Who: Cirse, Edela, Kenzie, Mellayne, Niora, T'kyn, V'rel
When: day 12, month 4, turn 23 of Interval 10.
Where: Hatching Sands, Fort Weyr
What: Peirith and Dargonath's clutch hatches.


Hatching Sands, Fort Weyr

The pale, golden-hued sands occupy nearly the entirety of the hatching cavern, with the dam and sire traditionally claiming the north with their eggs scattered throughout. To the right are the galleries, which stretch up nearly the entire length of the wall and provide the only visual break in what would otherwise be a monotonous tableau. Lighting comes from both the entrance and through glow baskets spaced throughout, ensuring that the place is well-lit at all times. The heat here is tolerable, but only barely, and heat mirages are relatively common. Turns of hatchings have resulted in the sands being littered with fragmentary bits of shells despite thorough cleanings, subtle bits of history being left behind.

It's a lovely day outside, the sun's been up for about an hour when the thrum of dragons humming starts to vibrate through the Weyr. Voices clamor excitedly: "The eggs are hatching!" and movement seizes the Weyr, many tasks left abandoned as riders, residents and guests head to the galleries to watch Peirith and Dargonath's dragonets break shell. Candidates, time to robe up and go!

First out of the shell is a willow green, hatched from the Get Their Attention Egg in the blink of an eye. With speed and swiftness to match her hatching, she rights herself from her tangle and darts off to inspect the white-clad young people before her. Her Impression is not so quick and she takes the time to gaze thoughtfully at each boy and girl, while in the meantime the Need A Distraction Egg produces limbs and a tail before the rest of the shell is shaken from a ocean blue body. He finds his rider before his sister, stumbling into a young woman, Rylee from the Weyr's lower caverns.

Mellayne is not leading the group of candidates streaming out to the sands. No way. That's for someone else to do, thankyouverymuch. She's definitely not the last of the white-robes out the passageway, however. Leave *that* to someone else, too. "Shells, shells, didn't half remember what this was like," she can be heard muttering as she moves forward, stumbles the tiniest bit, bows to sire and dam and straightens up. She's not green around the gills... yet. Yet. Forget the nervous wringing of hands.

Kenzie appears to be torn between excited and terrified, checking and rechecking her robe before the candidates are ushered out onto the sands. Once out there she blinks around for a moment, everything seeming larger to her now that the time has finally come, but a nudge from another candidate has he quickly bowing to the sire and dam and then moving to join the semi-circle of white just as a green hatches and Impresses in what feels like a second.
Standing to the side is V'rel, arms folded across his chest, observing carefully along with the other weyrlingmaster's assistants. The first egg to crack sees him standing to attention and then he's moving to conduct the first pair from the sands.

Slightly paled under the natural darkness of her skin, Edela files out in line with several other girls; the first eggs break so quickly that the swivel of her head tracks it, whiplash fast, along the sands and she inhales sharply, quietly. "Steady on, Layne," she murmurs softly under her breath as she passes by, takes up a place somewhere near Kenzie and glancing once over her shoulder at the sire and dam with a wan smile.

Firewater Egg shivers in its cradle of sand and stills again for a few moments before it trembles in earnest, ruddy liquid seeming to run thick and fasts down its sides, minute cracks gaping open along its length without parting fully as the hatchling inside pushes hard to free itself.

Shimmers of Heat Egg doesn't so much rock as shiver, its movement betrayed only by the stir of sand grains at its base. In stops and starts, it seems to wish only to rearrange each speck of sand that touches it, and, once satisfied that each has moved just slightly, it goes still again, only to start up the same routine a few minutes later.

"I know it," Layne murmurs Edela-wards as she steps back, ending up not far down the semicircle in a knot of older boys and one or two other girls. Her voice doesn't shake except on the first word, and maybe that's something. "You too, y'know, aye?" Blue eyes lift for a fleeting second, scanning galleries and ledges for... someone. Maybe more than one someone. "They gotta be up there," is the hiss to no one in particular, "wouldn't miss it, that lot." that's soft enough that Edela might very well miss it in the chaos. As in the chaos of those first two hatchlings breaking shell, oooooh.

