirking at the brownrider's decoration of his sister. After a few moments of quiet he leans over to murmur something into the taller man's ear.
From the sands, At last, Zahava makes an appearance on the sands, dressed up for the occasion in a long, fringed skirt that shimmers in golds and oranges, her short top loose and flowing - perfect for the sweltering sands, if not the chilly spring weather outside. She hurries out onto the sands, noting Ciath and Wyaeth, and glancing towards the stands. A hand lifts to brush her hair back from a slightly-flushed face and she takes a breath before venturing out farther.
Kylin stands near an Igen greenrider, whispering urgently and tugging at his arm until the lanky rider finally moves so she can slip past for a better view. With a blinding smile of thanks, the young lass shakes her head just 'so', allowing the hood of her cloak to call back. Another oh-so 'casual' gesture and her long locks cascade down. "It really was sweet of you to stay for the hatching F'anel, honestly, no one will mind I'm missing my cleaning shift down at Igen.."
N'thei, complete with a black eye and a hastily-dressed look, climbs the stairs at his leisure. The only glance he sends to the sands so far is speculative, more the look of someone who's got marks riding on the outcome than of someone involved with the whole shebang. Casually, he rolls down his sleeves, puts his cuffs neatly buttoned at the wrists, and succeeds in appropriating a considerable portion of a bench with a very bad view.
Jazra comes sauntering in. She's dressed as if coming directly from a sweep. And she hurries unwittingly for the swarm of greenriders. "Hey T'mic. Mind if I take a seat?" She asks casually. And then a different swarm sails in. Five firelizards. Four make for the ledges. One, a bronze, makes for her lap. Jazra strokes the bronze as one might a cat, and he's enjoying every scritch and humming every second.
From the sands, A soft shudder ripples over the midnight surface of the Nothingness Egg,
From the sands, Damp Depths Egg shudders, the green tendrils at its base appearing to wave in a current unfelt by any others near it. It cants to the side a little, pale tip darkening thanks to its new positioning.
Seliene seems quite well aware of the fact she's being pelted from above by her brother. She casually picks up a pebble that falls into her lap and whips it right at the Fortian brownrider. It hits him solidly in the middle of his chest with a sharp 'whack!', eliciting a grimace and a pained nod to T'mic. "Yeah, I know. Something tells me it isn't going to be too much of a problem for you, though."
From the sands, A soft shudder ripples over the midnight surface of the Nothingness Egg, its curves stretching a little as the life within stirs, tests its boundaries. Another set of small spasms, and it still once more.
Illya sits in a corner looking her usual grumpy self. The baby is nowehere in view, and she's somehow managed to keep a space all around her - most liekly from growling at anyone that gets too close.
From the sands, R'us plods out on the trail of the candidates, doing a last once-over the group to make sure no one's trailing too far behind. As bows are taken toward the queen and bronze, the greenrider makes his way toward the place set off away from the hubbub for the receiving of new weyrlings and their hungry hatchlings. There he spends these few, short minutes of relative quiet (relative!) helping sort meat into buckets.
From the sands, "Glad to help." Shaela tells Sferrox facetiously. "Be glad the robes are white and not pink." One of her eyes flickers in a half-wink, then she is smoothing her own robe and fidgeting with her tie. The call to enter the sands causes her to stop that and she is moving along with the others. She acknowledges the sire and dam with a respectful bow, then moves to stand in the appropriate spot.
From the sands, Quintar makes his way out onto the hot sands with the rest of the candidates, still chatting excitedly away. "Drink or weyrlinghood? We should take a poll of the riders to see which they'd have preferred after the fact." He grins as he takes his place in the line and bows to both the Damn and the Sire.
Mic's immediate right and left are taken, but there's space a couple of spaces farther down, further isolating T'rien within the sea of green. "Galleries are open," he says casually to Jazra, with a welcoming nod, then outright grins at Seliene's aim. "Not so much, no. Just wanted to make sure you knew. Think Ciath'll let us see the hatchlings?"
