[Log] Eggy Murder, Pt. 2
Who: Borser (NPC), E'sere, Essdara, G'thon, J'cor, Jiann, Jolasek, Katric (NPC), Kianda, Natain, Roa, R'vain, Sinopa, Tavaly, Yevide (NPCed)
When: Day 12, Month 5, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Where: Northern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr; Hatching Grounds Entrance, High Reaches Weyr; Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
What: A candidate meeting is interrupted when Ulyath's eggs are attacked.
Notes: Find Pt. 1 here.
Not long after the distress call was issued, at least one half of High Reaches native gold pair arrives. Out of breath and slightly harried looking - most likely having left before being able to arrange her hair just /so/ - Sinopa arrives on the sands. Well, on the sands would be up for debate. The junior draws up to a stop at the entrance to the hatching caverns and stares wide-eyed at the gruesome scene within. Going actually /onto/ the sands would, you know, be dangerous not only due to the egg attackers, but also due to the incredibly angry gold out there. Instead, Sinopa merely lingers there and gapes with something akin to wide-eyed horror.
Katric falters under R'vain's grip, wriggling ineffectually, wincing once as those fingers tighten around his collar. Or maybe it's the bronzerider's words that have him wincing; one may never know, for down he goes when that girl hits him. Flailing, yelling things probably stolen from R'vain himself's vocabulary, Katric aims several good kicks Essdara's way until she's finally pulled off him. Then, panting, he lies there, staring up warily at his captors.
E'sere is on the move as soon as J'cor is, falling into step behind him. The wingleader looks more unwell than even he has lately: pale and sweating, his expression still not rid of its first horrified reaction entirely.
It takes a good moment, and a very solid use of a fist, before R'vain's and J'cor's words penetrate; Essdara's not too far gone to listen to those voices, at least, quickly scrambling off the man to give the men the oppertunity to have him up and do with him as they will. She stands instead next tothem, a tense ball of quivering rage as she looks at the attacker with pure hate.
Jolasek nods his head in return to Jiann, regardless if she's looking at him or not, but Jolasek's attention is now shifted to Kianda and he regards her for a moment as her call for a dragonhealer doesn't go unheard. He frowns slightly, for a second curious as he slowly moves closer to Kianda and the now approaching Roa.
Kianda's gaze whips around. She practically leaps for Roa, aiming a grab at the Telgar goldrider's sleeve and fully intending to half-pull the woman. "There!" Her other hand points toward the damaged egg, Kia now ignoring the tableau between Katric and the Weyrfolk.
R'vain bends immediately once Essdara's clear of Katric's flailing arms and legs. The Weyrlingmaster simply reaches out with two ready paws, gauges his moment, then grabs a swinging fist and pulls. Tit for tat, now they'll both have wrenched shoulders. "Th'Weyrleader says you get up," growls R'vain, and for what may be the first time there is something like respect in the title by which he refers to J'cor, if for no other likely reason than to insinuate that Katric ought to follow suit.
J'cor waits in stony silence for the flailing and yelling to end, ready to meet Katric's wary stare when it turns up to him. His eyes smoothly follow the man as he's pulled to his feet; he has no attention to spare for anyone else, neither R'vain who's holding him nor Essdara who brought him down. "Your name. Your explanation."
Ulyath, for good measure, howls out some more rage. But her cries of eggy murder have become somewhat less heated, and the red whirl of her eyes has started to be tainted by creeping tendrils of yellow and gray. After a moment, in which the echoes of her last roar fade away and somehow the tableaux remains horribly unchanged, the Igen-bred queen bends her head toward one of the breached eggs and lets out a throaty whuff, a sound almost akin to a sob. Her wings droop, then tuck in against her sides. She croons sorrowfully at those two leaking shells, then curves her neck back and buries her head in amongst some of the undamaged members of her clutch. Ulyath, mourning, hides her face.
