Children of the Mountain Queen {Damask Hatching!}

When the day began, it had been just another, life went on in that same old dried out circle. He rose, he went to the stables, he worked, and he breathed. A few moments out of every day were spared for something glorious and warm, the smell of Delilah's sweet hair, the gentle happy hums that came from the bodies of his firelizards when he gave them gentle pats, and even, as he was learning, the cool calculating touch of Galibra's predatory mind. Mostly, it was Delilah. That gentle presence of love he had come to rely on in the absence of that which he had lost, not that he could ever tell her. Admit how much he cared, how much he relied on and loved her. Then she would know that he had become too close, and she would push away his darkness and reach for the light. So he had to stay in selfish quiet, and love her from afar, and hope that she would never grow tired of him, or find another: While hoping all the while that she would, so she could find the happiness she deserved, and leave him to drift away into the night.

A sharp pain flowered up his arm, drawing him back from the depths of his thoughts and focusing his attention on the perpetrator of his assault; Regulus. The stallion, ears flattened to his silvered mane, screamed angrily at the large man, his hooves stomping a challenging beat into the hard stone that lay beneath the rushes that covered his stall floor. Sebolaren bared his teeth at the beast, only belatedly realizing that doing so was giving in to an urge already being carried out by the growing serpent that was coiled cross his neck. Galibra had felt the bite as sharply as her man, in her own way, and she was already well on her way down his shoulder, her legs scrabbling across the thickness of his winter leathers, mouth agape and ready for the taste of runnerblood. The Journeyman eased her back from her intended target, not with a vocal command, but one inside himself more potent than the strongest word. Inside his mind, the coils of her body were an ever-present thing to be manipulated, in fact, the easiest way to train her was to show her, inside, what he intended for her to do. In this case, he intended for her not to maul the prized stallion of a newly-Impressed Weyrling, no matter how much she hated him at that particular moment.

From around him, various firelizards looked on with mild curiosity. Galibra had been an interesting addition to his fair. Interesting meaning that she had done her level best to eat each and every one of Sebolaren's other charges during her period of acclimation. Baro had gotten the worst of it, because the Brown prided himself as the go-to-leader of the fair, and had taken it upon himself to defend his fairmates by eating Galibra back. Even at eight or so inches, the tunnelsnake had done quite a number on the firelizard, he had needed the attention of a rather flummoxed dragonhealer, and had been unable to fly for weeks following. That had settled the score squarly in Galibra's corner, and had made the issue of her attempts to eat the firelizards solely on Sebolaren's shoulders to prevent: The flying snakes were quite unable to defend themselves from their grounded compatriot. It would take more fingers and toes than he possessed to tell how many times he had woken in the night to the sounds of an ongoing raid, with the tunnelsnake attempting to straight out murder one of the sleeping beasts.

They'd taken to sleeping somewhere else for awhile, he never did find out where, only the bravest, in Oran's case, the stupidest, in Jora's case, or the sweetest, in Lila's case, stayed near to their human. In the end, Sebolaren was only able to make the point to Galibra by stressing the beast's usefulness, and now that they brought her fishes, dead wherries, and other scraps on a daily basis as some sort of offering, she seemed pleased enough to leave them be. She still wanted to eat them, murder them, or both, but she was tolerant. Though the winged creatures liked to get it into their heads that playing 'pick up the tunnelsnake and drop her on people's heads' was a brilliant way to pass the time. For everyone involved. Except the angry tunnelsnake, and the poor person onto which she was dropped. Their relationship, it was a work in progress.

Relenting to the feeling of his hands on her mental sides, Galibra gave the beast a warning hiss that snaked out of her throat like a noose fit to coil around his throat, before retreating back up her human's shoulder and disappearing beneath his collar once again. Regulus, none impressed by being threatened by a puny tunnelsnake, tossed his head and screamed again. Sebolaren's fair, none impressed by an obnoxiously loud runnerbeast, fanned their wings in unison and screamed back. Ten pairs of wings, twenty sails in total, shaking like Gather flags in a high wind, paired with the various bellowing voices that sounded from them, drew the stallion up short, and he settled in his fall with a final stamp of his hoof. "No more of that, or I'll make sure miss Hiolair is convinced you need to be gelded." Not that he would, of course, though he did fix the beast with a look that insisted he was liable to do it himself. As unpredictable and dangerous as complete stallions could be, on a small island is was good to have fresh breeding blood.