Niora's arrival on the sands, between a cluster of other female candidates, is somewhat lacking, nerves making the girl stumble a time or two as she wipes her hands nervously on the fabric of her white robe. Her bow to sire and dam are quick, jerky little bobs from the waist, before she straightens, and glances wide-eyed towards the eggs. "It's different from here." she murmurs. "Haven't seen anything like it." Nevermind having ever been to a Hatching to begin with. Her gaze strays towards those she knows -- Kenzie, who she remembers eating cake with, and Edela. "Good luck," is whispered. And back she looks at the eggs, gulping now and then.

The Iced Tea Eggs rocks to and fro, to and fro, suddenly falling forward heavily to send a tawny brown dragonet sprawling to the Sands. Dazed, he lies there a moment or two, all splayed limbs and drooping wings, then he's off, barrelling forward with surprising speed to present himself at the feet of a stocky lad who rears back, anticipating a collision, only to tumble forward and wrap arms around his new lifemate.

Kenzie grins at Edela as she comes close, "I know they tell you it's fast, but this ain't fast. It's Fast." A glance along at Mellayne results in another grin, but fairly quickly her eyes go back to scanning the sands just in case there's a hatchling somwehere with blood on its mind. Niora's whisper receives a "Luck." that's cut rather short as a candidate close by nearly gets bowled over by a brown. Eyes go wide and she blinks over and over before offering a slightly cautious, "Congratulations?"

Kapow! The Firewater Egg bursts open explosively sending bits of shell flying in every direction. Hot on the heels of those shards, a compact ball of brown comes rolling forth, crashes into another egg and unfolds into an ungainly sprawl of a dragonet. Dazed for a moment or two, the newly hatched whiskey-painted hatchling stares up at the ceiling with an air of profound confusion only to get hit in the head by a piece of shell falling off of the egg he just crashed into. Ow. Shaking it off, the brown rolls hard to one side, shakes his wings and tail out and lets out a defiant bugle. You can't keep a man down! And he bounds forward, only a little unsteadily, to figure out what's shaking in this brand new world he's found himself in.

>---< Whiskey Painted Rebel Brown >------------------------------------------<

Ambered whiskey flows across the hide of this handsome brown dragon, deep
golden undertones shimmering through when the light strikes him. There's
a cocksure confidence in every line of his wiry form, a devil-may-care
light to his expressive eyes, a rebellious tilt to his chin and a bold
swagger to his clumsy movements. The tawny shades of his wide forehead
and blunt muzzle appear grizzled under his chin as if he's got five
o'clock shadow; hints of tobacco speckle outward from there, bleeding into
a bruising of russet along his jaws. Cognac dribbles down his neck and
across muscled shoulders to drip off lean flanks and pool into the tanned
leather of his underbelly where strong, clean limbs dusted with clay,
darken to dirt on talons that end in chrome-tipped claws. The faint hint
of flames lick soot-smudged wing bones, curling smoke across the
tequila-flushed membranes stretching between them; fire's glow seen dulled
through drifting haze. As if tattooed, odd markings of gunmetal grey
mottle the length of his back shading the base of each ridge all the way
to the tip of his elegant tail.

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

"Fast as a lightning strike, you ain't lyin'," Layne agrees, but then she's had her head turned by something tawny and oncoming. "Whoa. Where'd he come from, then?" She's not seen the whiskey-shaded second brownling yet - give her a second. Or an eyeblink, whichever.
Another pair needs collecting and V'rel hoofs it on over, wiping sweat from his brow with his handkerchief, his semi-bald pate gleaming in the lighted cavern.

Like the mirage it seems, Shimmers of Heat Egg slowly fades away, dissolving into chunks and bits of egg-shell as the hatchling within slowly tears its way out. First comes the blunted nose, followed swiftly by awkwardly placed legs and a lean, low-slung body. Finally managing to slide free of her prison, Sun-Kissed Canopy Green Hatchling pauses on the sands, still but for the constant twist and curl of her goo-stained tail, the rustle of dark wings. Then - slowly, cautiously, she begins to slink, hunting for something as yet undefinable.

