It's right around mid-day, making the temperature outside climb steadily in the heat of the baking sun. It's certainly not any cooler in the Galleries, what with the heat from the sands wafting over the tiered seats, but still there are a few people milling around egg-watching. One of these happens to be Fergus, who has claimed a seat right up front. He's not that hard to miss with his red-gold masses of hair and beard on display, so shockingly apparent against the more mundane colors of the background. He sits rather hunched forward, his broad back and braided hair probably the first thing anyone might see of him. Fergus' hands are the only thing currently in motion - he seems to be busy whittling at a piece of wood with a small paring knife, gaze intent on his work and only every so often glance out across the sands. A half-eaten meatroll, a napkin and a container of some sort of drink sit on the bench next to him, obviously remnants of a lunch-in-progress.

Midday is as good a time as any to come and see the eggs, and for Xanthee, she does it any chance she can get whenever she is a Candidate. So even though she had been assigned a large basket of mending by one of the headwoman's assistants for her chores that day, the raven-haired girl decided to that the galleries was the perfect place to do so. And so, with the aforementioned basket propped against her hip, she makes her way in from the entrance. Seeing someone in her own favourite place, front and center, she makes her way there anyway and sits down next to the re-haired man, offering a friend smile as she spies the work he's doing. "Ohhh, what are you making?" and then she quints at him, "Haven't I seen you in the Barracks?" she asks. He is kinda distinctive.

It takes a few seconds for Fergus to actually look up from his whittling when Xanthee addresses him - he takes care to finish a long, complicated sweep of the blade of his knife over a rather curved section of the wood before acknowledging the fact someone's decided to sit next to him. At first it's just a brief grunt before he elaborates, "Carving." As if that weren't completely obvious. But Xanthee might be able to notice the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes - there's probably a smile hiding behind that giant beard of his. He knows he's being purposefully vague. He turns to her a bit more fully so that the white candidate knot, still fresh and crisp, can be seen on his opposite shoulder, "Unless I have an unknown twin," he rumbles in his deep basso tones, "That'd be me. I've only been here a day or so. From Southern." He sweeps his knife over the wood again, producing a long shaving that falls to join the tiny pile at his feet. Someone may be a bit miffed about that if he doesn't clean it up, surely. After some silence, he grunts again, "I'm Fergus." An afterthought.

Xanthee watches with interest at the way the man moves his knife over the wood, and her own lips quirking into a smirk at his one word answer. A man of few words then. She nods slightly as she spies the Candidate knot as he turns. "Oh from Southern? I was a Candidate there a little over a turn ago now. Great place, very different from here." Setting the basket of mending on the far side of her Xan sits down next to him and begins digging into the basket for the small dewing kit she knows is there somewhere, "Well met, I'm Xanthee, although most people just call me Xan. Welcome to Igen! I grew up here, so you need to know anything just ask." She says with a bright smile and emerald eyes dancing pleasantly.

Fergus twirls the tip of his knife deep into a section of the wood, defining a section of the carving better. It might be apparent the thing has the vague shape of a dragon, though mostly unfinished. "Well met," he finally grunts, his voice still deep and rather hard to read, tone-wise. Showing emotion is something either he doesn't do or he has no concept of doing. Or that's just his voice. "All I know is there's sand," he adds his wisdom about Igen in his basso rumble, "And it gets everywhere." His next grunt is one of amusement and there's a bit of a twitch behind the mass of red-gold that's his beard - a smile? A grin? Who knows. "Only was at Southern a bit as a posting. Was from Lemos originally," he continues after a brief pause to whittle a little more at the wood in his hands, "I'm in the Smithcraft." He probably doesn't have to say out loud what his specialty is, considering what he's doing. He tilts the tip of his knife in the direction of the eggs, "Here to gawp, too?"

Xanthee lets her eyes go down to the carving again, tilting her head to one side as she finally thinks she sees the familiar shape of a dragon, "Wow, you're really good." She says appreciatively as she finally finds the small leather bound sewing kit. Opening it up she takes a needle out and deftly threads it before putting the kit aside. Fergus' hard to read tone doesn't seem to bother her, as long as she hears responses of some sort, the bubbly girl will continue chatting away. "Oh just wait until it's closer to Summer and the Sandstorms start in earnest. Then you'll have sand in places you never even knew existed." That is accompanied with a sage nod of her head as she picks out a shirt with a hem unravelling and quickly sets about starting her chores, "Well I'm on mending today." As if that wasn't obvious by now, "And I like to bring it in here and watch the eggs. It gives me an idea as to which I will want to touch when they end up taking us out there." She says sagely, giving him a little side-eye and a nod.

Fergus grunts again, this time in a more subdued pitch, obviously not one to brag about his skills, "Kind of a requirement to be a Woodsmith." He obviously thinks the miniature gold dragon taking shape under his hands is no big deal. Ad it most likely must be a gold, considering he's chosen a fairly pale golden-hued wood for the job. He lets the silence consume him for a bit more, pale blue eyes narrowed in concentration as he scrapes a bit more detail into the complexity of the folded wings. He must still be listening, though, as the mention of 'sandstorms' have him glancing up with a grunt of query, "Sandstorms? They pretty bad usually? Was a big rainstorm at Southern before I got Searched." He makes a new noise - a snort this time - at the mention of sand in unknown places. Fergus is full of varying grunts, grumbles and snorts, apparently - all of them mean something. "Got kitchen cleaning duty," he offers up after a bit more silent whittling, "Waiting for lunch to finish." As though remembering he has some food he's supposed to be consuming, he settles the carving on his lap and reaches for the meatroll at his side, pausing to take another large bite of it. Crumbs end up in his capacious beard. He doesn't seem to notice. "You have a favorite?" he tilts his head to the eggs, his eyes roving across the mound in search of a particular one that he's already keen on.

