2024-06-28 - Rifts

Now what? Misogauth's attention veered to Mother's thoughts to try and peek in on them. She still felt irritated when Gwillanth went off somewhere, despite finding company amongst the other eggs. If Mother was leaving again, Misogauth would have to find something to soothe the loneliness. Her mind begins to unfurl, searching for the others.

Neath, content in a doze, just barely stirred when Misogauth reached out. Was something wrong? What is it...? it asked, mindvoice giving away just how drowsy it was. Its 'green' siblings were easily its favourite at this point and it was quicker to respond to them than any of the others, though it loved them all. Is something the matter...?

The time was much as any other - passing in between burbling mindscape conversation and attuned thoughtstreams to the world around. Seth, much to their displeasure, had been moved again. Rearranged back to some place too close to their clutch siblings. They made their displeasure known by railing against Gwillanth's coddling, twitching anew.

"Stop moving me! I was fine where I was!" Not that their golden mother could hear, or understand. But it made Seth feel better to complain, so they did. Even if Gwillanth could not reach their budding mindvoice, the siblings around them could. Whatvever was happening, Seth was not terribly concerned, not when they were preoccupied with their own tantrum.

Misogauth would find Rioth; the little egg had been content to cuddle within Gwyllanth’s thoughts for the time being. Time was still abstract; she could have spent hours in that state - at least until Mother left again.

The tickle of another mind earned a little giggle - one that also served to stifle her Big Voice.

“You are awake! I am with Mother. She is having a fine time…are you!”

Myrcelleth noticed the probing as well. Since their conversation had gone... relatively well this time, they had kept an eye on the other eggs, eagerly looking into each of them. They didn't mind being moved but... her leaving more and more often was a little concern. Did you notice that she is leaving more and more often now? Do you know why?

The initial terror that had been felt during Mother's early absences had faded long ago into calm acceptance and only wishes for her safe return. The goings were noted, but not fussed over. Now the Harper's comings and goings were followed with much more interest. Alas, no music filled the cavern at this time. Well, no music of human making. Several of the Others, ones with which it was less familiar, though, could be heard. It listened, as always, with delighted curiosity. Perhaps she leaves so that we sing together more, instead of for her? She always comes back.

Chatter. Courth furls up, circuits going dark on the side with the most 'sound' as though this will protect him from the inane chatter. If he is quiet, no one will bother him. He certainly won't bother them...He will simply correct them.

'We are not the be all and end all of her life,' he announces, confident. 'She has other things she must do that are important.' Just what those things are, he has no idea. The inner workings of the word 'diplomacy' elude him.

I don't sing for her. Should I be? Neath didn't think it sang at all. Its experiences with music thus far had been poor - why would it want to? Did this other know something it didn't? It was doubtful at this point, but still curious - if anyone did know something it didn't, it wanted to know it too. We are the most important thing in her life. I wonder what else she's doing.

Knuadth is used by now to the uncertainties of Mother's thoughts and actions, and the eddying of her drifting away is balanced by the memory that she will eventually return. He rests in dozing coils of thought, stirring only vaguely as the others shift and began to speak with each other. "She does come back," he agrees, content to echo another's thoughts. "She will come back again."

'A fine time leaving us!' Misogauth immediately complains and tries to worm her way 'next' to her fellow greens and eggs. She doesn't yet have a nose to wrinkle, but for a moment she wishes she did. 'Sing together? Like the stupid Harper with that stupid song?' Alright, so she had opinions. One of those opinions was that Mother's other Important things were not as important as the eggs.

Mother is a bit restless, I think, Kanyoth yawned. He, too, had been sleeping, but was rarely content these days. Not when he was stuck here with so much going on out there. She misses what it's like outside of here. In the cavern where we are. And she's expressing her restlessness by moving us around, I think.

Exactly, Kanyoth agrees with - well, he didn't know what this one of the clutch's name was [Circuits], but the one who is trying to curl up away from all the conversation. Understandable.