>---< Sun-Kissed Canopy Green >----------------------------------------------<

The rich, vibrant hue of grassy green spills from nose to tail-tip,
washing over the proud, wedge-shaped head, skimming down spine, over low,
squat body, lightening imperceptibly along throat and belly into a pale
malachite. Sun-kissed yellow highlights muzzle and high-rising eye ridges,
tracing the line between spring-bright back and the paler celadon hue of
her underside. Thin, flat ridges skim from head knobs to tail-base,
marching along her spine in orderly precision, echoed on either side by
rosettes of ecru, haloed by a deeper golden-brown. Her blunted wings,
springing gaily from her shoulders, billow often upwards, fern-hued sails
suspended between spars of a richer, deeper hunter green, like a verdant
shading canopy. Her limbs, short and slightly rounded, jut from her low
form at odd angles, angling outwards; perpendicular to her body rather
than parallel. Long, elegant toes curve gracefully from short feet, tipped
by creamy, blunted talons. Her generous tail, quickly thinning to
attenuated delicacy, moves endlessly in curls and twitches, never quite
still.

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

Molten Fury Egg simmers. It's just a gentle rocking motion back and forth, enough to mark the sands with a wider trough where the curve of the shell rests. Restless, it seems to be on to other things than just baking. Maybe it's lonely? With some of the others already cracked and missing their occupants, perhaps it can feel the emptiness around it.

Edela does some stand-searching of her own, though wide brown eyes stray up to the dragons lining the cavern to settle briefly on a smallish blue. A smile curling her lips, the Istan turns and offers just as softly, firm in her surety: "Luck, all." Cracking eggs beg her attention, though, gaze lingering on that whiskeyed brown before back to her fellow candidates, brightening eagerly in unspoken excitement.

Niora flinches, close enough to that charging brown that she too is reacting, surprise registering in her gaze long enough to realize the boy she'd expected to be hit, has Impressed instead. "Hey, good going," she calls out, nervously scuffling her feet back and forth before the second brown hatchling is spotted. "He's ... brown." Well, that's an understatement. Indecision wars for a moment, and Niora chooses the prudent path, bolting a little closer to the safety of the other candidates. "Fast," she agrees with Mellayne, trying to worm her way as close to the others girls' sides as possible, only to be caught by a glimpse of green. "Brown and green," she muses, tilting her head to try and get a better peek.

There's been next to no movement from the Sublimations Transformation Egg so far, just the occasional teasing shiver. Now, however, it becomes a hive of activity and shatters tip to base, sending fragments showering down around it. A small, richly-hued bronze slumps in the wake of gaining freedom and shakes out honey-drenched wings. He's not slow about making his choice and soon slips off to meet a one-time healer apprentice at the edge of the candidate group. Still searching, the willow green trips over her sibling's egg-shards and lets out a thin wail.

Mellayne glances away, upward again, away again. "You too," she agrees, though if she's aiming it at Kenzie, at Edela, or at everyone in general isn't quite clear. Her gaze strays upward again, lights for a second in a mirror of Edela's on a tiny green, and then her attention's snagged by the sands once more. "... Whoa," she repeats, but this time it's a few shades closer to a squeak, "that one looks a bit like Mum's!" It's the green, with her malachite hints, that she's goggling at. "Bet she's havin' a Gather day, with that one hatched. Just bet she is."

Whiskey Painted Rebel Brown bounds forward toward a passing clutchsibling crooning a greeting, then ducks around behind an unhatched egg to check out the shadow it casts on the sands. A little bump into that egg is ignored, that whiskey-painted head held up in a 'didn't do it' manner.

Kenzie counts dragons, most likely not intending for it to be overheard even by her closests companions but speaking aloud nonetheless. "Brown, green, bronze." A nod, then another glance around the other eggs. "Brown, green, bronze." All still present and correct. Check the eggs, check the galleries. "Brown, green... Oh." Another quiet, "Congrats." is called along the line.

Sheer determination has finally resulted in a hole large enough to work one slimy foot through, the Molten Fury Egg bulging grotesquely in places where the shell has cracked without the inner membrane tearing. Without fanfare, without any spectacular showering of shell shards, a Shrouded by Stardust Blue /peels/ his way free of his ovoid prison, slithering out through the ever-growing hole to sprawl across the sand. He spares little attention for the empty casing behind, his interest quite promptly engaged by the wide-bright-noisy world he's discovered.