The Telgari gets dragged. It's easy to do, and then she looks towards the leaking but cohesive egg. Which is rather near a miserable gold protecting her young. Right. "Please," Roa begins to Kianda, speaking quietly, "You need to go to the Infirmary. I need water and plaster. The sort used in a cast. And redwort. Quickly." Then her gaze tips upwards, blue eyes meeting the glowing orbs that stare down from the ledges above. Then back to the injured egg. "Borser. Don't follow." And she steps away from the perimeter and towards her 'patient'.
Sinopa's dark gaze lingers on the spectacle of R'vain wrestling with the culprit, horror fading into a stony expression that betrays her own anger at such ongoings. And yet the junior does nothing at this incident, merely watch from the entrance of the sands. The howl issued by the queen prompts her to tear eyes from Katric and look at the mourning gold, a bit of softness creeping into her gaze.
Kianda listens intently, her eyes fixed on Roa's face... or trying not to see the egg's leaking "Got it." Lifting her skirts, she spins and sprints off at a dead run for the items required by the goldrider.
Katric's answer to R'vain is a snort, the former healer and long-ago weyrbrat raising his free hand to rub at his shoulder as he fixes a hateful glare to the weyrlingmaster, the wingleader, and the Weyrleader all now clustering about him. Still, he finds a moment to sneer at Essdara, almost gloating in the gesture, before his dark eyes find J'cor again. "I won't tell you anything," he retorts flatly.
"His name is--Katric," volunteers E'sere after a moment to recall, to put that face to a name. His voice is cold as he finally reigns in the emotion written on his own face; he stops behind J'cor and looks first to the Weyrleader, then their captive. "It's Katric, isn't it? A healer. Mother gave you quite the glowing recommendation, as I recall, when you wanted to apprentice." For that, E'sere earns himself a glower.
Jolasek doesn't get in close enough to be in the way, but close enough to overhear Roa's request to Kianda. While he, himself, seems uncertain and somewhat hesitant as he stares at the damaged egg he coughs a little as he nods slightly to Kianda. "I'll help." he says, pretty much his offer to either of them, although the candidate has already begun to head off even as his offer is, well, offered.
Whump. Tav finally hits the sand, left leg jutting out in front of her. Harrumph. "Hey, J'cor. Let R'vain chew on his head." She says, tired. Oog.
Essdara growls softly at the sneer, and for a moment looks ready to return those kicks he graced her with moments before. But E'sere's voice brings her up short, and she turns her hate-filled glare on the wingleader. She doesn't speak, looking him over for a long moment as his reason for knowing the man is given. Back, then, to the captive. "Should give you to Ulyath." She says,softly, "But she deserves better than to have the piss you call blood sully her Sands." A distinct emphasis on the feminine pronoun.
J'cor finally takes his attention off Katric, though just for a moment. He'd been too focused to note E'sere's approach, so the unexpected voice behind him draws a small start and a narrow-eyed glare from the Weyrleader: scant appreciation for his helpful supplying of the name. His eyes scan briefly back to the Bowl entrance before returning to Katric. "Very well. There is not much to say for you," he says flatly. A pause, as the peanut gallery chimes in, and he snaps, "Quiet," at Tavaly and Essdara. Out in his guard position in the bowl, Karth has switched from roars to pained moans as he commiserates with Ulyath from afar.
Whether it is the terrible sound of Ulyath's roars and moans, the high emotion lashing about, the horror of the incident, the intense heat of the sands or some combination thereof, the former-farmer candidate, Jiann, is utterly overwhelmed. She continues to inch her way toward the stale dimness of the candidates' chamber. "Nope," she mutters to herself. "Ain't no help a'tall, lingerin' and addin' to misery. That poor queen." She briefly covers her mouth with her hand. "Reckon we'll know soon 'nough." And with that, she retreats.
Finally Sinopa makes a move. The junior steps around another gawker and begins to pad her way across the sands to the gathering of Weyrleader, Weyrlingmaster, and 2C's wingleader, ever wary of Ulyath lest she go on a rage against all those who have intruded on her domain, even if it has been to help. Coming to a stop just behind and slightly to the side of E'sere, she says nothing but fixes Katric with a glare of her own as she joins the assembly of ranging personages.
