For two turns Lynx has been scouring the snowy wastes. Risking frostbite, discovery, their necks — all on the Weyrleader's word. All to find the things hidden away by folk determined that something should survive the comet. Some of those folk leapt forward, the caches containing things only hoped to see again. Some of those folk stayed, the caches containing the best of their work, their most dear posessions. They've collected stashes from nearly every craft. Prominent families. The caches have proven fruitful, if eerie…

"All right." It's a familiar tableau now, Lynxriders strung out along a line having followed the signal stones to a cave hidden in ice, obscured from above. The sharp eyes of Lynx's scouts have picked out this, what they've determined is the last of the caches. They've worked in silence up to this moment. What is likely the last door. T'ral backs away, ice hatchet falling to his side the last of the blanketing ice cleared. "All right, when you're ready. Breach." His eyes track to each of the riders, the skies, checking in with Esanth who is far afield on lookout and back down to the door. His belly tenses as he prepares himself for what lies beyond… they've seen some things.

J'ran stands and brushes the bits of ice clinging to his thick gloves where he was setting aside the chunks of ice chipped away from that door until his wingleader determines where that debris should be discarded. Glancing toward the other two greenriders before turning back toward T'ral, he steps forward to help shoulder the door open when the order for breaching that portal is given. A few grunting shoulder hits finally gets the door to start scraping open as a sharp crackling indicates that it was frozen fast in the jamb.

Rocio does her very best to collide against whatever part of the door she can make contact with. Luckily for her, she's small and can squeeze in between people like nobody's business. Onward and… upward? No, more like onward and through! "EEeeeeerrrgh." Don't mind any grunts and squeals coming from this greenrider — she's trying her damnedest to not get squished in the process. "I think it's gonna opennnn…" It better because even though she may be determined, she doesn't have endless amounts of energy.

There's a dusting of stars across the landscape, portals dark, Esanth's presence invisible, idistinguishable from the glittering 'scape. There's a quiet burst of tingling burst of comms static that disappears as soon as it came, « Lookouts report. » (Esanth)

«All clear.» comes the brief reply with a gentle wafting of the scent of tuberoses and the sound of gurgling water flowing through the minds the little green touches. (Yerenath)

The glow of a small firefly twinkles amidst the darkness of a field blanketed by summer heat. It hovers in place, steady as a star. « Ain't no need to worry. » Which is just another way for Southern Sassafras to say 'all clear.' (Niamyth)

One cache was laid out like a home. The dimensions less grand, but every stick of furniture stowed. Each room 'built.' Stores laid in. Everything down to analogs of the residents and servants in the house all with weirdly staring eyes. Definitely amongst the creepier of the finds…

It's one of those stubborn doors. You know the kind… the kind that put up a big blustery show and then — all at once — lets go. Under the pressure of shoulders and grunting and squeals it does just that: let go. Turns of freezing and thawing have done for these hinges it falls in — WHOMP! The echo is quick, the boom reverberant, shortlived. It sounds like a small space back there. "By twos. Nerai and I will work left. J'ran, Rocio go right." T'ral steps forward with his partner, rolling a glow to life between gloved hands and setting it into a catch Mi'lo adapted for riding helmets from miner headlamps. He ducks going through the entrance, channeled beam of his glow illuminating the door. Inside, rotted tarps cover an indistinct bulk. The air is stale and cold, though not rancid and he gives a nod and a goahead to those behind as he and Nerai work to the left, beams shining here and there as careful treads take them along the left wall.

When that door gives way beneath the shoving he, Rocio and another rider had given it J'ran nearly falls as his toe catches on the edge of the fallen door though he manages to remain on his feet as he stumbles a few steps forward. Since that other Lynx is much larger than he, the young man is rather glad that he hadn't fallen since he has no desire to be crushed by the brownrider falling on him. A nod is given at the order to accompany Rocio to the right and he ignites a glow to slot into his flight helmet's holder to keep his hands free. A gloved hand lifts to cover a sneeze at the dusty air disturbed by their footsteps as he moves his head slowly to sweep the area he and Rocio are exploring.