We have each other while we wait, Myrcelleth reached out to comfort Misogauth, scooting closer to her. I hope she feels better soon in that case. I'd like to sing for her, but I don't know if I would be any good, they confessed, quieter and more shy now. They avoided Courth for now, even if they knew that he was right. I like her dreams of outside the cavern, do you too?

Like Challeanoth often was, they were passively listening, aware of the going-ons of mother and the other eggs, but rarely involving themselves in conversations. This time, though, the talking was more interesting, and while they didn't have anything to add themselves, their attention was certainly drawn.

Amusement and contentment were all that this egg exuded, both at the slightest attention from Gwillanth when she deigned to move them around just so (joy of joys!), and at the indignity of its fellows there on the sands. Languid movements now. It's fine, Synnevath reminded herself. If this is what mother decided, then it is right. "_She knows best," is her laconic response. It's not that Syn doesn't acknowledge any dismay or concern in her clutchsibs, but that she's willing to conform to whatever situation she has been placed in - a facet of her watery nature perhaps.

The addition of more and more voices manages to knock Seth out of their tantrum. Now, without something to complain about, they listen. Then they scoff, giving off an equivalent of a shrug. "Fools. You make excuses, but Gwillanth cares not for us. She will leave for the other one - Pertemarth - and we will be alone. She sings for him. Not for us."

“She comes back. She always comes back.” As far as Rioth was concerned, it was a simple fact of life - the first thing of which she was aware and the source of comfort above all. She broadcast the thought with as much surety and authority as a tiny egg could manage. “It will be all right because it always will be all right, that is what she does.”

“Stupid Harper?!” It was a yelp - another tamped down Big Voice - and she quivered with incredulity, unsure if it was anger or insult that she’d felt. “I like the Harper’s songs! And so does Mother!”

Things are not stupid just because you do not like them. The one in the comet-striped egg, whose name, perhaps, was Ilrioth, said - no heat to their words, just lilt and laughter. My, but these Further Others did have a bit more spice and bite to them than his Near Ones. We- Oh? Its attention turned away from its Others towards Mother once more. Something had changed. Had the Others noticed?

This, Myrcelleth did not like, rising against Seth and about to retort before noticing Gwillanth's movement, Mother's movement! She draws his attention as she always does, especially as she moves closer to them. She doesn't seem alright now, he frantically pointed out to Rioth. She is worried for something. Is there something going on outside today? Naive enough to assume it was just another part of the normal that he was so uncomfortable with.

Liorenth sends a brief acknowledgement to Seth - also baiting against being moved around by mother. He has tried to firmly say "No." Then escalated to "No I do not want to be moved. I am fine. I said no." But to no avail. Eggs get moved whether they like it or not. He is interested in touching new minds - these eggsitters may be more amenable - picking up mother's restlessness.

But quick as any of the clutch to home in on Gwillanth's emotes, he slowly and mournfully raises the whisper of an alarm. She is worried. Why? He pauses, trying to put into words a sense that mother's familiar worries and grumbles are different from this.

If there's one thing that makes Courth's metaphorical hackles rise, it's being contradicted. He sparks at Neath's assertion and is on the verge of lashing out – what is its reasoning, hmm! Why does it know more? – when Kanyoth speaks up instead. At least one of them is sensible...

Sparks fade, Courth's lights dim. The world is full of noise. Perhaps it's mother's unease that makes them all so argumentative. So easily influenced...

'If she did not care she would have left properly before now,' he snaps at the scoffing Seth. 'It's not logical to stay where you do not want to.'

'I can decide what is stupid for myself.' Misogauth fires back, completely unperturbed by the reactions of some of her fellow eggs. 'I would prefer to hear you sing.' She replies to Myrcelleth, but before she can say more cold begins to work its way through her veins. 'What is happening?' Alarm.

I don't like them at all. I wish he would go away and not come back, Neath says, partially because it's the truth and partially because it wants to tease. Mother's unease does not go unnoticed, but it isn't particularly notable either - whatever is going on outside isn't something Neath can control, so it simply won't worry about it. Does it matter what's happening out there? We can't do anything with it.