"Naw, 'e ain't gonna do nuthin' t' ye Regulus, 'es just a big lout 'e is, too tall t'see clear'n'all!" Speaking of the devil, had brought her, red coils bouncing around her like a fair of hair to his fair of firelizards, and on her heels, her new dragon. She wrinkled her nose at him as she bounced past, but it was her dragon that Sebol kept his eyes on. He had heard that Jarith's babies had been odd sizes, but the dragon that stalked powerfully into the stone corridor behind her bonded was unlike any Green Sebolaren had ever seen before. The size of Day'ar's Viridian, but not one at all. For as much as he was regarding her, she was doing the same, though Kemarahath's gaze was haughty and mistrustful. Check your privilages, cisgendered white male. I don't see anyone threatening to remove your manhood, though it should obviously be done to prevent you from oppressing everyone around you

The Green's eyes whirled a brilliant shade of orange as she passed him, and though he had only just been threatened by her, he couldn't help but admire the powerful shape of her body. The lanky quality of hatchlings was already well on its way out, she was rippling beastflesh and strengthening muscle, and not an inch of her was anything but dominating confidence. Well then. There really wasn't much of anything he could say in reply to that, mostly because he had absolutely no idea what the dragon meant, or was implying, aside from the fact that she obviously was offended by...everything...about him? "Aww Kermie, leave off 'e doesn't mean no 'arm, Regulus's a handful, thankee Sebs for seein' to my beastie, I think we'll be takin' 'im out iffin ye don'tmind. Kermie wants t'go fer a lope t'keep fit, says we hafta be better'n others in the class'n'all, an I canna keep up, she's so big, so I figger'd she could run along'n we'd do it that way."

Kemarahath didn't even bother with the tall Herderboy after her initial speech, as if she had discounted him from her entire life and he was no more an object than the wall behind him, but at least the red-head seemed to regard him with no less respect than she had prior to Impression. "Just make sure he doesn't get it in his head to throw a hoof at her," and he saw by the tilt of her head that the Green was paying attention to his words, probably waiting to take offense to them. "He might end up losing it." Hiolair wrinkled her nose at him before giving a bright nod and hooking on Regulus's lead to his ever-present halter. Some of the beasts couldn't be allowed their full freedom, lest they got loose. Hiolair had needed to be extensively canvassed by himself and Atenna upon her arrival as they did not frequently allow stallions in the stables, much less ones owned by young children, but she had impressed them with her knowledge and maturity on the matter.

She had even gone to great lengths to let them know that her horse was not the perfect specimen, as so many people tried to convince them in order to keep their beasts in the stable. Regulus was plagued with his neurosis and misplaced confidence, but he was surprisingly willing, as long as the hand that guided him was strong enough. Neither he, nor probably Atenna, had expected that strength from a girl who barely topped out at five feet in height, but it was there. Hiolair had trained the beast herself, and he knew every command that Requias herself knew, though he might be less willing to follow through with them. As the trio departed, Kemarahath giving the man one final disgusted look before slipping out into the early morning chill, Sebolaren checked his leathers for lacerations, pleased to find that the stallion's angry teeth hadn't left him mending to do. Most of the chores were done, so he was left wondering what he might do with himself until the runners needed let out for the day, until Atenna's voice drew him away from the misty edges of lost thoughts.

Well actually it had been Damask's voice, but hearing inside his mind always sent him teetering into dark thoughts, and while he had given almost no thought to the hatching in those few moments after, because he was at a far different hatching in his mind, it was Atenna who brought him back to reality. Not only the reality of stone and beast scents, but the reality of possibility. Curiosity, and chance, and...maybe a small glimmer of hope somewhere in his dark soul? From down the corridor he nodded to her, his watcher, his teacher, and his close friend. The turns had not been good to her in many ways, but they had always been good to one another, even in the darkest times, and even if he had not had wonder, he had a duty. Shino was there, the little lost dove that Atenna had taken in but still somehow lost to Damali, and Damali herself, the beasttamer that Sebol wanted to grow closer to, though he did not know how to become friends with a woman who was surrounded by fire.