"I kinda hate bein' underground." Rocio says as she flicks a small glow to life. The small orb is placed upon a belt-like strap across her chest as she opts to keep her hands unoccupied. "I get kinda claustrophobic, ain't gonna lie. Like, I break out in a rash and start sneezin' and stuff." And maybe she also starts chatting away as if she's super nervous. Which, well… she is. "It's like bein' in a cage and what the shells and shards do ya do if ya twist your ankle down in here?" A shiver grips her body. "The air seems kinda thin. Is it thin t' anyone else? J'ran? Y'ain't gonna pass out, are ya?" Panic, thy name is Rocio.

« Move to second positions. » They've a rotating pattern, the locations scouted by Myziri and Rocio in advance. The stars wheel slowly around the axis of the heavens and stop. « Second position clear. » (Esanth)

There is a short pause as the little green shifts to her second position that grows longer as she scans her watch area. A prickle of thorns creep into her soft voiced warning as she spirals higher to keep from being recognized from the ground. « There is something here. A small group? No other dragons. Holders? » An image of the scene far beneath her is sent along with that hushed warning to Esanth to let the blue and his rider determine the next move. (Yerenath)

Circling round on angled wings allows for Southern Scout to weave through layers of clouds without being spotted from the ground. She is small, she is watchful. She sees things that would otherwise escape the eyes of her wingmates, though Yerenath is there a few seconds ahead of her. « Directly below. Movement. » Gathering glowbugs begin to form a sprinkle within a summery 'scape shared with her fellow green and then with the stardust blue. (Niamyth)

Another cache, presumably from the tannercraft had a selection of very fine tools and tomes. Only a few of the wooden and more perishible materials survived. One such perishible material was… it couldn't have been. Dragon leather …?

It doesn't take long to secure the room, a small rough cave, oblong. And, yes, the air is grim, possibly troubling to the scout's iffy sinuses. The tarps, carefully removed (or, more accurately — touched and disintegrated) reveal crates with the stamp of Glasscraft on them. T'ral winces. "Any bets on how much of this is even intact?" His first find, carefully opened, reveals a crate of glittering shards. There are handles and bases. It had at some point been a fine collection of glassware. Nerai's crate is more intact. The last set of two riders are outside, preparing harnesses for departure. Swift departure. T'ral nudges his crate with a boot and reseats the lid. They take everything from every cache and let K'ane sort it out. T'ral straightens, alarm quickening his pulse. "Seal 'em up. We've got company." He unshoulders a strap and begins hauling out some of the smaller crates.

J'ran advances with Rocio chattering away at his side, the young man smiling reassuringly at the nervous scout. "No, not going to pass out, Rocio. The air's fine and if you twisted an ankle, one of us would carry you out." He reaches out to pat the woman's shoulder lightly before he leads the way into the room they found, the door shifting at his touch on the latch and falling off it's own hinges in token of its age. Crates are illuminated as he moves inward and pries the lid off one to peek inside. "Oh wow … this is pretty cool. Haven't seen one of these since I was little." He lifts a tube from the crate and shakes it next to his ear to see if the innards are broken or not and smiles. "Sounds like they are in good shape … should bring in a pretty penny." The tube is admired for a few moments more before he tucks it back in the crate and hammers the lid back in place so that he can go investigate another.