Azimuth had mostly been ignoring her siblings, continuing to eavesdrop on Gwillanth, but her sudden upset made her snap at her noisy siblings.
Something's odd, different. Could you all just shut up? I want to hear what's going on!

And suddenly everything was not all right. It wasn’t a creeping feeling; it was a sharp shock, a realization that something outside was wrong. And that it was Mother that was not feeling all right, and that above all else was what was truly frightening.

Instantly her hand was in her mouth and she began to gnaw warily, instinctively shaking and shoving herself within her shell as close to Gwillanth as she imagined she was able.

“Everyone…? You know what I said just now? I still mean it…” Her voice was far from big, now.

“Why are you so concerned about when Mother isn't here if she's here right now?” Jjezreth announced, confused by the direction its siblings had taken their chatter. And something of the harper? It was good to know it wasn't along in its distaste for that noise.
Then it's attention was drawn to Mother and her unease. “Mother? Mother!” Jjezreth broadcast as best it could, “what's happening? What're you feeling? I don't like it.”

But Mother rarely worries about these things, not like this, Myrcelleth points out, uneasy at being snapped on, but the comfort of being with his fellow 'greens' makes him simply try to talk to their direction instead. What if something bad is going to happen?

If she didn't care for us at all, she wouldn't be here at all ever, Kanyoth grumbles at Seth. Though I'm sure she'd be happier if Pertemarth was here.

Her attention was caught by The Mother's unease, the thought of dust from ... the sky? Something is happening out there. I think? The ones outside the cavern are distressed.

So do I, Kanyoth agreed with one of her neighbors, Azimuth. That was better than screaming and lashing out with her existential frustrations at Neath, anyway.

Alaphiath would like to know what else Mother, Gwillanth, has to do besides care for eggs, but the unease was far more important than trying yet again to get Mother to hear her. I don't like this. It is not right.

'If only...if only we were outside. We could see.' Misogauth burbles with unease as she is unable to do...well anything. Anything other than press her mind against her more familiar siblings. Could she move yet? She tries to wiggle something but her effort is futile.

The clamor of concern, irritation and other feelings washes over him. Knuadth is better at separating his sense of himself from the others than in earlier moments, and their concern does not become his. But when Mother feels distracted, drawn away by something... her mind is still the tide on which he rests, sometimes above and sometimes beneath. Her feelings creep in, settling over him with cold weight.

He lapses into silence, uncertain of what to say, or if anything should be said. Curling inward, away from the clutch, he strains to hear/feel, and to block out the others' rising tension.

You're all being silly, Neath says, harshly to some and more gently to others. We can't see or do anything about it. Let Mother worry. She'll handle whatever it is. It extends comfort to Myrcelleth and Misogauth first, and the rest second.

Ilrioth was listening now, something they enjoyed just as much as things spoken or sung. But this listening, it was... less than nice. Mother's worry had become its worry, and the worry of the Other's. I agree, this is a different worry, something new. Not a nice new, either. A pause, then a concurrence. I do not like it, either. Oh but for movement of its own, for sight beyond that of the shell. But no, all he could do was wait.

'Maybe someone will come and tell mother what's going on.'

Maybe. Hopefully. If it was important enough to make mother worry, to bring unease to their minds, unintended or not, surely someone would be sent to bring mother knowledge.

Myrcelleth curls around Misogauth without hesitation. Even if they felt just as small as she did, they would protect her, keep her feeling okay. But isn't that worse, that we cannot do anything about it? I hope someone will come around, yes. That would be best. She will feel better and so all of us will.

Do you know how much I long to be outside? To not be stuck helpless in here??? Kanyoth snapped, mostly at Misougath and Neath, but everyone could hear. With that thought in mind they once again began to wiggle and rock inside of their confinement, yet another of countless attempts to get OUT. To be FREE.

"She is here out of duty, not because she wants to be," Seth dismisses. "If you paid attention to the harper's warbling, you would know that."

The worry is infectious, though. Seth feels it as others do, but they are far more interested in being obstinate than letting the others know that they could feel so alarmed. Truthfully, the snapping just keeps their mind off of whatever has everyone so riled up.