R'vain glances at E'sere himself, mouth twisting. But he adds no opinion to those given by the women-- none, that is, save a shake of Katric's arm meant to shake the whole man. Just enough to make sure he's paying attention. Then R'vain himself pays attention, and the whole level of his gaze is on J'cor. Waiting. Expectant.
Slow steps. Calm and steady, take Roa closer to the wounded egg. The other two, open and dead, are circumvented as she bends down over the third, looking at the damage. Flaking shell it two spots. Some ooze slowly leaking. Her hands settle, feather light, on the egg. "Tia?" she asks softly. She stares at the shell, but whatever information her dragon shares gets only a small solemn nod from the girl.
Footsteps behind him draw a flicker of E'sere's eyes to their source, but no other reaction is forthcoming. Silent now, he glances between R'vain and Katric and J'cor, expectant.
Katric himself, rattled by R'vain's shaking, is looking more and more panicky, his dark eyes wide as he stares J'cor, mouth forming words that never issue forth. Finally, finding his voice, he half-whispers, "You don't--you don't understand. I--I /had/ to. They..." He shakes his head and says no more in that vein.
The Weyrwoman's arrival is belated indeed. She makes a quiet appearance, in that entrance through which both her Weyrleader and the Reachian junior came. There Yevide stops, face distressed, eyes wide. "Oh, Ulyath," she breathes, and puts a hand out for the support of a chair, a table, some hip-level object which simply isn't there. Finding nothing to hold her, she balls her hand into a fist and steels herself with a breath, then broadens her stance. Her feet are bare, which perhaps explains her remaining back off the sands themselves. From this vantage she watches her Weyrleader at his decision-making, occasionally shaking her head to ward off the well of tears that might blur her sight.
"They?" J'cor repeats. He crosses his arms over his chest, finding a little extra height in his posture as he draws up to look at Katric. A jerk of his chin indicates the smashed eggs, though as his head moves, his eyes remain fixed. "They would have flown Thread. They would have found riders. You had to - what, then?" He expects no answer to this question, and indeed allows no time for an answer. "What you did is unforgiveable. Do not bother telling me that I do not understand." Yevide, for the moment, he does not notice.
Essdara is, as ordered, quiet. She seems unaware of Yevide's presence, at least for the moment. Her eight shifts from foot to foot; as some semblance of rationality is returning, does does noticing little things like wearing thin shoes on blazing hot Sands. Still, for all she is virtually unnoticed by anyone of import, she makes no move to leave Katric's vicinity.
It dawns on R'vain about now-- randomly, it seems-- that there should be candidates. And he looks back over his shoulder to spy them, then gapes a bit at J'cor, then slips his gaze past the Weyrleader to E'sere. R'vain's twisted snarl of a mouth curves into a slick, toothy grin. "Wingleader," growls the Weyrlingmaster, softly. He shakes Katric a little more. "You take 'im. I got candidates t'tour." And what a tour they've had.
"The--the--the blonde man," fumbles Katric, desperately. "And the one with the beard. They made me--do things. For them. They said they'd hurt me--hurt my /family/--if I didn't. You don't... You don't..." Weakly, he trails off, eyes downcast. He doesn't even make a move when R'vain releases him, swapping places with E'sere. The wingleader, grim-faced, nods once to the other man as he steps forward to take hold of Katric "Weyrlingmaster."
Kianda's return to the grounds is a little slower than her exit, but no less hasty. A demijohn is carried in one hand. Her other hand bears two pails, one obviously full from the way it hangs, the other, empty one rattling against it as she makes her way toward Roa, puffing for breath. "Redwort," she jerks her chin toward the container hanging from her shoulder, and then she glances over her shoulder expectantly.
Sinopa conveys her disapproval of the healer's actions and support of the assembled leadership in silence as she allows the men to handle this situation. When E'sere moves forward to take care of the situation for R'vain, the junior remains in place, neither advancing nor retreating from the sands. Yevide's arrival goes unnoticed, being a bit too far from her hearing as well as behind her.
