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Date Posted: 21:14:41 12/06/04 Mon
Author: Matelle
Subject: Oh NO!

Only three left!

That's the single thought pulsing in Matelle's mind as his sandal-garbed feet beat against the night-cooled stone outside. It's bitter cold and he clings the billowing white robe to his body, lips almost blue and teeth chattering in his skull. But when sandals start pounding onto the sands, sending golden sprays of grit in his wake, his footsteps stop jarring him from head to toe and the heat hits him like a wave in the sea. Lips part and he pants, not only from the exertion and the sudden and nigh-unbearable warmth of the place, but from raw emotion in his veins.

Shards! Oh, shards oh shards oh shaaaarrds.. only three left, oh by Faranth I hope I Impress..

His mind mumbles something about green after that, but he ignores it.

Any colour, any colour! For mum and dad and little Telomm and Letimira..

Matelle brings his hands suddenly to his head, fingers combing through dark brown locks and swishing his bangs to either side of his forehead. Milky blue eyes rove over the three remaining shells, each a glorious mottled beige, hinting not at the colour inside. He forces his mind away from the heated moment and back to the advice he'd been given by some older rider. Nice chap. White hair.

'What did he say..' mumbled the young man of almost twenty Turns. He felt a little old, compared to most of those hoping to Impress. 'What did he say?..'

'Now, my boy, dragons don't like frantic or whiny Candidates.. no, it seems to me that they seek those strong of nature, and proud, and ready for them! Raising a dragon as your soulmate is no easy task, remember..'

'Of course!' Matelle grins broadly, supple lips stretching to accommodate the smile. He plants his hands on his hips and marches to stand a respectful distance from the mother green - that didn't seem so odd to him, but then again, he wasn't that well versed in the older times of dragons, and it seemed fine every once in a while for a green to clutch. Bending at the waist, the young man gives her a very low bow, exposing the back of his neck in a sign of trust and offering. Only then does he speak out to the sands, head thrown high and prepared.

'Grenith, Impressed by G'rein, weyrmate of Golgith!' Somehow, he doesn't mess up that tongue-twister of a greeting. 'I have come as a Candidate to the mind of one of your children. I represent my family and friends and I am proud to stand here as a culmination of my life's work!'

Matelle follows his trembling words of windy tenor with another low bow, hair drifting about his features. One hand sweeps swiftly, in a single and elegant motion, to flick hair behind one ear. His attention falls upon the three enigmatic orbs, mouth open and lips now very chapped. He throws his arms wide, bracing his body, hands tightening into fists.

'Come out, children of Grenith the green! Leave your prisons and emerge into a new world!.. '

Sharply, he trails off, letting his last word ring in the thrumming, humming, buzzing atmosphere of the hatching sands.

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