"Oh! I suppose you're right," Jjezreth said to Neath, "but I don't want Mother to be upset! Can I make her happy again?"

It's one thing to stay calm when there's mild anxiety or even moderate panic, but this fear is not something Neath is familiar with. It swallows it down and reaches to as many of its siblings as it can with mental wings to cover them - it can do nothing, it can do nothing, it can do nothing, but this time it has to try. What is an earthquake, and why does it scare Mother so? It doesn't matter right now. It does its best to project feelings of comfort and protection to its others.

Earthquake? The earth quakes? How did that happen?

Myrcelleth couldn't afford do anything about this, couldn't stop it, couldn't even hide as Issrodeth called for everyone to fly. How can we fly to the skies! he demanded, voice shaky.

He does not know names, not really, but he is in the process of wording a calm to [Seth] along the lines of 'You like to argue and it can be fun but now is not the time' when the world shifts and shatters. Sensations unpleasant and unknown, nothing like Mother's gentle turnings. Fear and screams, thick and potent. And he, so impotent among the chaos. Help us. They call to someone, anyone - to Mother, to her Blue, to the Harper, to the sky. To anyone or anything that could offer aid.

'I...suppose you are right. As long as...as long as...' The world begins to move and at Gwillanth's scream, terror seizes Misogauth. Her mind is drowned out by anything but fear, and the world shakes her still-developing body. She tries to huddle her mind against Neath and Myrcelleth's, but the tremors disrupt her attempt.

As much as Courth dislikes the rising chatter, repeating the same topics over and over, the scream from mother is worse.

'Shush!' he hisses at Myrcelleth, echoing Azimuth's earlier call with less politeness, and ignoring his own advice. 'Be silent! If we all stop, we will hear what is happening!'

He too does not know how they are supposed to get to the skies.

When Gwillanth moved their shell, it was with gentle touches and soft nudges. This? This was the exact opposite.

The ground roiled and twisted, and not even the sand surrounding them could stop it. Panic, not just from Gwillanth, but from the Weyr welled up. Seth, too, felt that fear, ice cold on raw nerves.

"MOTHER-!!" they cried with all their might, visage of indifference snapping under pressure, under sheer terror.

Kanyoth was so used to moving himself around on the ground so much that for a moment he didn't realize that some of the shaking wasn't him. Not until there was a sudden JOLT to the earth. Not until The Mother screamed.

This was not good, but it felt ... right, in a primordial way to Kanyoth. He was kindred to the earth, after laying on the ground for so long in the time before he knew himself.

We must be free! We must free ourselves now! He called to the others of the clutch as he went rolling once again. Maybe, if he hit the confines against the movement of the earth just right, his prison would break and shatter.

No, this is very wrong. Oh the sudden jolt of feeling UNSAFE. Unsafe. Unsafe. The world is moving. unsafe. Liorenth echoes Myrcelleth, We cannot fly...

And then mother SCREAMS and he is swept up in the fear. Distress! Distress! MOTHER! Then to the clutch, he reaches out again are you there still?

Mother screamed.

And so did Rioth. She wailed and the world lurched and she screamed again, flinging her mind far and wide, grasping with little hooks into everyone at once and trying to draw comfort from their presences.

_ “MOTHER, WHAT IS WRONG, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!”_

She couldn’t do anything, she wasn’t great and terrible like Gwillanth at all - she was a silly little thing in a silly little trap and all she could do was wiggle and flail and hope that she could get OUT, out like MOTHER, out to HELP and BE SAFE.

She didn’t know she was screaming all of those things. And the second realization hit her, carving a horrible hole in that feeling below her heart and up in her neck.

Mother couldn’t stop this, either.

”EVERYONE?!”

Jjezreth had a pretty solid grasp on its sense of movement and it was more keenly attuned to the sudden movement around it. Not at all like when Mother gently moved it around, but something less controlled. It made Jjezreth feel queasy, like the first few times it saw mother's flying dream.
“Mother? Mother, please stop! I don't like this!”

