It's just a candlemark or two before supper, but when word was passed along that the eggs were hard enough for candidates to touch and that the queens might be amenable to a visit from a small group of them, F'kan wasted no time in snagging as many of the white-knotted indiiduals as he could manage. And now the Weyrlingmaster is marching them onto the Sands, pausing at the entrance to adress them. "Now the number one thing to remember is to be respectful. No running, no rough-housing," he eyes a couple of younger lads in the back, already poking at each other's ribs and snickering under their breath. Crossing his arms over his chest, he clears his throat rather loudly until he has their attention before proceeding. "If one of the queens doesn't want you near a certain egg, chose a different one. It's all about keeping them as happy as possible while we invade their space. Now, if you have no questions, please proceed in an orderly manner." And he'll wave them off as he moves onto the Sands himself to find a spot from where to watch them carefully. Wrayth is hovering behind her clutch of eggs, eyeing each Candidate with that eerie mismatched stare of hers as her rider watches from a spot nearby.

Grimlin is ushered in with the others, copying people that seem to know what they are doing. The sands are hot even in his thick boots, glancing at the dragons all those jokes of Dragon-bait seem a bit more real now.. He will nod to the guy giving out the instructions about keeping the giant clawed monsters appeased as he moves about. One egg catches his eye first one that looks like it has angry blue clouds so he walks over and will gently place a hand on Lightening Storm in an Opal Egg.

There's a storm a-brewing, Grimlin…but you know plenty about those, don't you? The scent of salty wind suddenly fills your nostrils, the bite of a chill ocean breeze raising goosebumps on the back of your neck. Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles…yet it all seems to embrace you, swirling around your limbs and head like a thing alive, all mist and curiosity. Do you see the storm as darkness or light, lad? Something to run from, or to stand in the midst of? Are you in the midst of one right now…and if you are, what will it make of you? You feel your hair stand on end, the smell of ozone assailing your nose and static crawling over your skin…and in a lightning's flash, you are right back where you were standing before, unmoved.

Zymuraith watches the influx of Candidates rather tranquilly, lounging on her stomach with front paws crossed and giving a soft rumble as F'kan releases the white-knotted ones to their wanderings. Amani herself is also present, leaning against her lifemate's shoulder and watching all present, Candidates, handlers, and dragons alike. It's always interesting, watching these things play out…and often amusing.

Ibrahim is among that group somewhere; behind two taller candidates, a slim, quiet shadow amid the more boisterous of the group . As the rules are explained, he shifts uncomfortably, noting the heat's much, much more real on the sands than it is in the Galleries, even through the thick boots someone has — finally — convinced him to begin wearing. Once it's over, his gaze wanders over the eggs, finally settling unwaveringly on the That's A Grandidierite Idea! Egg. That thing's been bothering him since this all began. Is it really as rough as it looks? He moves that way, settling a palm on the dull, cloudy surface almost hesitantly.

Your mind is invaded with dense fog the color of a pale blue green, obscuring all other thoughts as it completely takes over. It's easy to get lost in such a place, where everything looks exactly the same as everything else. Will you be lost forever, without any landmarks to guide you home? How long can it persist. Every now and then, to your right, to your left, behind you, the screening fog lightens, beacons to guide you, or perhaps ensnare you further. Just when the thickness of it is at its most oppressive, the fog lifts as quickly as it came, leaving you with clarity of the mind once more.

Liandyn steps in amidst the other Candidates, firmly in the middle of the pack. Already she's tugging at the high collar of her gown, kicking her feet slightly to keep the hem of her skirts free of the sand. From her expression, she might well be regretting her stubborn insistence of adhering to the clothing of her previous home. She glances sidelong as one by one, her compatriots peel off, each selecting a favored egg. She waits for a moment, then two, then steps purposefully towards one particular egg, reaching out to rest slim fingers along the curve of the May the (Rose) Quartz Be With You Egg's shell.