Jolasek isn't too far behind Kianda and being the 'nice' guy that he is, he's carrying the plaster. He's a bit red about the face, most likely from having to hurry and carry, plus the added heat from the sands, but he soon comes up next to Kianda , but doesn't quite move to place the plaster anywhere. "Where can I put it?" he asks softly.
R'vain, released from the duty of holding onto Katric, turns around. He doesn't even seem to grasp that Essdara's a candidate; perhaps she escapes his mental bead. He does sidewind a low remark to her, however, a gutteral little growl of a, "Nice tackle," on his way past her toward the other white-knots in attendance. Once he's back near the candidates' entrance, however, he's surprised to find that the Telgari goldrider has enlisted some of them as assistants. So the Weyrlingmaster retreats to the wall next to the little door, crosses his arms, and settles for occasionally gesturing one of the candidates who aren't helping to come near. So's he can keep an eye on them and be sure no one's eaten by an angry queen, probably.
Natain, not eaten by an angry queen, follows R'vain's gesture to come near. Standing around quietly the whole while, that's what he continues to do presently, looking expectantly at the Weyrlingmaster when he's not looking curiously at the whole mess of everything else.
J'cor follows the changing of the guards between R'vain and E'sere impassively, showing no sympathy at all as Katric's words of excuse roll over him. "Who did." The words are entirely devoid of emotion and expectation; not even the swing of a question mark to add personality to them.
Standing by the egg, Roa can only wait. Her gaze moves from the broken shell to the entrance where Kianda and Jolasek should...and there they are. "Thank you, Kianda. Set it down, please. I didn't think to...did you bring any sort of cloth?" The redwort is already getting a careful look, some of the pungent liquid scoops up into her palm and smeared over the flaking bits of the shell. To Jolasek she says, "Set the plaster down beside the water, please."
Dara starts a bit at the words 'blond man' and her eyes narrow more. Her voice is a soft hiss. "Should have known it was all related. Assumed his threat was to the Weyrwoman, never considered anything as cowardly as this." So much for being quiet as ordered. She shifts her wait, and gives a surprised wince as a tender spot is found; it would seem one of Katric's kicks landed a good bruise on her. R'vain gets the briefest of feral smiles for his approval, though her attention is not spared long.
Kianda blinks at Roa. Cloth? That wasn't on the list. Without a word she bends down and, with only the slightest wince and a flick of the point of her beltknife to loosen a seam, starts ripping strips from the bottom of her dress. "One moment... " A large swatch is thrust toward Jolasek before she continues destroying her dress. "Cut that up, will you? Long, narrow strips."
"I don't know any names," mumbles Katric, eyes still downcast. E'sere, at least, is not inclined to shake him to jog his memory, for all the rider regards him with a flat stare. Only at Essdara's words does the former healer glance upward, brows knitting in brief-lived confusion. "I--they never told me anything, promise. By the first--" He doesn't finish the oath; even he realizes it's not entirely appropriate, considering the current situation.
Tavaly continues to sit. Quietly.
Jolasek sets the plaster down near the water as asked and just as he's about to straighten up again, he pauses briefly. "Cloth?" he says, most likely echoing Kianda's own surprise at the added material to the list. And then suddenly he has a large swatch of said cloth in his hand. How handy...until he realises its source. He can only stare at Kianda for a moment before shaking his head a bit. "We had cloth...those robes." he mumbles, but begins to cut up the bit of cloth of his into narrow strips. "How's it---I mean the egg fairing?" he asks Roa while he works.
J'cor's eyes abruptly narrow at that choked oath, his stony indifference broken by the ill-timed remark. It's enough to distract him from a brief moment of interest in Essdara's remark. "Enough," he says in a voice dropped to a whisper. "Enough excuses." His voice draws back up to a normal speaking level, but his anger only becomes more apparent when it does. "You were not a helpless pawn. You had choices. You chose to murder -" he does not emphasize the word particularly, but there's a viciousness to it all the same - "those young dragons."