Something is wrong somewhere, yes - but then the muted sense of what is above and below vanishes. Something is wrongwrongwrongwrong and it is wrong here and now and -

Mother screams, and Knuadth shrieks in reflex alongside her, a shrill knifeblade of mental terror before he wrangles himself to equally terrified silence.

Myrcelleth snarled in Courth's general direction, both to protect himself and to protect Misogauth. We are all afraid, stop acting as though you're not! We will be okay! Mother will protect us! they announced, louder to the others in the cavern.

Alaphiath very much did not like this new variety of movement. Being moved by Mother was frustrating enough, but this was far more motion and far less predictable. They thrash in their shell, trying to escape the motion.

Help! I do not Like This! Make it Stop! Mother's scream makes Alaphiath want to both mantle around Rioth and Jjezreth and hide in a huddle with them.

The world shakes. This is new. This is interesting, and terrifying. They do not know what to do, there is nothing they can do, but they cry out anyways.

Mother!

They are all scared.

It'll be okay, They call out. We will be okay! They do not believe this, but they will make themself. To help the others.

Mother's scream was the worst thing she had ever heard, ever experienced. Mentally, she grabbed at Kanyuth and Challeanoth, the most familiar minds, desperately trying to keep some composure.
Calm! We need to be Calm! We won't get anywhere if we are panicking! We need to decide what to do!

There was nothing at all in her short life that even remotely prepared her for this. No anodyne egg dreams, no soft soothing notes of Gwillanth to frame the unknown. "HelphelphelpHELPhelpHELP!" she cries, not just to mother, but to anyone in the vicinity.

We will be alright! Mother is here! Mother will keep us safe! Everyone stay calm! Myrcelleth forcefully projected his voice further than it had ever been before, only mildly soothed by Mother's embrace - he still had to soothe the others! He still had to keep the others safe!

Neath's fear fades quickly into frustration. It has to do something. It does its best to more strongly project its feelings of care and protection over the rest, trying to block out the feelings of external movement from both its own mind and its others. It's too focused on this endeavour to speak, but it tries so, so desperately to soothe them that it doesn't need words to convey the feeling.

Snarl, meet lightning. 'Acting afraid does nothing,' Courth continues to hiss at Myrcelleth. 'Nor does screaming. We will not be able to hear her over the racket! Shut up, shut up!' The end part, at least, is directed to the clutch as a whole.

The lack of knowing what is happening is worse than the feeling of motion and the panicking of mother. If she could only be clearer with her thoughts! Show them what was happening! Narrate, gold, narrate!

I am not panicking! I am doing! I am getting out! Kanyoth shouts back at Azimuth, shooting free of her neighbor's mental grip as surely as she shot free of Gwillanth's physical grip, perhaps one of the first to do so. Come on, come on, come on! She could do this! She knew she could do this! She could break free at last!

Engulfed, hidden and in turn revealed by shifting, sinking sands. It does not muffle a voice of mind, but it feels as if it should. There are those who cry for calm, those who offer reassurance. He does not know how much either will help or will be believed, but it is something. Despite those who decried the Harper's talents, or perhaps because of them, if only so that they are distracted, he begins to hum - snatches of song, bits of phrase, tantalizations of tunes. Within each he instills as deep a feeling of calm and safety he can muster - drawing from limited experiences of Mother's sun, days and nights of warmth, of conversations less dire.

With naught else to do, Ilrioth sings.

Myrcelleth firmly ignores Courth now, for once using their barrier of static and haze to block him out from his mind. He did NOT need to hear this right now. Either he can deal with Courth later or never again. There are more important things to be doing right now than arguing amongst themselves. They noticed Neath's attempt to blanket everyone and focused on doing much the same, trying to block out the noise and movement as best as they could to the eggs near them.

Seth pays no mind to the others - they cannot. Their mind is too full of the contagious fear and panic, echoing sharp with Gwillanth's own screams.

There is no coherence from them, not now. Only feelings and emotions and needle-sharp stabs of intent of Saveme Save us-- no no Mother go dangerous fear Mother GO NOTSAFE GOLEAVE--!!

