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Date Posted: 22:05:30 02/19/05 Sat
Author: Mikhal & ???
Subject: >~<
In reply to: Yima & Yimask; S'kar & Raskith; R'ven 's message, ">Now!<" on 21:33:50 02/19/05 Sat

Disappointment wells up in Mikhal's breast as his egg seems to hatch facing the wrong way - it's Telomm, not himself, that the brown bumps into. But he's not going to be so petty as to try to snatch the hatchling away from the other boy, even with Yima reminding them that this isn't Impression, and he quickly slides back to let Telomm deal with the hungry brown. Instead, he listens to Yima, still secure in knowing that there are four eggs and only four people here. It's not like a dragon Hatching, with more Candidates than eggs, and that is comforting. The blue passes by him before he can get a chance to attract its attention, another disappointment, but he reminds himself that there's still the one other egg. And since Manethenre is hovering over a big, very pale wher - Gold! he realizes, and nearly laughs, since he's fairly sure it's chance (if lucky chance) that she and not one of the boys got that one - that last egg is the one he'll get. All his attention focuses on it, or at least all the attention not caught up in listening to Yima's instructions. And in the end, Mikhal considers himself even more fortunate than the other three, because he doesn't have to spend more than a few seconds wrestling with the big, hungry coil of wet hide and raw powerful muscle he's wrapped around before food arrives. The other three are younger and weaker, and he actually feels sorry for them, having to keep theirs under control. For all that they're smaller than dragon hatchlings, they aren't firelizard-sized by any means, and they're all muscle and sinew even at birth. Hearing Yima's orders, he yanks his hatchling's head around until it catches a whiff of the blood in the correct pot; with that incentive, it barely takes any work at all to get it closer to the food. As soon as they're near enough that he won't have to walk back and forth with the odd blood porridge dripping from his hands, Mikhal cups his palms into a bowl shape and scoops up as much of the porridge as he can hold, then turns back to the squawking watchwher hatchling and forcibly shoves it into the toothless mouth. Even without teeth, the strong jaws clamp down hard on his hands and he has to knock the watchwher in the jaw with his knee to get them free without crunched bones. The next time he's more careful, and manages to yank his hands out again without having to fight for them. It grows easier as Mikhal continues feeding the newborn wher, but it takes a good half of the large pot to fill his wher's stomach. At last, belly distended and swollen to the point that Mikhal's half expecting it to pop open, the hatchling stumbles away and collapses in a heap next to Yimask's warm body. Mikhal's brief flare of panic turns into relieved laughter as the hatchling emits a gurgling snore.

Wiping his hands clean on his shirt, the slight young man tumbles to the ground next to the watchwher, ending up slouched over his crossed legs with his elbows resting on his knees. His sienna-shaded eyes are fixed lovingly on the watchwher - his watchwher. Mikhal has so little to call his own, it's hard for him to get his mind around the fact that he now owns this fantastic creature. Not a beautiful one, certainly, and he knows people who would outright accuse it of being ugly. But it's amazing, and it's his, and that more than makes up for its looks. I need to stop saying "it", he decides, bending closer and squinting. In this cave, he has trouble giving color to the shadowy shapes around him, and he's only actually identified the color of Manethenre's wher, since it's the largest and seems rather pale, like Yimask does. Yima can probably tell what they all are, but then, she's had years of practice of seeing in the dark, and her watchwher's help to boot. He'll figure out what colors Telomm and Clell got later, but right now he wants to know his own watchwher's gender. It's the second-largest, after Manethenre's gold, and also pale, but it's hard to imagine two golds in such a small clutch. There's a slightly metallic tinge to the bare hints of color he can make out in the dim light - sort of yellowish, though there's darker traces veining the wings that aren't patches of shadow. It looks... that's odd.... An incredulous expression spreads across Mikhals's face, not that there's enough light in the cave to see it. He's a bronze! So glad to have a watchwher that he wouldn't care if it was a green - If you don't Impress them, the color you get doesn't say a thing about you, right? - Mikhal still can't help being thrilled. He, Headwoman Gisella's kitchen helper, has a bronze watchwher. All his own, if he can keep it, and he's bound and determined to prove that he can keep it.

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