From the sands, The Tawny Treachery Egg shivers faintly, as if its surface is tickled by the lightest, warm Saharan breeze. It creates an optical illusion of blades of grass twitching amongst one another on the egg's shell.
From the sands, Lujayn steadies herself as she takes her first steps onto the sands, shoulders relaxing with a deep breath before she bows before Ciath and Wyaeth. A quick glance around to make sure she's not alone, fixing friends with encouraging smiles and then turning to face the trembling eggs. "That's no contest," She answers Quintar firmly.
From the sands, S'kris nods his greeting to M'yr, his own expression oddly ... grim. Nervous, maybe, but he'd never admit to such. "I find that flasks often develop legs and, ah, wander off when you need them most," he remarks in passing, jogging across to join R'us and help him out.
V'delin's chosen spot puts him near enough to the front that he can see the movements of the sand-coated eggs, and he chuckles to himself as the colors come into view. "Well, I'll just be jiggered," he comments, waving one finger about and trying to count each as it moves to get a final tally.
From the sands, "Knew a guy back home," Sferrox remarks to Shaela as he echoes her bow with his own to the dragons, "who always said real men wear pink. Pretty sure he didn't know what the heck he was talking about." He grins, though, and relaxes slightly though there's no denying he's still rather tense, eyeing the clutchparents more than the eggs for the moment.
From the sands, Suvain mills forward, lurching a few steps as the heat of the sands filters past the cork of her sandals. It passes for a bow until she bobbles her head a little more appropriately before finding her spot midst the others. Still seeking that friendly face R'us was not, the blonde teenager slips glance down this way and that, flashing Quintar a weak smile for the question he poses. "Maybe we should've all had a drink before coming out here."
From the sands, Prospector's Prize Egg gives a gentle shudder, the glittering portions of the egg catching and reflecting a thousand bejeweled beams of light which are quickly hidden by the descending cascade of sand-dust from the egg's apex.
Kylin shivers in unison with Tawny Treachery egg, her shivers purely from excitement. Peering down at the eggs, she doesn't bother to turn her head as she idly comments. "Never been to a hatching anywhere but Igen -- they look just as nervous down there as they would on our sands though."
From the sands, The Nothingness Egg pulses with energy imparted from whatever lies within it, the glassily dark ovoid then jerking once, twice. A few fine spinnerweb cracks begin to fissure the shell at both ends, while the apex bulges ominously.
From the sands, Damp Depths Egg wriggles again, the shell rippling outwards as something stirs its otherwise peaceful surface. Down in the murkiness a few cracks appear, though they're hard to spot unless you're looking at just the right place at just the right time.
From the sands, M'yr continues his random pacing, kicking up sand when he makes each curve. His hands come out of his pockets when low and behold, he sees Jenna jogging toward the sand. Motioning to her with a wide arc of his arm, he then blinks at S'kris' back as the man joins R'us. "Jenna! Hurry?" he calls out, hazarding a smile.
Jazra nods and thanks T'mic with a nod. "I just got off sweeps. We were about to go home when Liaoth suddenly starts begging me to go to Fort, << Eggs are hatching! >> she says. << Can't I go watch? They're so cute! >>" She imitates the green's pleasant soprano with a chuckle.
T'rien rubs at his chest absently as he watches the first of the eggs move. "I'm thinking she won't have much of a choice..." He sits up and forward slightly, as a glint of gold is revealed. "Is that a gold?"
From the sands, Though a few of the eggs twitch a little, most lie still in the hot sands of the hatching cavern. Suddenly, with no warning at all, the Peekaboo Egg simply crumbles as a small, brown hatchling tumbles onto the sand. He creels with surprise, drawing a comforting rumble of encouragement from his watchful mother. After slowly righting himself, he heads straight for a young boy from Half Circle Sea Hold, nearly colliding with him before he can stop himself. "Oh, careful, Polkath!" exclaims the boy, even before understanding begins to dawn on his face.