>---< Shrouded by Stardust Blue >--------------------------------------------<

Long bones and lean muscles combine to give this hatchling a sharp,
streamlined appearance, a sleek promise that is only hinted at in his
scrawny frame. He isn't much to look at, just-hatched, his hide so swirled
with an amalgamate of blues it's hard to discern what is him and what is
egg-goo. Deepest midnight is there, and dusk's indigo, and wisps of a pale
blue like a haze across the sky. His head is a narrow wedge, barely
swelling from muzzle to headknobs, though jawbones jut out and down in
strong curves promising better proportion once he's put on some weight.
His wings seem more stubs than proper lengths, back-swept and held so
tight to his frame they seem melded to him, but set well back on narrow
shoulders. His tail, too, is nearly an afterthought, peppered with flecks
of sand and sable across a broad spade.

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

"Bronze, there!" Hushed in her exclamation, Edela jabs an index finger in his direction, just in case anyone missed it: then that willow green earns a wince for her wail, a hard swallow. "Someone gonna grab that girl?" But not Ed; instead, she twists her shoulders and slides a pace back into the rough semi-circle of bodies. "Ohh, and that /blue/," comes the running commentary.

A curvy meadow green breaks her way free from the When Primal Forces Collide Egg, giving a little shake of each of her paws to try and rid them of goo and sand that clings. Unsuccessful, she snorts in obvious distaste and stalks off towards the nearest group of candidates, disregarding one, then another, to decide on Daphna, one of the last to be Searched. She's not going any further though and Daphna has to go to her, promising, "We'll get you cleaned up after you've eaten, Valesketh."

The Whiskey Painted Rebel brown bats one more time at a piece of fallen shard, watches it coast away and smack into the side of an unhatched egg then gives a little shrug of his wings as if he meant to do that. A flick of his tail precedes forward movement as he suddenly latches onto something very interesting. The focus of his eyes turns keen, shading deeply blue and he prowls forward with what can only be called swagger in his steps to approach a dark-skinned candidate with cork-screw hair and lets out a deep-throated thrum of satisfaction. Yeah baby, she's the one.

Niora's nearly missed that bronze hatchling, concerned as she is with looking out for where the green and brown are headed. Besides, a bronze's not for her, although she does give a jaunty sort of wave at the newly impressed bronze weyrling -- and very nearly topples to the sand as her foot slips. Windmilling arms, and a startled "Whoops." are the order of the moment. "At least I can't drop nothing out here," she gives a rueful smile to any of the other Candidates. "Hey, blue now too. How many are left?" Daphna's impression gets a sudden smile. "Oh, 'nother green." Poor cotholder girl is being a little overwhelmed now.

Sun-Kissed Canopy Green slinks, belly to the Sands, whirling eyes flickering to and fro as slowly shapes resolve themselves in her newborn mind - eggs, hatchlings, and Candidates. Tail twitching restlessly, she picks her way carefully from the remains of her egg, pausing every so often to sniff thoughtfully at the air. As the pressure on her belly increases, so does her gait, and the tiny green hatchling wanders further from her point of origin, winding through eggs and people alike, stalking something she can just barely sense.

One of the candidates, Athan, shouts unnecessarily loudly to his neighbour, trying to make himself heard over the noise of eggs cracking and dragonets creeling. It's as if his voice prompts the hatching of the Battle of the Elements Egg, a storm-coloured blue marching forth to select him without giving any of his fellows a second glance. "...Yes, Jabreth, I can whisper as well as shout," A'han murmurs sheepishly.

Shrouded by Stardust Blue Shrouded by Stardust Blue is not one to beat around the bush, nope. He leaves those empty shell shards behind without a backwards look in favor of those white-robedthings over there. There's one in particular he's got his eye on and it is towards them that he makes tracks for, drawn that way as if by a gravitational pull. While his movements this soon out of the shell could not be considered graceful by any means, it certainly is determined, for he wavers neither right nor left in the course of his progress - which is at an awkward gallumping run.

"Bronze, where?" Somebody missed it. Blink. Layne follows Edela's pointing finger and, just a touch late, catches the breeze. "Oh, there. Not bad--ooh, no idea what that one's after." This is of the willow-shaded little green and her wail. "Doubt it's me, though y'never know. Oooooh, hang on--" One arm's held out in an attempt to support, or at least, catch, the wobbly Niora.

Kenzie's eyes fix on the blue when he hatches, a long drawn out "Oooh." her only comment. For a moment the others are forgotten, this one stealing all her attention as he explores. It's only as the whisky-brown approaches the line that she snaps out of her staring and remembers to get ready to run if necessary as he gets closer. It's a breath of relief that she lets out as he Impresses and leaves her intact to wish a bright, "Congratulations!"