Your fingers press against the cloudy pink surface before you…and then pass through it. It's all around you now, Liandyn - a world of mist enshrouding you, enfolding you from every quarter. There's a soft tugging at your heart, your mind, guiding you forward with a gentle hand with a sense of quiet excitement. There's something more to see, something wonderful… Then the mist grows brighter, warmer, and parts, leaving you standing on a grassy overlook, watching the most glorious sunrise above a sea of cloud floating upon a vast forest. Could there be anything more beautiful? Have you perhaps found what could grant you such heartbreaking glory every day. Stay, you feel yourself implored. Stay, and discover. With that entreaty, the mist-world fades…and you're back on the Sands once more.

It's been an interesting few days for Vasilissa since she had moved into the Weyr for the first time ever, instead of the occasional visitor that feels she has to sneak around. Especially since she was still wary of big dragons and the occasional rider, especially since her run in with the Telgari. So when she's shuffled onto the sands instead of going to dinner, which she was looking forward to, it's with very cautious steps (and many reminders to salute and be respectful, cause that's something she forgets often). There's a wave for Wrayth, friendly and informal that shifts into a messy salute when she's nudged by a random candidate and then a clumsy bow. Let's just copy everything the others do instead. After a long hesitation and watching the other candidates move around, she finally decides it's safe to approach the eggs herself. She shuffles up to Tiger's Eye Egg, then carefully plants a hand on its surface. Her face breaks out from wariness to a bright grin as she actually finds herself touching the shell.

Deep into the deepest of Southern's jungle this egg takes you, something you are well familiar with, Vasilissa. But there! What was that? A rustle of the underbrush. It could be anything. A muffled growl follows, something much more chilling as it is hard to pinpoint from where exactly the sound is coming from. All you know is that it draws nearer and nearer until the shadows all around you alight with bright yellow eyes and the snarling is louder…Just as you are sure you're done for, the egg drops you back into reality, the sensation of fur under your fingertips lingering for a moment before it's gone.

Grimlin glances around and finds the egg he saw last night, though it doesn't seem to be as bright now that he is up close to it, the green spots on it still seem more interesting against the white shelled. He reaches out and feels the odd warmth of the Radioactive Growth Egg, as he mumbles "please let this one want to take me to a beach somewhere…"

So dry… So hot… You wish it was the beach, Grimlin, but no such luck. You're standing in a bleak place, a steel-hard sky above and desolation as far as the eye can see. It's oppressive, almost hopeless…but not completely. There's a sense of resolve, of questioning. What will you do, if everything before you is a blank slate? You could despair at the nothingness, or you could decide to change it for the better. See past the gloom and envision something better, if you dare. Your vision clear and brightens, the heat that surrounds you now the reality of the Sands.

Ibrahim yanks his hands back, alarmed. The fog, it's still before his eyes, though he rubs repeatedly at his eyes, trying to rid himself of it. Beneath his breath, he might be cursing the invasiveness of that strange contact, but one cannot be sure of it at all. Moments — or is it Turns? — later, he turns away, seeking an escape from such oddness, and settling his hope on another egg. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he approaches the Mercury's in Gatorade Egg, hoping that that one won't be quite so confounding.

Oh Ibrahim, the world is suddenly replaced with a shifting miasma of liquid silver, reflecting and distorting your image in a thousands grisly ways, shifting quickly to reform in droplets that attracts others to them, coalescing into one great mass of quicksilver that lumbers closer, threatening to splash over you in its molten metallic way. The wave tips at dangerous angles, and just as it threatens to crash into you, your senses are suddenly returned, the world solid again beneath your feet.

Liandyn's lips part, chestnut eyes growing wide with wonder, and as the far-away look in them fades, there's an exquisite pain etched upon her face. Briefly, she closes her eyes, fingers scraping lightly against the shell as they fold into a loose fist, then she pulls away, offering the egg a last, yearning look. No one had warned her - but instructions had been given; don't linger. So she does not. Instead, she pulls away, pressing that loose curl of fingers to her breastbone before turning resolutely away and striding uncertainly across the shifting sands towards her next target: the Guardian Stone Egg.