From the sands, Sybil gets quiet as she enters the sands, bowing to Ciath and Wyaeth. She looks around to see who else looks nervous, and spots Suvain. "Good luck!" she calls out softly, smiling warmly at the girl. She shifts uncomfortably as her feet start to get overly warm.
From the sands, The Tawny Treachery Egg shivers again, grasses waving in the wind. It seems one can almost hear the whisper of those blades crossing - or perhaps that's just the sand shifting beneath the smooth shell as it moves.
From the sands, Prospector's Prize Egg shivers again with invigorated effort, the seeming folds in the shell's surface undulating over one another and creating an illusion of movement that ceases in the same breath in which it began.
From the sands, Jenna reaches M'yr and says a few low words to him. Eyes go coldly up to the gallery, and then pointedly to Wyaeth. Then back to M'yr as she says another few words before giving Zahava an encouraging smile.
From the sands, The Nothingness Egg gives a sudden, convulsive heave, its glassy surface appearing to ripple as the life within tries to break free. The swelling at its apex bulges, and the cracks that developed there earlier have no time to fracture -- the end simply exploding outwards with a loud snapping sound as two dark blue forelegs punch through. Slithering free just after them are the head, shoulders, wings and tail of the emerging Demon in the Dark Blue Dragonet, who practically vaults from his prison to the sands -- a menacing hiss escaping him as he sprawls to the sand.
From the sands, -*- Demon in the Dark Blue Dragonet -*-
From broad muzzle to whip-like tail, this blue is a landscape of umbral tones -- ominous midnight predominates, overlaid with swirls of menacing indigo, chilling gunmetal, and midnight teal as if spilled oil smothers his very hide. The trailing lines and whorls of those inky hues slide and flow down strong shoulders and vanish utterly across matte wingsails, longer than are quite comfortable. Menacing browridges sweep back to meld into squat headknobs, which in turn mark the beginning of aggressively prominent neckridges. Sleek curves and strong lines comprise the rest of his form, his rear limbs lean with taut promises of a dark power that can be unleashed with sudden intensity, long paws ending in needle-like talons of dark burnished grey.
Acadia hurries up the stairs, searching for an empty seat in the galleries. Her hair is windblown and face is pink, but she made it.
From the sands, Za moves towards Ciath, beaming with pride at the first Impression, reaching out a hand to stroke the clutch mother's leg, before shooting a glance towards Wyaeth, and then lifting her hand to wave to Jenna and M'yr, her chin lifting slightly.
V'delin sits forward on his perch as the first pair impresses, snapping his fingers and cursing softly under his breath. "Lost on that one. Brownpair. Who guesses brown as the first impression? Shards."
From the sands, Quintar smiles his reply. "I suspect you're probably right." He says as he tries to get himself settled comfortably on his feet. "I hope it's quick, I was standing out here for what seemed like a day the last time." He just can't stop chatting, trying to calm his own nerves in the process. "Ohh he don't look happy does he!" He murmurs in a bit more of a subdued voice as the blue makes it's menacing appearance.
From the sands, Shaela laughs silently, or maybe it is aloud--who can tell in all this noise? "Sferrox, that man--" But she doesn't finish because her attention is drawn by the first hatching and Impression. Suvain's comment about a drink reaches her, though and she nods, "Best idea I've heard all day."
Jazra's eyes widen. "Shells, that's a fierce looking blue. Lookit T'mic. Nasty looking fellow. I just hope he doesn't start charging candidates." She shudders. "But still, he does look kind of handsome."
From the sands, Wyaeth remains mindless of pointed looks. He can hardly be held accountable! He goes on sort-of-crooning to the eggs, more like rumbling his throat at them, likely not the prettiest sound to behold promptly at birth. Seems to be making him happy though.