"I got this thing!" Rocio announces when she seizes a fancy looking cylinder. It's made of some sort of metal with glass at both ends — one larger than the other. The item is tucked into a small satchel that clings to her hip just before she crouches to gather up what appears to be very, very old manuscripts. Books. Their covers have a flakey substance — rusty dust! — that rubs off on her sleeves as she presses them very close to her chest. "Okay, I got an armful." And in perfect timing, too, since T'ral is telling them to lock everything up. "I'm keepin' these with me…"

« Niamyth, facets on those movers. » The stars drift, slowly… then more quickly, coalescing around a glittering comet of thought that lances through the darkness with purpose, « Rally at the site. » Esanth breaks from his cover and wings off towards the icy ravine where his rider and the other Lynxes are gathering. (Esanth)

Clear images of what appears to be people on the ground are projected to Esanth and Yerenath simultaneously. The figures look as though they're wearing winter clothing, cloaks perhaps, as they move east over a small hill. Descending toward the group would offer a better projection, but she remains in the hazy sky until given an order to rally. Which she does immediately. (Niamyth)

When the order to rally comes, the little green floating with a little tension on the high thermals tilts off in the direction of the group of Lynx riders and their lifemates. Small puffs of snow turn into eddies as she lands lightly next to one of the larger beasts of the wing and shifts to where she can more easily take off when the need comes. The image of those people coming toward the icy canyon they are grouped making her more uneasy though a light mental touch from her rider makes her settle with a mournful whistle. (Yerenath)

Some of the caches had been empty when Lynx recovered them. Discovered and emptied by folk seeking shelter. Holdless. Maybe even sweepriders. One T'ral wishes had been empty. A collection of goods from a group of healers whose legacy could only be called… grotesque. They all agreed that the skeleton they found had been a skeleton when it was placed in the cache, right? Right. …but why, then, had it been wearing a ring?

T'ral, though focused on hauling out the goods, spares a look for J'ran's treasure. "A kaleidoscope!" The grin that flashes casts proud features in boyish happiness, the weight of turns and responsibility shedding a moment. He elbows J'ran, "Gawp later. We're out." He corkscrews a finger skyward where dragons are skimming low over the terrain towards them. Dragging a crate past Rocio he leans over her shoulder. "Oh. Man. I might finally have to claim something." He traces a finger over the rust-covered books in the crate, but skips to one of the nested tubes. "I wonder if these are all 'scopes." Wow. His brows rise and he shakes himself out of wondering. "Look alive." Nerai is the alivest — she and the brownriders have hauled half the cache out already. It isn't long before Esanth drops into the icy crevice, talons digging deep into ice as he comes forward to get strapped with his share of the loot. It's totally loot. The blue lifts his head and rumbles quietly, looking off south and west where Niamyth and Yerenath spotted movement. "I know. We're almost done." Bl'asay and B'vin have finished loading up, their browns carrying most of the haul. T'ral sends them aloft with a signal and does up the last of Esanth's cargo straps. Scrambling aloft, he mounts and waits for the others to ready.

J'ran grins at his wingleader when the man comes up with the word he'd been searching for and nods. The second crate he pries open is another of those toys beautifully made and a couple different ones find their way into his small satchel hanging across his shoulder. The third crate though makes him gasp and groan softly as it is full of pulled glass of various colors, some of which are damaged and broken but the most part having survived as he finds thick cushioning wrapping some of those delicately filigreed pieces. "I'm so tempted to abscond with this whole crate so I get first pick, sharditall!" His blue eyes sparkle with amusement as he replaces the top and those two crates are taken up so that he can strap them to Yerenath's sides along with a few other sacks and boxes that have been carted out and need carrying away. Climbing up those straps once everything is positioned for easy flying, he waits until T'ral gives the signal for them to be off home.

Out goes Rocio with an armful of manuscripts and books that are covered in that lovely rusty dust. A small puff plumes upward when she veeeerry carefully sets the items into a protective leather bag that clings to Niamyth's straps before she returns to the site with a few other Lynxes to work their magic. The area is returned to its original state — footprints removed, door set back in place, snow and ice patched and pressed against the entryway as if nothing had occured here today. It's a mystery. They're ghosts. No one can tell that anything was disturbed in or around the cache. When all is clear, the greenriding scout trots back to Niamyth and gives the signal to T'ral that all has been taken care of. "Come on, girl, let's go." Rocio climbs and settles between two viridian neckridges and quickly straps herself in place well before the dainty green leaps skyward to join the rest of her wing. They've a mission to report and treasure to analyze!