Coolness gathers beneath your fingertips, then washes over every inch of you, granting momentary respite from the scorching Sands. Beneath your feet is solid path, and around you stands the strength of solid stone bathed in the light of flickering torches. The longer you look, the more clearly you see the figures carved into the rock - men and women and dragons, precious stones glinting where eyes should be, watching. Sentinels, standing guard into the shadows, back and forward through time itself. Rest in safety here, Liandyn, all seem to silently say. Where there is the most danger may lie the greatest stronghold of all. The firelight dims, the heat returns, and upon the Sands you stand once again.

Vasilissa's eyes stare down at the earthy colored egg, but they glaze over as something seems to be sensed from under its surface… something that this wildling-turned-candidate did not expect. Her freckles stand out as her face pales and then— back in reality, she snaps her hand back as if bitten, reflectively going to the spot where her knife would normally be. Her body tense in defense. "No one warned us the eggs mess with your head," she whines to no one in particular. She gives the egg a wary eye, something in there lurking that is a wildling's normal everyday nightmare in the jungles. She moves on, not lingering and giving the dams a wary look to be certain they are not offended. She keeps mostly to the edges, eventually the urge to touch another egg makes her stop and reach out a hand, to gently glide over the surface of Lightening Storm in an Opal Egg.

A cool breeze plays at your red curls despite the heat of the sands as light fades quickly to the onslaught of black clouds that gather over you with almost scary swiftness. Thunder cracks loudly as clouds are lit from the lightning within them, eerie flashes that illuminate for only long enough for the darkness to seem that much deeper when they dim once more. Dangerous forks of light escape the cloud cover all around you, touching down onto the ground with subtle sizzling sounds. Then the rain comes, torrential sheets that quickly soak you to the bone without any warning, droplets splashing to the each with force. Gradually the skies clear and the storm fades, leaving you back on the sands which quickly chase away the wet chill.

Their timing either good or bad, Ahiardhath and A'kehm break into the sanctuary of the young with a free pass to be here. The temperature difference between Southern and ::between::'s void is drastic and has the bronzerider leaving his riding jacket with his dragon. He sniffs twice, the dimension usually making his sinuses drain for the time after they've landed but spares any sneezing or other symptoms of contagion.

"Yeah well, we can't be warning you about every little thing," F'kan replies when Vasilissa speaks up, a teasing smile on his lips as he makes his way over to Amani and her queen, that tilted smile on his lips especially warm for the Weyrwoman. He does offer her a proper salute though, because he has to set an example and all that.

Ryott comes up next to Wrayth as she watches the way her queen bristles a bit as the Candidates begin to touch her eggs, soothing her with a rub on her neck as she sneaks a look over at Amani and the Weyrlingmaster with a brow raised curiously. Then a certain bronzerider shows up and he gets her attention with a cross-armed stare aimed his way. "Nice of you to show up some time," she remarks in her usual deapan.

Grimlin is really starting to get annoyed at these eggs and their ability to make more questions than answers in his own mind. He takes a step back and glances around not really moved by anything until he sees something that is almost familiar. Something that almost looks like the sun rising on the sea before a storm, walking over he touches the Red Sky of Morning Egg lightly. "At least you seem to come with a warning label."

Didn't anyone ever warn you not to stare at the sun, Grimlin? Because that is definitely what you're doing right now. It's a red so bright it glows, cresting the horizon ahead, making you squint as it glints off the waves beyond the deck that bobs slowly beneath your feet. Familiar, this. As is the warning in the sky - one you know well. Or is that…the Red Star you're looking at, baleful and bright beyond Rukbat's rising? Either way, you know what you have to do - warn. Prepare. Stand tall in your knowledge, heed what you know, and see that others learn it, too. So charged, you're left right back where you started, eyes still smarting with the brightness of imagined brilliance.

But wait, there's more! And this one seems like it would like to drown Ibrahim in molten fire! The wildling is suddenly very sure volunteering for this will be the death of him s he shimmies right on back from that Mercury egg with another curse. "I'm agreeing with you," he mutters Vasilissa-wards, though they'd yet to actually meet: maybe they can bond over the various malignancies of the eggs later? He will turn his attention, then, to the Tiger's Eye Egg, certain that it, too, will try its best to muck up his mind.