She had entrusted him with his Galibra, allowed him into her project, and known enough about him to have faith that her trust was not misplaced. Damask had killed at her hatching, but she had not killed since Damali had bonded to her, what would this, the hatching of a Red, bring into the world? Sebolaren was too knowledgeable of animals to ever consider whers monsters, he had always made it a point to meet any Handlers that he was able, convinced that the whers possessed properties that made them just as useful as dragons, even if they could not fly. So, of course, Damali would see the usefulness of tunnelsnakes when compared to firelizards, and of course Sebolaren agreed with her. Galibra had already proven herself a capable hunter as young as she was, which was no surprise considering that tunnelsnakes needed to be able to fend for themselves at a young age, inside stone and with the cold. So he would go, in support, and confidence, of the woman he felt could be a true friend, if he was ever brave enough to risk his darkness to her burning.

Where Atenna and her young charge proceeded him, Sebolaren did a thorough checking of the stables, latches, locks, feed bins, and water hollows, before fully handing charge over to one of the other Journeyman and his apprentices. It was always good for someone to be in charge, even if the stable was a fairly sedate place, things could go south fast, and if someone knew they were in charge, they wouldn't waste time running around like a headless wherry trying to find out who was. As he stepped out into the brisk morning, he scanned the open Bowl. In the far distance he could see Hiolair bareback astride Regulus, her mane of hair like licking tongues of flame in the wind as the stallion loped out across the barren stone, a bright green spot loping alongside with wings splayed into the air. As he carried on toward the Hatching Grounds, making his way along the beast pens, he lost sight of them, and instead focused on a growing bright spec down by the lake.

As he crossed over the first bridge, passing over the river where Day'ar had once attempted to drown himself, the light spec materialized into a large dragon, one which he knew, though had never met. Valeath. Who didn't know the Yellow by now, the dragon with no mindvoice, and possibly no feelings. Everyone apparently loved her, and even as he drew nearer, his eyes drew up the stone Weyrwall to where several dragons were quite at work watching her. Ensuring she never slipped off and injured herself. That was a love his Sicriath could have never fostered inside the hearts of anyone, and though it brought sadness, and anxiety to his heart, he was happy for the Lady Irohvyne that she had some peace of mind, especially when dealing with such a difficult bond.

As he walked, he slowly began acquiring more passengers. The firelizards he owned were all various stages of lazy, but when your human was nearing seven feet tall, there was quite a lot of room to ride around on. What had begun as only Pink Lila and hidden Galibra, had now become Baro, Oran, Ayla, and Jora. Even as he counted their wings out, bright triangles of colour on his drab wherhide jacket, Argo's purple, and Tjord's stark black joined the mix. That was seven of the ten, and the others were overhead, casting their muted shadows down onto the stone ground and across his shoulders. They would land at some point, but for now they were disrupted in their antics by the arrival of a very large Brown. The dragon descended from the sky like a predator, touching down less than a dragon's length away from Sebolaren, forcing the man to duck his head into his collars to avoid the spray of fine dust and small stones that scattered from the powerful gusts of air generated by the dragon's large wings.

The felinesque Verensith bugled brightly again, for he had called to the watchdragon on heights, but what Sebolaren could not know was that the cry was a taunt, or perhaps even a tease, for the watchdragon was a friend of the Brown's, and his duties that morning would keep him from Chasing the Rising Green. "Sorry, he has very few manners, much less so when there are women to bed," the Brownrider who had materialized out of the Dining Hall as only a spec that Sebolaren had only noted in passing, was now a man nearly a foot shorter than himself, who had given him not even a glance before scaling up his dragon's proffered forearm and settling in place between the neck ridges. This time, when the dragon departed for some person's weyr and the promise of copulation, Sebolaren guarded his eyes from the downdraft. When the dust had settled and he was free to again consider his surroundings, his eyes fell on the giant form of a jogging man that made him bristle inside. Q'sis.