T'mic was watching that brown, applauding politely for the Impression, but at the mention of the metallic he pauses, goggling at T'rien for a moment before whipping back to the sands. "Nah. Couldn't be. Even with that mess of bronzes Telgar threw. Is it? --Shells, look at that blue."
From the sands, S'kris fidgets just a little, then espies Polkath and his rider, motioning them over. He murmurs a few encouraging words and herds them over to the weyrling nook for R'us to tend to. The latest blue elicits an arched eyebrow and a wary, almost concerned, look to the candidates.
From the sands, Demon in the Dark Blue dragonet quickly heaves itself up to all fours, deeply crouched amidst the wreckage of one end of its shell as it sizes up those nearest it. Wings unfurl slowly, to mantle about its dark form as menacing red eyes glare at the white robed things. A grating sound emits from its throat, and the little blue is suddenly in motion, scampering, almost slithering at times across the sand. It nearly bowls over two lads trying to get past them, easily parting the semi-circle to emerge on the /outside/ of the humans. Whirling about a little clumsily, the hatchling growls at those who once surrounded him, and begins a slithering pace as he sizes up each pink, squirming thing from the safety of the edge of the Sands.
From the sands, M'yr stands close to Jenna, leaning toward her during the whispering she sends to him. His dark eyes flash when he peers into the gallery, nervousness gone in favor of.. well.. something else. All he does is nod. For now.
From the sands, Lujayn is taking deep breaths, gray eyes wide. Smiles are intermittent, as if she has to remind herself to do so. "Not too quick," She hopes fervently, looking here and there to view every event. The first brown dragonet has hardly impressed when her head turns again to catch the hatching of a blue. "He looks vicious."
T'rien draws back, somewhat alarmed at the blue's behavior. "You aren't kidding," he murmurs. "Shards, that one's gonna be a handful." He tosses another pebble toward Seliene, who catches it and hurls it right back. *whack!*
V'ryce only smirks at M'yr's nervousness while the Fortian Weyrleader talks to Jenna, the younger bronzerider sipping from his flask and watching, listening.
From the sands, Sybil watches the blue dragonet warily, edging back a little as she gets jostled by one of the boys who were pushed aside by him on his way by. "He's...intense..." she says, watching him and looking around, eyes wide.
Kylin sips from the wineskin passed her way and charmingly chuckles but it's a charm that's hollow even to her own ears and the girl giggles outright, much more naturally. "Da told me to be on my best behavior but as I'm not one to behave that often it's ... a puzzle." With a studiedshrug the fifteen winks and passes the skin back to her Igen companion.
Rahna sneaks between a bluerider and his weyrmate for a better view of the sands. She seems intrigued by the fierce hatchling.
From the sands, Now the hatchlings take Sferrox's attention. As more of them hatch, including the blue that prowls around the outside of their circle, the big candidate is watching with a readiness to his stance. "What idea's that?" he asks Shaela, having apparently missed Suvain's suggestion himself. He's distracted-sounding in conversation now.
Ven's watching the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, fascinated by the dynamic, and his keen blue gaze tries to follow Jenna's when she peers into the gallery - not certain of it's destination, his eyes pass over N'thei's chosen bad seat locale, and he smirks to himself before scooting even further from the clutchsire and over toward V'ryce, who has that alluring flask. "Mind sharing a sip of whatever you've got there? Have a feeling I'll need it."
From the sands, Rings begin to crack, fine lines darting across the smooth shell as the Festive Bands Egg begins to open. A fine, green paw pushes through first, but with the tension broken, it is only a moment before the newest hatchling has emerged partly from her shell. A large sectioned of yellowed squares clings to her back as she begins to search the sands for her lifemate. Occasionally, she pauses to try to dislodge it, but hunger and need for her companion drive her on. It's not until she's stopped before a tall red-headed apprentice Weaver that the piece is lost - the new rider reaching out to remove it as she says, "Ug, that IS terribly itchy, Salibath!"