Then you are correct, Ibrahim! Because this egg is primed to pounce. You are being hunted, Wildling, the hairs on the back of your neck stick straight out because you can feel the eyes upon you. Hungry eyes with probably even hungrier stomachs, salivating for a taste. Your senses are on full alert, yet you see nothing to threaten you. That's because you never see a predator until it's too late. Eyes of glowing yellow manifest, and just too late you realize they are only a diversion as the attack comes from the side. You are knocked right back into reality, the frustrated snarl in your ear fading slowly until you are back again completely.

Liandyn's eyes drift closed and she exhales a single breath in a long, soft sight. Her fingers tremble lightly on the curve of the egg and she shudders - shivers - in the sultry air of the Hatching Sands. Gently, she pulls away, eyes opening and gazing wistfully at the egg before her. "Why didn't anyone warn us?" she asks it, her voice barely a whisper - and F'kan's response to Vasilissa could easily be meant for her, earning the Weyrlingmaster a quick, blushing glance before she draws away reluctantly. In a swirl of skirts, she once more seeks another egg, to test her own resolve against the minds slumbering within. Next up: Coiled in Amber Egg, and as she steps up to it, she reaches out with a single fingertip, to trace the irregular patterns with a gentle touch.

Gentleness is answered with gentleness, a warm breeze taking up the Sands' heat to tease over your skin. It whispers, wordless, with a sense of resignation as it plays with the dust upon water-worn stone beneath your toes. Pale amber light warms ancient sandstone in front of you and stretching off to each side. There's quiet, solitude, the weight of ages etched upon layers of stone beneath and before you, hinting at where life once flowed more freely. Without it all, this would not be. A half-forgotten memory. Lingering as legacy. This is what you, too, might be. If you remain, perhaps you'll see. The still and lyrical scene fades away, the sand becoming Sands again, just like the rest.

Ahiardhath presses his wings to each respective side and caroles to Wrayth, sidling closer to his current mate but with an eye for these youths he has not yet met. Dragons give great side-eye. A'kehm forms his mouth to say the word 'Oh' but nothing comes out but a big sigh he tries to sell as being held all day. "Aye, aye, thanks for the invite. Are there little finger sandwiches here too?" He looks around as if expecting some. There are a host of notables, Amani, F'kan, that NPC who might be an Assistant Weyrlingmaster and they get looked at but surely they're too engrossed to care what salute he has to expend.

Vasilissa's shoulders droop and then go up, as if trying to block out something. A shiver passes through her as she is lost it he feelings the egg delivers to her… Then she comes out of it with a shake of her red hair and an audible "Brrrr." She takes a hasty step back. "I always thought that touching eggs was just that: Touching eggs. It's like I'm back home and not in the middle of a dragon clutch." She grins at the feelings, a little uneasily. Now I wonder what else y'all aren't tellings us?" She calls back to the Weyrlingmaster and watching him as he makes his way to the Weyrwoman. And then she moves on, making sure not to linger. She stops from one egg and then another, not touching yet. Another dragon arrives which makes the teen freeze up, until she feels the sire isn't going to be protective. "You don't look so bad. Kinda got the color of Wrayth's," she tells the A Rose Gold By Any Other Colour Egg. Having only felt good thoughts with that queen, so far, she decides to give it a try and rests both hands gently on its surface.

A metallic taste invades your mouth, as the warm shell beneath your fingers stands hard against your touch, a soft vibrating from within tingling the very tips of your fingers. What can it be? You get the feeling that it is gently probing, testing you as it continues to resonate at a pitch that increases with each passing moment, revving up until you can feel it vibrating all the way up your arms. Finally, it is satiated, whatever is inside, has gotten its measure of you and is now slowly retreating back into its domain to consider what it has learned.

Amani can't help but smirk at the exchange she hears between Vasilissa and F'kan. "They're saying what everyone else is thinking," she notes to the brownrider as he approaches, her own smile warming. She keeps her tone pitched - hopefully - below what the Candidates can pick up, if they're paying attention. "Not necessarily a bad thing. Though it you who'll end up dealing with the back-talk if they Impress and keep it up." A'kehm's sniffing draws her attention, and she lifts a hand to him and Ryott in greeting before turning her attention forward again.