A beat, a hesitation, Edela clasping a hand to the back of her neck and her eyes locking downward, tongue rasping across her lips. She manages all in a gasp, "Zraith!" Then a laugh: raucous and delighted. "Ed'll do, yeah." She stumbles forward to meet the brown, runs a hand along his head gently. She does manage a breathless: "Yeah. Thanks," over one shoulder before she begins to move away with the whiskey-soaked brown.

V'rel spots another impression and makes his way over to Edela and her energetic brown quickly. "Handsome fella there," he says cheerfully. "Why don't you two come this way and we'll get you squared away with some food?"

Sat relatively close to its sire, the Times Damage Egg tumbles onto its side and rolls a short way away from Dargonath, fragments falling away to reveal a pale, angular bronze that cries sharp protest of his undignified release into the world. A tall boy from Boll takes a few steps forward, undecided about offering assistance, but then the dragonet makes the decision for him and raises his eyes to meet his, claiming him. "Izaith!" the cry goes out.

Niora is look of gratitude is sent at Layne. "Thank you," she lets out her breath, finally managing to get her feet under her. "Gotta focus," she gulps air again, fingers dropping back down to the fabric of her robe to dampen it further. "Another blue." She's going to get a crick in her heck looking around like this. It's then that she hears Edela's voice, and she blinks, looking towards the girl. A brown? "Oh!" her hands flutter in a cheerful clap. "Way to go!"

Sun-Kissed Canopy Green Hatchling slowly slinks to a halt, her body hugged low to the Sands as she achieves absolute stillness save for the flick and twist of her tail. Silent and focused, there's no movement from her for the duration of a few breaths, then her head tilts barely perceptibly and she's up and moving all at once, taking swift steps until she's padding along as fast as she can convince her young limbs to move. She slows only once she's located the one that she's looking for, to reach a neat, deliberate stop at the feet of a girl with twilight-blue eyes.

Mellayne doesn't drop her arm until Niora has both feet under her. "Better y'fall on me than on your rear," the older girl says, "no probl--uh-oh." Forget the words she's using, Layne's turning a /grin/ on Edela. "Nice one, congratulations. Zraith, I kinda like that."
V'rel returns to the sands after leading Edela and Zraith away and he's mopping at his head again when he comes back, clearly having a little trouble with the head on the sands and all the huffing back and forth.

The Oh Thats Cold Egg splits down the middle, revealing a long green tail that dashes against the side of the Watery Grave Egg mere moments after its hatching disturbs it. One peridot-dappled body falls to the Sands, followed by another larger and darker one. Settled companionably together, it seems that they might stay that way, but then the larger of the two nudges at her sister and shakes herself off, bumbling over to a youth from Peyton. The other soon follows, claiming a dark-haired girl, creel softening to croon. Their still undecided sister slinks past them both, her path becoming increasingly erratic.

Kenzie watches as Edela heads off, turning back to survey the sands with what can only be called a pleased smile - it's clear she approves of that paticular Impression. Once again the blue catches her eye, coming ever closer, but it's a green she has to pay attention to first. A green heading... over there. Another sigh of relief, no running needed, and another bright, "Congrats."

All speed and enthusiasm and tumbling feet, the Shrouded by Stardust Blue races, eager to find his match, taking no notice of those he leaves in the dust of his passage. Then - there! In a spray of gold and cream, he sets the brakes, skidding to a halt before a Candidate with pale ginger curls, showering her ankles in sand as he comes to a stop inches from her white-clad form, muzzle already lifted as he seeks her eyes.

Niora laughs softly, nodding. "I don't think it'd do me good to land on my rear. Hot sand, right?" Hot indeed, and likely uncomfortable. It's only when her arm is free, is she able to dab again at her robe, hands clenching into the fabric as she suddenly goes still, very very still indeed, and glances down, realizing what is sitting there, stopped so deliberately at her feet. "Oh!" the sound is something of a gasp, her hands, clumsy fingers and all, extending downwards to caress the dragonet's muzzle. "Rai... Raikarith?" she says the name aloud, this a triumphant cry now. "Yes, yes, we shall get you fed." And hopefully, she won't drop the bowl. "This way." And off they go, wherever the assistant weyrlingmaster shall lead.