At J'cor's tone, Katric moves to take a step back, away from the Weyrleader, but E'sere holds the smaller man tightly. Katric licks his dry lips once, eyes shifting from his holder to the Weyrleader to the others, including Ulyath, still hovering around. Finally, in a small voice, he asks, "Do I... get any last requests?" Apparently, he assumes he's to die.
A vicious laugh from the remaining Candidate. Dara's cold expression returns as she speaks, "Did they?" But she quickly forces herself quiet again; aware, now, how easily she could be banished from where she is, unwilling to be sent away.
Roa's expression is sheepish as Kianda takes to her own skirt. "No, wait! I only meant a rag. To wipe on the redwort. I don't..." she stares at the many strips the skirt is becoming. "The egg's alive," she says dipping her hand into the redwort again, smearing the other crack. She wipes her hands on her own skirt, oblivious to the streaks of red that leaves behind. Now plaster is scooped into the empty bucket and some water is added and fingers are mixing it all together.
Once the egg's said to be alive, a few of the candidates seem to start slinking off for the little chamber from which they came. After a few of them go, R'vain follows.
Kianda stops stripping. Er, making cloth into strips, that is. "Oh!" she blushes, surprised. "Twas thinking of how Healers make casts." Shaking her head at herself, she glances toward Jolasek, amused. "And /I/ was not about to sew up a new bunch of robes in the short time before those eggs hatch." Looking back to Roa, she spreads her hands. "Anything else we can do to help?"
Jolasek stops in the middle of tearing off another strip and looks somewhat embarassed as Roa explains what the cloth was for. "Oh." is all he says as the now well torn up cloth is gathered into his hands. He then smirks a little towards Kianda and shrugs his shoulders. "Was just an idea. Don't need 'em anyhow." Then to Roa, he gives a somewhat relieved look. "So there's still a chance it'll hatch?" he says quietly. He then silently regards the egg as he waits for an answer to Kianda's last question.
J'cor raises his chin at the question, looking down at Katric with an unforgiving glint in his eye. "Perhaps," he allows warily.
And still Yevide stands there, watching as her Weyrleader prepares his verdict upon the man who attacked her queen's precious eggs. The fist she balled earlier she's by now raised to a place just before her mouth, as if coughing or thinking of biting a knuckle, but neither gesture of emotion will quite betray her. That 'perhaps' has her dropping the raised hand to her side, and she starts a step out into the cavern - only to remember, forcibly, her bare feet. She cannot stand to leave, and she cannot go interfere as she might like, so like so many others present, the Weyrwoman waits.
Pause. Katric shoots a sharp glance upward at the Weyrleader, hopeful. "Can I... Can I... CanItalktoAida?" he asks in a rush.
The name he gives, who he asks for, clearly hits Dara hard, and she's half raised a hand to hit him before she can stop herself. A deep breath is taken, and a careful step backwards as she seeks to compose herself. She looks to J'cor, waiting to hear his denial of such an absurd request.
Roa mms softly. "Still a chance," she agrees quickly as a little more water, a little more powder, a little more water is added. The consistency of the plaster being worked until it's just so. "If one of you could just support the egg a bit, I'm going to lay the plaster over the cracks. It's the best I can think of and should do the trick for the seven it's needed. The rest is up to the dragonet within." A glance is sent towards the cluster of high ranking Reachian riders (and one candidate) clustered around their captive. And then, up go those eyerbows. Aida?
J'cor takes a moment to sort through those rushed-out words, and when he does the prognosis is not good. "And they never told you anything," he answers the other man coldly, and completely unhelpfully. His gaze flicks past Katric to the man holding him. "Wingleader. I must see to the eggs, so for the time being, this man's guard is under /your/ charge. Find a room for him, and make sure he stays. The weyr's guards will be along shortly to relieve you." He doesn't wait for a response, but turns on his heel to go find the eggs. As he turns, he sees Yevide waiting by the side and can offer her nothing but a small pause and a blank look. Then he strides away from Katric, towards Roa and her healing team.