"I don't know, I think it's better to give them something to find out on their own. I wasn't told, it was a complete surprise," F'kan replies as she reaches Amani's side and greets her with a hidden graze of his fingers along her waist before coming to stop next to her, arms crossing over his chest. A'kehm is given a warm nod in acknowledgement for the other rider on clutch daddy duties.

Wrayth warbles with a bit of irritation at her bronze mate as he arrives nearby, but her tail does lash out to flick against him in as close to affectionate as she get. « Good, you're here. As soon as they are done with their touching, I'm going for a hunt. » she informs the bronze matter-of-factly. Ryott rolls her eyes surreptitiously at A'kehm as she tilts her head at him, "finger sandwhichs no, but I have some waterskins and fruit over there," She says, waving her fingers in the directions of the galleries where she has a small corner furnished for her needs.

Grimlin sighs and isn't pulling to quickly from that last egg, instead he will shuffle away and glance up towards the sky. Thoughts and the heat bring him back around to where he supposed to be, he glances around before finding one that looks interesting. Stepping up to the Pure Alexandrite Egg, he runs a soft touch over it trying to see if it is actually crystalline or is it all a mirage.

Oh, it is truly crystalline, Grimlin. But is it green…or blue…or purple? Your eyes can't decide, and neither can the rest of you. You see three paths before you - one stone, one cloud, one water, all of them shifting through the same colors as the shell you know you must still be touching. Can you guess which leads where? Perhaps no more than you can guess which color is real for this confounding egg. That's all you're going to get: metaphors to consider. Good luck! And back to the Sands you go with an unceremonious flip of the switch, so to speak.

A'kehm watches his bronze more or less subside in repose, sensing this interaction between eggs and unlinked persons as some valuable institution. It very well may have helped him find his rider, after all. "Who're the good, who're the bad, and who're the ugly?" A'kehm returns the senior weyrwoman's greeting with a lift of his head. That F'kan gets so close makes the wildling's chin stay hoisted. He turns back toward the eggs, moves his shoulders in a soundless laugh. An impulse of thought and he much less subtly tries putting his arm around Ryott's middle, right where a belt would fall. « Good. I will fly with you. » The bronze watches Wrayth's tail gently thrash, then their riders. Surely there won't be bloodshed on the sands.

Vasilissa leans just a little closer into the egg she is at, as if trying to feel closer. There's something there… Her mouth and face does screw up as if there is a taste that she doesn't like. "Come back," she murmurs to the egg… to the dragonet inside? Wanting that weird feeling to come back instead! She pulls back, however, at the warble from the queen. Both her hands are up, as if showing: hey, she didn't do it! But a quick look shows that the warble is not for the candidates but for the other dragon instead, and she slowly returns to her wander on the hot sands. She's been out in unbearable situations, the heat doesn't seem to phase her much. "Is it us thinking these things or is it the dragon inside?" Vasilissa cannot help her curious mind from questioning the Weyrlingmaster. Even though she's eager to know the answer, she cannot stop herself from gravitating towards Nothin' Like a Little Citrine in the Morning Egg. She studies both sides before finally deciding to touch glimmering surface.

Good morning sunshine! Everything seems suddenly basking in a cheery yellow light, filled with warmth and joy and everything wonderful. A bright new day where anything and everything is possible and the world is what you make it. Your heart swells with the endless possibilities of what you do with it, it's all just within your grasp. You just have to seize it Vasilissa! Seize it and you can take control of your life, guide it in the direction YOU want! No one else! And even as the light fades back to more normal hues around you, you are left with that feeling of can-do positivity and are ready to face anything.

Liandyn's own reactions don't seem to much mirror her fellow candidates' - either she's lucky, or they're not. Or both. Or she's insane. Anything's possible. Either way, three for three and the girl does not flinch, although she does remove her fingers from the egg and rub her hands lightly along her arms, staring at the egg in quiet contemplation for a moment. The warm air carries words from the quiet conversations, but she does not seem to pay them much more heed than a single wary glance. Wrayth's warble draws her full attention, however,and she glances hastily at F'kan - but as no indication that their time is up comes, she moves on, to the Peridot Paradox Egg, laying a cautious hand upon its celadon shell.