"Yeah, sandstorms are…well…you kind of have to just experience one to fully understand." Xanthee says with a little shrug. "I remember some of the storms they had at Southern. Oh the things they made us Candidates do during them." her words are punctuated by a shake of her head, memories being obviously dredged up as she puts needle and thread to garment and begins her task before continuing to speak. "Kitchen duty's not bad at all actually. I know most everyone in there." my what a boastful lil thing Xan can be sometimes, but really her tone is simply friendly with a hint of bubbly. "There was one I caught sight of during the clutching…" She cranes her head now to look around the pile of eggs, not seeing it at the moment, but then pointing suddenly at a scarlet egg with the baubles of gold sapphire and ruby, (Extravagant Indulgences Egg) "That one! I really wanna see what it feels like to touch it." she says excitedly, "What about you?"

Fergus takes another bite of meatroll as he shifts to one side, peering in the direction that Xanthee points out. He squints, tilts his head to one side and then the other, "The hairy black one?" Because that one does look like it'd be interesting to feel and it's fairly close to the one Xanthee's actually pointing out. "Or the red one?" He's totally not very eloquent on descriptive words. He's silent for a few moments as he looks out for the one that he's interested in and eventually he finds it, pointing to the Last Light of Durin's Day Egg, "The one that sort of looks like it's got a keyhole on it. Looks kind of like the sun is glinting off it." Setting aside his meatroll, he scratches idly at his beard, shedding a few crumbs from within the thick mass of hair, "They actually feel different?" Because eggs should feel like eggs, at least to Fergus' mind. He grunts in bafflement before taking up his carving again, focus going back to whittling the tiny gold dragon miniature for now. "And I probably won't mind the sandstorms. Trying to get used to the 'no trees' thing, though. Difficult."

"The red one. Although that black hairy one is definitely on my list of ones to touch." Xanthee says as she nods slightly. Then she looks to where Fergus is pointing and she nods, "Oh yeah, I like that one. Nice pick." She says with a warm smile for the woodsmith. "Not to the touch, like in a few sevendays, when they get hard enough for us to touch, you'll see. Some of them will touch you here." she says as she taps her own temple. "Sometimes it's subtle, just a little whisper you're not sure is there, or a flash of color, or somtimes a whiff of a smell. Others…well..others are more dramatic." And she will leave it at that. "This is actually my third time being a Canddidate, so again, ask anything you want to know." She says with a grin as she continues to pass needle through fabric. "Yes I could imagine it would be hard to be a woodsmith in a place with no trees." She adds with a giggle.

Fergus huffs out a breath that may be a laugh before leaning down to exhale over his carving, sending up a cloud of sawdust. "May be my only chance this time 'round, so might be more fun to just let myself be surprised," he rumbles, his lips twitching into a grin behind his beard, "I'm nearly 24 turns. Don't think they go for old candidates after a while." The confirmation of the red egg has him squinting out at the sands again, peering at the egg in question before he grunts in affirmation, nodding his head barely, "Very red." And that is all he has to say about that. He does arch a brow at Xanthee, somewhat disbelieving even though his voice still remains fairly montone, "The eggs … read your mind?" He makes a grunting noise that certainly sounds skeptical as he eyes the eggs on the sands. Then he shakes his head, turning his attention once more to his carving. He pauses every so often to take bites from his meatroll, which is nearly gone now.

Xanthee nods her head enthusiastically at his question, "Well not the egg, most probably it's the dragonet inside reaching out in some way. That's just my theory. It's explained that the reason they have the Candidates touch the eggs is that it reduces injuries during the hatching." Just a little fountain of knowledge is this young weyrbrat candidate. "Wow, you are old." Xan says, quickly back peddling when she realizes what she has said, "I didn't mean that, like that, but yeah, I've not heard of aynone over twenty-five to be asked to stand really. But it only takes one try though." She says with a twinkle in her eye as she gets back to her mending, because, did we mention, there's a lot of it?

Fergus gives a grunt of amusement that's part laugh, "Thanks for the compliment." As if Fergus could be any younger with such an epic beard. He considers the eggs thoughtfully for a few moments as he pops the last of his meatroll in his mouth, chewing in silence. "Suppose it makes sense," he rumbles in his basso voice, "Though it's odd." Apparently the thought of something inside one of the eggs touching him in his mind is a bit creepy. He huffs out a sigh, knocks back the last of his drink and then stands, pausing only to sheathe his whittling knife and stow the carving in a belt pouch. "Best get to cleaning," he notes on the end of a gruff sigh, "Crusty plates to scrub." Another grunt is aimed at Xanthee, this one more of a farewell sort of noise that's accompanied with a tip of his head, before he collects his things and eads out of the Galleries.