It had been a long time since he'd had to deal with the man in any regard, in fact his Tan had Risen, clutched, and mothered a spectacular group of hatchlings with her twin no more than half a turn ago. Though the dramatic events that had taken place there had become the talk of the Weyr for awhile, and had gotten many a person in trouble if Sebolaren had heard it right from the drudges at work. In fact, the distant Yellow was a child of Mith's, Unath's own twin and birthed at the same Hatching. Sebolaren watched Q'sis long after he had begun to fade into the distant parts of the bowl, perhaps worried that the Dragonrider would return, looking for conflict. What could a Journeyman say to a Dragonrider when he had killed his own dragon and was allowed to remain in the safety of stone only because of the Weyr's good graces?

As he turned forward again, pointing his way towards the looming Hatching Cavern, he came face-to-chest with a bright yellow body. The body pulled away and a neck and head materialized, bright-eyed and full of...well...whatever it was full of he couldn't tell. Ohhh you are so very, very, very tall! And lovely. How are you today? My I-roh said that today would be cold, so that we should bathe first, and then I won't be quite so wet and can enjoy the sun, but I saw you! I've seen you for so, so very long, you came from the stables, Yes, and, and did you know that...I can't fit in the stables because I've tried? I would let you ride me, but I'm too small, my Iroh thinks she'll squish me, but she wouldn't, I bet I could carry you both! Yes I could. You have so many, so many...friends! Iroh has one, he cannot hear, but I try, and he cannot. He screams very loud, because he can't tell. I can, though, did you know? I can hear...but no one else...can...oooh. Well. Goodbye, goodbye! Goodbye, I love you!

When the dragon had said nothing to him, Sebolaren had continued walking, stepping around her and striding forward, but the Yellow had not been dissuaded, and had continued along with him. It was rather...odd...because he knew she must be trying to speak to him, but he couldn't hear her. Everyone knew that, didn't she know that. Ahead of him, her human was a voluptuous sight to behold, but Sebolaren did not judge, save that, to him, she was a beautiful thing to look at. Irohvyne smiled at him brightly, ever the perfect mask of diplomacy and welcome. "Valeath enjoys how tall you are, and asks if this pleasant morning finds you well, or how you find the morning." Sebol returned the smile, though as always, his came across as somewhat forced, though not due to present company. As he paused to speak to Iroh, his firelizards disembarked his body in a great wave, and flocked to Valeath like VTOL bugs to a flame, the Yellow whistled happily, rocking back onto her tail so she could try and hold the flying beasts close.

"It is a fair morning, I am on my way to Damask's hatching, and your Valeath is beautiful, she grows stronger by the day, I must, however, take my leave, lest I arrive late and disrupt the Hatching. Please excuse me, Lady Irohvyne." With that, he extricated himself from the situation, just knowing that the Yellow was a tender creature full of love made him uncomfortable. Made him remember. Made him hurt. A few dragonlengths past the Yellow and her woman, where his firelizards still played, Sebolaren ran across another pair. They did not smell of firestone, nor of charred thread, so he assumed that they too were weyrlings, though obviously close to graduating. Macchith lifted her head, water oozing from between her jaws and splashing down onto the stone shore as she regarded the tall man with a bubbling happiness that all Pinks possessed. Hello, oh Dora say hello! The young woman at the dragon's heels turned and gave him a smile, though it was hesitant like his own. "Hello, enjoy the Hatching," the woman said, assuming his destination, and ending the conversation neatly.

Nodding, appreciating her aptitude for being kind and polite, but short, he continued on. Finally, he was close to the stairs leading to the stands that overlooked the Grounds, and in that brief moment he assumed that he was home free, until Q'sis came into view. The man had evidently made short work of the Bowl, or cut across the bridge near the feeding pens to loop back. They were matched for height, but only one of them carried the clout of Dragonrider's knots in a world where your dragon and the colour of its hide mattered most of all. And Q'sis had both. The man stopped, for only a moment, and though words never did pass between them, the Tanrider spat onto the stones at his feet, his eyes never leaving Sebolaren. The air around the Herder erupted, boiling over with angry shrill hisses and the leathery sound of sails in the wind, and before the man could continue, Sebol's fair sounded a retort that the man himself could not utter, all ten of them settling down onto the muscled body of the man they loved.

