What Are the Odds? {Jarith's Clutching}

With the passing of Jarith's unexpected Flight and E'rin unexpected encounter with a certain pinkrider, life returned quickly to the status quo. E'rin felt a little uncertain, still, but at least a little more surefooted. Life had thrown a lot at him, and even with autumn waning into winter, he was still standing. The anniversary of his fathers' deaths was drawing nearer, but he felt some resolution in it. Harpers always said that time healed all wounds, and E'rin was never bold enough to trust so quickly, but he at least felt a little surer about it.

When Jarith began to grow fatter and sluggish, he was surprisingly unsurprised. "Well, you Rose in the first place," he told her, "Might as well continue the trend of slim chances happening." It was strange to think that his baby girl of a dragon would be clutching, but it was an acceptable, comfortable strange. It almost replaced the strangeness that had been missing since he became an orphan for the second time, and oddly, made him happy. It was exciting. Did it make him an uncle? He guessed so. Him and A'lan would be uncles to dragons. Cool, he decided, and continued about his days. Even though the air was nipping fiercely cold, he felt rejuvenated, like a strapping young man ought to.

Jarith began, eventually, to complain extensively and she grew ever heavier with egg. "She's looking pretty fat," was a remark heard often from many of the Weyr's residents. E'rin knew she was. He also knew that it was very strange - both to see his little Jarith rotund, and to see a white with a belly so incredibly swollen. He figured that, with all the people in the Weyr eyeing her round, sparkling promise of new riders, he couldn't possibly be the most anxious about it, but he was pretty anxious.

Finally, she slipped like a lumpy, atrophied tunnelsnake to the Sands. That crisp morning was the first time she had emerged since she placed herself under a self-appointed quarantine to preserve her public image of beauty and splendor. She wheezed at E'rin so follow. Help, she huffed. But I'm not carrying you. I can't. I won't! Get down here, okay? E'riiiiin, love, pleaaase.

He had never ran through knee-deep snow faster in his life. He tripped twice, definitely regretted not putting on his second coat, but he made it. The cavern was made humid and frosty by the snow that melted as it sifted into the heat. Jarith had huddled herself in the corner and jumped when he came rushing in.

Wait wait wait! Don't come over. I feel gross and not pretty or fun at all, she said. Oh, she didn't want her E'rinlove to see her so gross and not fun! But E'rin knew her better than that and, embracing the warmth of the cavern, trotted quickly across the sand to hug her muzzle and deal with her whining until five soft, new eggs rested gently on the sand.

Jarith had nudged her precious family close together. The largest of the quintet was a pale yellow hue, fading down to a soft orange, speckled with white. Another, nearly the same size, appeared to be white throughout, but betrayed a hint of pink. Third was also just as large, though a pale, bluish green, with the same white flecks. The last two were similar in hue but much, much smaller, and one being a little more blue, and the last being a little more green. They looked like they could have been cut from Jarith's or Irith's hides, but E'rin quickly banished the strange analogy from his head. Too literal, he frowned.

Jarith snorted a lengthy, hefty sigh and plopped her head down on the sand. They sparkle on the inside, she assured her boy.

I bet they do, he said.

Fajra checked in on them quite promptly and, though from afar, E'rin could tell that she was confused and that her eyes were definitely narrowed at him. Five eggs from a tiny white. It was unheard of. Even he had been surprised - but it explained how huge she had gotten. "Use it against Fort or something," he called to her, and dragged up a wicker chair to recline next to his exhausted prize of a dragon. Jarith didn't care about the Weyrwoman at all, though, and sleepily drawled out, Iriiiiiiith. Daddy Irith.

E'rin looked at the eggs, giving into the early morning temptation to doze off back to sleep. Uncle to dragons, he thought. What are the odds?



(ooc: In accordance with the weyrwoman's newfound strictness after the shenanigans of the Unmith hatching, there will be no egg touching for Jarith's clutch, despite Jarith's enthusiasm and pushing. E'rin just doesn't want to argue with any weyrwomen. To make up for it, Jarith will publicly announce any sort of updates on her eggs' progress, and is really happy to have visitors come watch from the Stands. She is a Proud Happy Momma.)