Even Yevide's brows raise at that revelation, but she's quick to flatten them again. She raises the back of her fist and rubs the back of it over her broad nose, as if snuffling still against her sorrow. It takes until J'cor heads out for the broken eggs that the Weyrwoman lets go a soft sob and turns at last to retreat into her weyr.
Kianda steps back, gesturing for big strong Jolasek to step up to the egg. She, herself, makes a retreat.
Lest Essdara get herself too worked up, E'sere tugs Katric around by the already wrenched arm, positioning himself between the girl and the captive. He gives the candidate a brief stern look before cutting his eyes toward J'cor again. Still silent, he nods once, then sets off, dragging his charge, the glum-looking Katric stumbling along in his wake.
Essdara's eyes narrow at the retreating pair, and it's clear she's unhappy at the assignment given to him. But there's nothing she can do, instead turning away to follow the weyrleader, towards Roa and Jolasek to see what the extent of the damage is.
Sinopa, the silent observer, retreats as well as the whole thing begins to dissolve and orders are dealed out. A glance is given to E'sere and Katric before she turns, catching the retreat of Yevide as she begins her own, heading back to her own quarters and duties.
Jolasek suddenly finds himself alone as Kianda steps back and simply stares somewhat blankly at Roa and then at the egg. He then carefully moves, hesitant and uncertain as he reaches out to support the egg as told. He then glances around, noticing Roa's glance towards the cluster of riders and the lone candidate. Jol didn't hear Aida's name, so he glances back to both the egg and the work Roa is doing.
"Good," Roa murmurs. "This souldn't take very long. Just don't let it tip." She gathers up a handful of plaster and gently slathers it over one crack, then the other. It extends to a little beyond the spinner's web fissures, but not by much. A final handful of plaster is smoothed over each and then she leans back on her heels, hands getting rinsed in the remaining water. "Thank you," the Telgari says softly. "That should do it."
It takes this long for the Weyr's former leader to come out into the galleries and look down, frowning, from high among the seats. There are quite a few other people up there by now, too, a crowd summoned by Ulyath's terrible scream and the swift travel of draconic gossip. But to them, G'thon pays no mind. He walks slowly down the stairs to the lowest rank of seats, then bends there with both pale hands on the dark rail, staring downward, taking stock of those who remain on the sands and what has happened there.
J'cor takes a moment to view the crushed eggs before he approaches Roa. A small nod greets her assistants, but his attention is mainly fixed on the Telgari and her egg healing project. "This one?" he asks tiredly, waving his hand at the repaired shell.
Jolasek nods his head as he carefully keeps his hold on the egg just enough to support it. He watches as the plaster is applied to the shell and when its done, he moves back from the egg. "You're welcome." he simply says, softly and somewhat mumbled. The candidate then continues to move back, as though everything that had just happened begins to sink in. That or the heat of the sands is finally enough. Even so, Jolasek begins to move towards the entrance that he was pushed out of moments ago and off he disappears from the sands.
Essdara pauses only briefly by the repaired egg; Roa's work is looked at with sadness for it's need. Where her gaze goes, where her feet compel her towards, is the carnage of the other eggs. Now, finally, a less harsh emotion creeps out as tears well up at the death of the dragonets. They hold her gaze for long moments before she gives a similarly paiend look towards the weyrwoman's quarters, and then back to the destryoed life.
"Still alive, sir," is Roa's reply as she stands slowly, brushing sand from her skirts, ignoring the burning that beginning to creep in through her thick-soled boots. "It shouldn't be turned or moved for an hour so the plaster can set. Then slightly gentler handling wil be necessary, but other than that, there's little else to be done." A hand comes up, still flecked with bits of plaster, to swipe across her brow. "Would you like help? With...the others?" The dead.
J'cor glances at the entrance, somewhere outside of which Karth is still waiting in the dark. The revelation of the third egg's safety only draws his already tense expression a little tighter, but he nods. "It would be appreciated, Roa." The lonely bald figure in the galleries attracts his attention, but not enough to merit a greeting of any kind. J'cor looks back to the Telgari solemnly. "Karth and I will transport them between." Once all the little pieces are collected.