The Journeyman brushed off the encounter as best as he could, but, though he would never admit it, it cut him. Q'sis had been someone he had felt he could befriend, long ago near this very spot. Impression had changed that, a friendship had changed it further, and the chance for amends had died with Sicriath. Still, the weight of his bondeds gave him strength, as did the warmth they poured into him to combat his darkness, the feel of their soft skin on his as they nuzzled him on. Before he could reach the stairs, and what he hoped would be true escape from the world of dragons, a spiny wher materialized from the dark recesses of the Weyrwall, its luminescent eyes shielded by tinted work goggles, it's burly shape like a terror coming from the depths. At least it would have been, if Sebolaren wasn't so confident in the usefulness of whers. Bifrosk snorted softly into the dawn air, the scent of which was a rare experience for those of his kind, but he was not about to be left below while his Bifrolknir came up here.

Damask might kill him. Or the tunnels could cave in, or the sea could flood the Weyr and drown them. Any number of unacceptable things could happen, and he depended on Bif, as much as the quiet kind man depended on him, so they simply wouldn't be separated for the sake of day's light. Watch man. Bifrosk's first. Keep noisy flying snakes away, might peck out eyes. Why Bif slow. "I'm not slow, and howdy," Bif said, coming out of the shadowed tunnel, his own eyes hidden by a wide-brimmed workhat which he tipped Sebolaren's way when he noticed, not that you could miss, the firelizard-covered man. "I'm just tired, now come on, let's go take a seat." But Bifrosk had stopped, and he would not move. Bif not go scary high, found you there, last time. Down here now. Bif shook his head sadly, and spoke aloud for the sake of the man who seemed to be regarding them curiously, though they were currently blocking the way to the stairs.

"Damask will eat you, I'm sitting up there." Bif gave the tall man a farewell wave, and jogged up the stone steps, but the Brown wher did not depart. He hesitated, his shoulders hunching as if he wanted to hide beneath his spiny back, before he made up his mind and stalked over to the gaping opening from which the Candidates-turned-Wherlings would depart. Sebolaren watched the tip of his stumpy tail disappear, shrugged, and then followed the Brownhandler's footsteps up into the warmth of the Hatching Cavern. Finding seating was easy, very few people actually regarded whers with the importance that he, and other Handlers, did. So there were never many spectators. Those who did spectate, typically did so for family, which was why Bif was present, he had spotted Dizzy and made a beeline for her, plopping down next to her and seeking out his adopted guardian Tius. "I hope it's his time, this time, I still can't help but feel like I stole a baby from him." The young man gave his cousin a bemused grin, and then settled down to watch the proceedings.

Sebolaren, following behind, ended up in quite the same spot, though he sat beside Atenna, giving the firelizards all the time they needed to settle. Extricating themselves from the mass of sails, and doing as they typically did, the firelizards spread out to those nearest, in this case it was Argo, Jora, and Tjord who found their perches on the woman's shoulders. They whistled happily to the Journeyman, never once assuming they might be an annoyance, and settled down, quite happy for the time being. The remaining seven jostled for position on Sebol, though Lila won her favoured spot against his neck, flanked by Oran and Ayla. The other shoulder held Baro and Kidek, because the young Brown was quite enamoured with his dominant older Fairmate. That left tiny pink Urial, still growing, in his lap, and Sigard, the runt-sized twin Blue to Sebol's need. They were still distant, still conflicted due to the pain spread between so many bonds and the shattering that had happened last winter, but the Blue was growing close to the fold again, and he did spend time with Sebolaren when he felt amicable enough.

The dragonless man flashed Atenna a smile, it was warm, but honest, and maybe a tad apologetic that she was a temporary perch, but other than that, he was settled. Down below, Bifrosk had found a seat out of the way near the healers, he even allowed a rather lanky woman to give him a pat, but mostly because her colourful attire was appealing to him. Like flowers in spring, or fruited garden growth. Yrsavild smiled brightly at the Brown, but her attentions did not waver long, because she was there should she be needed as a Healer, first and foremost. This was no happy show for her, not a time to bask in. Ichor and blood could be expected at almost any hatching, but this was Damask's, and these were whers, and her arms were already red to the elbows from redwort.