This one is indeed a paradox, drawing your vision closer, closer… But there's nothing more to see, just the illusion of clarity. It's beautiful, but shallow. Isn't it confounding, Liandyn? Do you wish for it to be more? The vibrating pressure of consternation presses upon your shoulders, just a bit annoying. There should be more. There is more. You know it to be true; you're here, after all. But you'll just have to be patient…for this is simply a taste and nothing more! This one leaves you be with a tacit apology, sitting still and sparkling beneath your hand with you fully back upon the Sands.

Ibrahim certainly was correct, whirling to look for that hunter, only to find nothing at all after him; indeed, he's still right here, on the Sands, with no predators in sight (dragons notwithstanding). He'll just have to take a long, quiet moment to breathe, just breathe, amid the utter wierdness of it all before he heads towards None of Your Bizmuth Egg, one hand going to smooth back his long locs. Surely he's going to find one that isn't enjoying rummaging about in his head. For a change of pace.

Not much rummaging here Ibrahim, so maybe you made a good choice. All you feel here is order, precise right-angled order that fractals off into infinity in all directions. Almost like a snowflake it spreads through your mind, inverted pyramids that build each other up over and over, enticing but never invading the one touching it, creating great geometric landscapes out of it's strangely regularly shaped crystals. You feel rather insignificant as the edifices continue to grow much farther and larger than you can see, blocking out the light momentarily and tumbling you into darkness. It doesn't last long though, as the buildings recede and you are once more free and unencumbered.

« No. I meant, I will go hunting, while you watch our eggs, » Wrayth replies with a flash of annoyed fire bursting towards the bronze as the cadence of her golden tail picks up, turning her rose masked face in his direction with eyes whirling just a bit faster. Ryott was just standing there, minding her own business when she suddenly has a bronzerider's arm around her. It's so surprising that it actually throws the pint-sized weyrwoman off for a moment before she turns her head slowly to narrow flashing, dark eyes in his direction. "What are you doing?" she asks with frosty coolness as she cranes her neck to look up at him.

It's not like the eggs are going anywhere but maybe that other pair may steal them as their own. « Very well, I will guard them carefully. » Ahiardhath's pelt-like hide ripples as he moves around a glow station to better imprint his imposition. A'kehm's arm is heavy but it's a weight of its own accord. As the warmth from his arm passes what's beneath, A'kehm looks like he's a contender for Southern Rider of the Year. "What, everyone else is doing it," even the dragons are not innocent in this. "Come now, it shows unity, my little dagger." And a look back to the corner where he was told there are drinks and other items. "Fruit?" He sounds sad. "Guess I need my own corner. With a spit and still, small ones." They'll hardly take up any space.

"They'll be finding out plenty on their own," Amani counters with a chuckle, shifting closer to F'kan following his greeting and settling back again, her shoulder just brushing his. Still enough space for professionalism to fit between them, surely. There's a glance given toward A'kehm and Ryott…and the Weyrwoman pauses curiously before picking up on Ryott's demeanor about the whole thing. She winces and shakes her head, smirking again. "He might want to rethink his take on 'unity'," she murmurs in an aside to the brownrider. Meanwhile, Zymuraith stretches languidly and slowly sits up onto her haunches, tail curling around her feet. It isn't an expression of irritation…though perhaps she's picking up on that of her daughter.

Grimlin shakes his head and says under his breath to the egg "Thanks, not like I didn't need another headache" He turns to see the clutch riders getting all, chummy is a good word for it. Yeah that is too much heat in here for him. He starts making his way towards the exit because honestly who wants to watch other people flirt.