Essdara returns to the other egg, the quiet conversation calling her bad. Her voice is soft as she adds her own offer. "I'll help if you will let me, Roa. Don't think anyone should be doing that alone." She looks to J'cor as he explains his intent for the remains, and gives an approving nod. Not that a cook has any place to approve, but still.
Perhaps it is the nature of what's happened down there, its intimate connection to dragons, that link he no longer has. Or perhaps G'thon pursues the Weyrwoman, to offer some sort of comfort. But whatever it is that has him turning away, disappearing into some shadow of the galleries and off some passage into the innards of the Weyr, it most certainly must not be any undeniable urge to help clean up broken eggs.
Roa looks, actually, a tad surprised at Dara's offer. "I...thank you. Are you sure? Let's...could you fetch some blankets, please? Something to gather them in?" besides bare arms. She notices J'cor's glance and follows it to the ex-weyrleader as he retreats. Expression solemn, she stares after him a moment before she turns back to the patched egg and peers down at the plaster again. Making certain it's setting as it should.
J'cor also seems a bit surprised by Essdara's presence - as with so many things, he was oblivious to her following him here. He manages to fetch up a wan smile for her once he does notice, but there's nothing that even approaches real warmth behind it. It's the only greeting she gets; the Weyrleader is quickly retreating into the world of his own thoughts.
Essdara nods firmly. "Has to be done, and drop me between if anyone else should have to see it." A glance up at the galleries, and the people there. "And quickly. Blankets, I can get, and it will just be a moment." J'cor's smile is noted, though ot returned as the candidate obediantly makes herself scarce to get the items needed to offer the fallen some peace.
"Thank you," is said quietly. As Essdara walks off, Roa begins to walk towards that first shattered egg. Shell bits are picked up slowly and set in a small pile. The egg has rolled onto its side, leaking fluids. Within the half-shell that remains mostly whole, is the coiled and lifeless shape that would have become a hatchling. Her expression blank, Roa holds her focus mainly on the tiny egg shards around it rather than the gorey image itself.
J'cor, belatedly clicking back in to the world around him, turns and heads to the other egg. He allows the clean-up to continue in silence, piling the egg shards as Roa does, and with a perfectionist's devotion to getting each and every shard, no matter how small.
Dara is gone only as long as it takes, returning with a small bundle of blankets, and a bit of rope beside. She drops half the pile by Roa, and moves herself to the other egg, imitating the goldrider's work. Her cheks are pale and her mouth tightly closed as she sets about delicatedly cleaning up from the tragedy.
A blanket is wordlessly laid out flat and first the little shards are scooped up and set in the middle. And then...oh, and then. The second half, the one with the body, is gently, gently rolled onto the blanket, slime still dribbling as it moves. The sides of the blanket are gathered up and lashed shut with the rope Essdara thoughtfully provided. Finally, Roa kicks sand over the birthing fluids that are the only remaining mark of the ravaged egg.
J'cor does not glance up at Essdara's return, though he must be tracking her footsteps because the sudden deposit of blankets doesn't take him at all by surprise. He draws one in and again imitates Roa's procedure, though he chooses to get the body part over first and put the shards in second. The whole process leaves him with some egg goo on his arms, but J'cor doesn't seem to notice. Wordless still, he hefts the bag with a certain caution - respect for the body within - and turns to trudge towards the bowl in his ill-suited boots.
Essdara helps where she can until the remains are cleared, stepping back as J'cor closes it up. A glance to Roa for dirction, with a glance at the other bundle; should they carry that out as well?
The Telgari is not as strong as J'cor. Smaller, slighter, a full egg would perhaps be too much for her to lift. But this is not a full egg and she wordlessly hefts the bundle, a small crease of strain on her face, as she follows silently after the Weyrleader.
The guard, Borser, has been standing on the sidelines and off the sands this entire time. For once, he holds still, no blade sharpening to be heard. It's only as the Telgari weyrwoman departs that he follows after her, his feet falling into the imprints she leaves behind in the sand.