From the sands, The grasses on the surface of the Tawny Treachery Egg sway in their silent, mysterious breeze, their movement revealing a great leaking crack. Another seeming gust of wind shivers the savannah more, and now the leak turns into a flood. Out rushes the bulky shape of a large bronze hatchling, his dripping head held high to give him the best vantage on the results of his successful escape.
T'mic leans well out of the rock-throwing alley, but he's watching that blue. "Handful's putting it nicely. /Aath/ was a handful. /He/ looks... shells. Whoever gets him better be pushy and stubborn. Pushier and stubborner."
From the sands, Suvain manages the weakest little grin at Shaela's return comment, her fingers flexing in an uncontrolled fidget that tugs at her too short robe. "Seriously though." Tense, the Bollian blonde tries to forcibly relax, the succession of dragons hatching doing little for her nerves. "Hey," she notes low to Lujayn near by, apprehensive, "If he's vicious, does that mean we should get ready to jump out of the way?"
From the sands, -*- Coarse-Cast Stalwart Bronze Dragonet -*-
Rugged already, this solid and broad-chested bronze did not spend long beneath the smithy's hammer. Left rough in shape and plain in coloration, he seems not unfinished so much as unpolished. Bulky muscle, well-fed and eager for use, conveys a gravity that lends itself to an authoritative stride. Nowhere but in keen eyes and wicked talons is his color dark and shadowed; a bronze opalescence strikes fire into his fallow and khaki hide, sun-blinding and warm along arched neckridges and in the spartan planes of his wingsails. His tail is sinewy, his belly high and lean, and his shoulders so prominent that with every movement the workings of his joints are revealed in waves rippling on the surface. Wrought by an expert and artistic yet hurried hand, his face might have suggested aristocracy. Instead, its rough angles and hard lines achieve a wild youthfulness.
From the sands, Shaela eyes the prowling blue impassively. "Probably just hungry." She shrugs, unconcerned for the moment, as it isn't near her. "Have a drink before we come out on the Sands. Calms the nerves or some such thing." She answers Sferrox before returning her attention to the pile of eggs.
Jazra watches the blue with the eye of a seasoned rider. "I think we have a speed demon on our hands. Lookit how he ran. Those candidates had better watch out. I just hope that bronze isn't as bad. That's the last thing they need down there. A blue /and/ a bronze crashing around."
Yes yes, N'thei's getting death-looks. It helps clear a little space around him when people gradually put two-and-two together, can't complain with a little extra elbow room. He drinks quietly, handy-dandy flask, watches with an unfettered smile.
From the sands, Coarse-Cast Stalwart Bronze Hatchling prowls forth from the ruins of his shell, a twitchy shrug of his foreshoulders flicking wet droplets this way and that, dismissing the shell-shards from which he came. He does not quite dismiss his sire so easily. A few plodding steps out onto the sand and his eyes whirl faster, his snout pointed toward the beast so like him, yet so different. A little whuff of hot air escapes his muzzle and after another shrug to coax his hide to fit him proper, the bronze hatchling's focus fixes on those bodies in white. His maw hangs open a second, almost like a grin, and he starts their way.
From the sands, The Damp Depths Egg ripples one last time, the eye in the darkness blinking once before the egg appears to implode. Where once there was egg there now stands a tiny brown hatchling, teleported from the safety of his shell and out into the confusion of the real world.
From the sands, -*- Timeless Trickster Brown Dragonet -*_
Pale sienna washes over a miniaturized form, giving this brown dragon a permanent dusting across shoulders and back. His face is dark, leathery, with headknobs that seem squashed down into place. Likewise his legs are shortened, stunted even, but their color is less pure - in places they are almost black, as if dampness has settled in his hide. His stomach is lean and pale, echoing the brightness that cloaks his back; the colour darkens as it sweeps down his stubby tail. Only his wings seem normally sized, falling almost comically about him in a deep sepia cloak.