« Yeah, just make sure they are all here when I get back, » Wrayth rumbles back at the bronze, but she does offer him a briefly nuzzle as he makes himself more comfortable. Perhaps a little impatient to get to her meal, the trickster queen suddenly lowers her head and hisses loudly at a pair of candidates near to her, tail flicking with irritation as eyes whirl faster. Ryott blinks in earnest confusion as she furrows her brows to try and figure out A'kehm and whatever his intentions are. She doesn't actually remove the arm from around her though, perhaps forgetting it when she finally catches on to her lifemate's behaviour. Then she's whistling to catch the Weyrlingmaster's attention and give him a signal that time's up. "A spit and still? Good luck with that," she scoffs lightly back at A'kehm, before she finally steps politely away from his arm, though the nickname he gives her does privately curls her lip at one corner.

F'kan looks rather flabbergasted at the exchange of one of his old assistants and the other goldrider but he chuckles a bit to Amani's aside. "Perhaps… He's ballsy, I'll give you that. That girl is down right unsettling at times," he adds with a chuckle. But then he's getting the signal to wrap it up and with reluctance, he moves away from Amani again, tossing her a look and mouthing something private in her direction before he does his job and rounds up the candidates. "Ok people, that's it. The queens want their Sands back, time to head out. It's almost supper time anyway." he calls, waving them all towards the exit to herd them in that direction.

Vasilissa would stick around this egg for as long as possible with that kind of pep talk! Her teeth show as she grins at the shiny surface. "You, you I like," she tells the egg happily. But then there's hissing and that's never a good sound. Vasilissa's quick to step away, and away… If there's one thing that she believes still from her clan's wild tales about dragonriders, it's how protective queen dragons can be with the eggs. After all, not everything was made up lies about the dragonriders. She's already speed-walked towards the exit before F'kan even asks people to move out. Not even a parting bow or salute, this wildling is out of there and eager for supper, one she did not have to hunt herself!

Liandyn seems a little less sanguine about this egg than the others, though by no means disturbed. Merely… left wanting, from the disconcerted expression on her face as she pulls her hand away, staring thoughtfully at the rich green shell. "Well then," she tells it, a thread of wry laughter dancing beneath the words before she tucks her hands into her skirts and looks around, trying to see which eggs currently have little Candidate hangers-on. Wrayth's hiss draws her suddenly wide-eyed gaze, and her fingers clutch convulsively around her skirts as she backs several steps away from the egg, peering towards the Weyrlingmaster for a clue. As he rounds them up, she allows herself to be drawn into the exodus of Candidates, swirling out of the sands in the middle of the pack, exactly as she entered. One of the faceless masses.

Amani gives an agreeing tilt of her head for F'kan's assessment of Ryott, then notes one of the Candidates slinking away even before Wrayth hisses. "Best go catch the ones leaving early," she gets in as F'kan moves away and starts his wrangling. A wide smile answers his mouthed words, and then she's moving forward to help usher out the last of the Candidates. From there, she'll tend to whatever else her lifemate may need of her before seeking a meal of her own, and very likely the cooler comfort of her own weyr if she isn't needed.

« They will be safe with me. » Ahiardhath assures with a bronze's honor and perfectly placed yawn showcasing the breadth and length of his teeth. As the egg touching evolves to close, he stations himself between Zymuraith and Quaverilth, using a slow spread of his wings to take up even more volume. "What, don't believe me? A still and spit would improve this place ten-fold." When Ryott steps away from his loose embrace there's an obscure smirk and the arm is folded with the other. As the candidates file out, he watches until the back of the last one disappears from sight.

Ibrahim is relieved to find the last egg is not inclined to come after him - it just rubs in the alienness of it all. That — that he can live with. He starts to take a step toward another egg, a bit less unnerved now, but nope! Time is up, it seems, as Wrayth makes her wishes known as plainly as possible short of shouting at the lot of them to GET. Out. Now. There's some relief in that, as he turns to make his exit, all too happy to be off those burning Sands and their strange occupants. Away he goes, perhaps to fund food, perhaps not.

When the last of the Candidates are away, Wrayth will boop Ahiardhath one more time with her nose before heading out for a nice, long hunt. And maybe a dip in the sea afterwards if she can push it. Leaving the sands mostly quiet for the time being.

A'kehm gets to work implementing a spit.

Ryott just sits and watches, mildly entertained.