"Uh--whaaaa--" Layne may have started to say 'uh-oh' again, may very well have been about to comment on that erratic little willow green, but then, well. Then. then she's got a something, a someone in her field of vision, and that unpaired dragonet lay as well be half a world away. "I--oh /shells/, aye. Duresketh, ye... duresketh. I don't believe this." Caught flat-footed again? Why yeeeees. For a long, long second she just stands there, goggling, looking rather silly. Then she gives in and lets out a peel of triumphant laughter that juuuust shades on toward giddy. "Anyone tries t'split us apart, they don't know what they're in for." Forget leaning, Layne ends up on *her* rear now, hugging that ungainly starry blue. "Food, aye. We can do that, too."

V'rel catches his breath, straightens his shoulders and heads over toward Niora and Layne, smiling at both. "Raikarith did you say? And Duresketh? Lovely," the greenriding assistant remarks and gestures to both. "Just come this way for food. Mind you don't trip," he adds, still cheery and leads the new weyrlings off the sands.

Forgery At Its Best Egg hatches little by little, shard by shard, allowing a glimpse of juniper blue hide here and then. The dragonet still hasn't worked his way free by the time his willow green sister pads by him, crying piteously. Hungry and exhausted, she sinks to the Sands to rest a moment and it's this pause in her examination of the candidates that leads Leilani to her, who rather unwisely steps over to be sure of the hatchling's health, summoned by her cries. With a squeak of relief, Impression is made and she's bundled into the girl's long arms, her brother's Impression occurring on the heels of hers, to one of the youngest candidates of the group.

Kenzie looks away from Niora in time to see the blue coming towards the line and there's a moment when she holds her breath as it comes closer. As the spray of sand goes up she takes a step backwards, watching as he goes instead to Mellayne. There's no outward sign of jealousy, in fact she's even quicker with this "Congratulations!" than the others as she goes back to waiting once more.

Somewhere on the ledges above, there's a /whoop/ of triumph, then a second, and then the jubilant alto bugle of at least one dragon. Yep, they were in the stands after all. Layne only gets to her feet after a dizzy few seconds, and then she's stumbling more than plain walking after V'rel. "Yessir. Food, right, we can do that." Off she goes.

Patient no longer, the occupant of the Dismal Day Egg pokes a sharp nose through the shell of their prison, and, with a shrug of slim shoulders, bursts free. With a shiver, the steel-blue unfurls his wings and shakes them out, halting midway through the motion as though listening to a distant sound. Wings are flipped closed and off he goes to meet a lanky boy from the kitchens of Fort Hold. With his choice announced by a delighted cry of, "Gralinyth!" it's all over and with only a drop or two of blood spilled. With the din beginning to die down, the Weyrleaders start to step forward, to gather together those left without a lifemate.

Cirse's dark eyes follow the scarred girl and her blue too, Peirith's swift-moving gaze taking in the scene as a whole. Without looking at Gralinyth, she says to T'kyn, "Another from the Hold. Good." But then it's time to step forward, not too far, a beckon letting the candidates come to her: "Fort appreciates your standing for Peirith's eggs. If you wish, you may stay here, and try our sands when next a queen rises. And if you wish to return from whence you came, that is your right. In the meantime, you may wash, and eat." Her eyes touch briefly on Kenzie, among the others.

Kenzie watches the last egg hatch and the steel-blue Impress, hopeful eyes once more going to where the eggs once say and now stands the Weyrleaders. There's a slight slump in her shoulders, but it doesn't last too long - a brave face being put on for all to see, any disappointment pushed down to be dealt with later. As Cirse speaks she only half listens, nodding, but not entirely taking in the words. As the others begin to drift off she takes a deep breath and nods to the Weyrwoman, muttering a quiet, "Thanks." before turning and heading off herself.

Offering his elbow to Cirse, T'kyn steps forward as well and issues an invitation to join the festivities in the caverns to all, then he tilts his head toward the exit, meaning to go stand receiving line style to shake hands.

Cirse has a simple nod in reply, continuing to watch the candidates depart. When they're clear, she can take a deep breath and let it more slowly out, as Peirith stretches her great wings behind her. "Be careful," she murmurs before T'kyn catches her attention and she draws herself up again. "Yes, of course." She takes his arm, she does her duty, while meanwhile Peirith makes the rounds of the cavern as though there could be something, or someone, left hiding behind.