From the sands, Quintar is having difficulty trying to stand still while still keeping his eyes on what is happening around him. Especially that prowling blue. "Is it wrong to be nervous that he's behind us while everything else is in front of us?" He checks as he flicks his gaze back and forward as some pairs start to get led away already.
*** I lost my connection here, and may have missed a couple of poses. ***
From the sands, Coming up close - maybe close enough for discomfort - to the candidates now, Coarse-Cast Stalwart Bronze Hatchling pauses near a little cluster of boys and exhales a steamy breath their way. One of the boys steps forward, hand out, thoughtlessly bold. But the dragonet's whirling eyes reflect in their facets other white-robed shapes, and just as that boy with the outstretched hand takes another step and reaches farther like he might dare to touch, the bronze strides away to consider a few other possibilities, tail lashing powerfully in his wake. The healer's son who almost touched him is left to jump out of the way lest he earn more than experience.
Kylin startles at the nearby voice and manages to tear her gaze away from the sands. "It never grows old.." With a quirk of her lips, the girl explains. "That look of terror, hope, sweat and confusion. Cute, really.." With a wriggle and a slight jump, the teen makes room for Acadia, patting the now empty spot. "Igen's duties, ma'am."
From the sands, Suvain is not reassured. Not in the least, but Lujayn's uneasy laugh results in her own in response. "It's happening too quickly," she remarks, somehow displeased even if she's a mess of nerves. "I promise I'll push you over if anything comes our way if you promise to push me too. I don't know if my legs will rightly move anymore." Again to Lujayn, a quicker, more silvery smile flashes before she's attentive to the goings on of the sands once more, particularly watchful of that vicious dubbed blue.
From the sands, The Seamless Puzzle Egg begins to rock, tipping wildly back and forth as seams begin to mar its surface. When it finally opens, it is as though a hatch comes apart, spilling the dark green inside onto her nose. She rights herself immediately, shaking herself off without a second thought, then marches straight towards a lanky brown-haired young man known as Wathenal. W'nal wipes at teary eyes as he guides his lovely Meskiath off the sands.
From the sands, The pocked Prospector's Prize egg gives a final shake and startes to crumble inward from top to bottom, fine powder drifting downwards to scatter into the sand around it, until all that remains is a platter-like curve, still holding the dragonet that lay within. Unfolding gracefully from her shell, this lithe and lissome gold seems to be very aware of her place in life already, head lifting regally to look up at her dam, with all the respect due to the elder gold. She flicks away a little piece of clinging egg gently, flutters her young wings to disperse the dust, and stands poised on the mound of sand and greyed-gold shards that held her. Wide whirling eyes consider the roar of voices from the galleries, and more importantly, the Candidates on the Sands, with careful attention.
From the sands, Shaela shifts to keep one eye on the blue as it pads nearer. "Yup." She answers Sferrox briefly with a bit of a chuckle at his comment about worries. "Watching same as I did in the Galleries back home." She her voice doesn't seem to carry any undercurrent of emotion. "Though it is a bit different being down on the Sands..." Her voice trails off and she's wriggling her toes. "Hot!"
From the sands, -*- Elegant Socialite Gold Dragonet -*-
Graceful elegance characterizes the slender lines of this platinum gold's form. A refined, narrow muzzle broadens to perfectly spaced watchful eyes and slightly curved gilt-tipped headknobs which give an impression of a crowning tiara. The blush of dawn spreads down her slender neck in silken waves, spilling into wide wings seemingly made of champagne tulle, so pale and transparent across the sails that at times they barely seem to keep out the sun. Her hide is lustrous despite her pallor, surrounded by an aura of natural luminescence. The sinuous curve of her body balances on lean, aesthetic limbs, delicate claws splaying long-fingered like the spreading branches of a flowering spray-shrub. Memorable to the last, her tail echoes the same lithe suppleness as the rest of her, curling out into a neat tip, ever so slightly elongated to a flaxen end carried with distinction.