Mother was screaming and the ground was wrong, wrong, WRONG.

She was a silly thing in a silly egg. She was a silly thing in a silly egg…but so were the others.

Those little hooks in every mind reached again, taking a mental roll call. And with all of her might, she flung the most calming thoughts she could muster at all of them; of the flying dreams, of the visiting blue, and even the Harper’s songs. Every thought sought to envelop them all and pull them tightly together…and once things stopped being scary she could stand getting shouted at for the Harper thing, later.

The world seems to toss and tumble her, and Misogauth scrambles to maintain her mental proximity to her fellow 'greens'. But it was hard...so hard. Every time she felt she had a grasp on them the sands knocked her small egg about. No no no. She would be alone again. She did not want that. She tries to toss herself into the strongly projected feelings of comfort. Perhaps they would prove a stronger current than the sands. 'NO!' What had happened. She had paid so little attention to Issodreth but something something... 'NO!'

I'M TRYING TO GO! I STILL CAN'T SEE! Kanyoth shouted back towards Issrodeth, the first time they'd attempted to talk to her. DO YOU KNOW WHICH WAY IS OUT OF - ISSRODETH??? ISSRODETH NO!!!

They were not going to share Issrodeth's fate. They were getting out. They were getting out!

The silencing of that great voice only served to strengthen Ilrioth's. He twined his voice around the other singer [Rioth], letting the song swell even as the noise of the earth grew and everything they had ever known turned upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy. They would not falter. They would weather this storm, or, at least, make sure the others lived to carry on the song.

Did Issrodeth's disappearance mean anything? Not in the clamor, not yet anyway, for the moment Myrcelleth focused as best he could on soothing the others, even as the sound thoroughly ingrained itself in his head, echoing over and over and over. Only once they heard Misogauth scream did they realize that something else was wrong, that something so terrible and unimaginable had happened.

Was this the death that Misogauth had imagined from the Harpers songs? He didn't want to die. He didn't want his siblings to die. They were meant to have a long life ahead of them! A happy life! They flung themselves closer to their companions, desperate to get closer to them and the force of which made their egg, finally, start moving. His scream only joined into Ilrioth's song, seeing if this would help - could this please help?

It becomes clearer, as Gwillanth is the only one who screams for them, that chaos means looking out for yourself. Courth can take this to heart. It is unclear if Issrodeth's sudden silence is her doing the same.

Since no one else seems to be taking the advice of shutting up and being quiet, Courth throws himself as wide as he can, trying to feel who is moving and who isn't to build a picture. 'Wait for us!' he bellows after Kanyoth. 'How are you moving!' He wriggles as an experiment, but without eyes to see, he doesn't know if the movement after is changed at all.

Neath notices Misogauth's struggling and reaches out to her as much as it can. If that takes protection off some of the others, that can't be helped. It's doing what it can. It can do something. It's a powerful realisation, one that continues to keep the panic away - it remains unaware of what's going on outside, continues to barely notice the movement and pays no mind to Issrodeth at all. They will be okay. They will be fine. It does not join the singers, but it amplifies them when it can - its focus remains squarely on protecting its fellow 'greens' first and the rest as it can.

You are a fool and a loser She snarled at Kanyath, trying to wedge them back beneath her wings. Have you not been paying attention at all? Mother knows when we are going to be getting out, and it is NOT that time yet. Stop trying to escape! her mental voice was plaintive, rather than the confidence she had been trying to project.Stay calm she shouted, joining the others in projecting calm and quiet, It was their best hope, after all, to allow Mother to help them

Myrcelleth let out another scream of a sob, Mother's grief imparting on his own. How did this happen? Once their mind-voice was hoarse and their thoughts even vaguely coherent, they could just about grasp what had happened. One of their own, gone - just like that. Just like that. It was that simple.

This egg, only recently discovering her name, Yjeth, has never felt this fear - nor had she ever heard Gwillanth cry out the way she had. It's chilling to hear both that and the wave of panic across the other eggs - but she feels something grounding in all the chaos. Yjeth joins Neath, Ilrioth, and Rioth in projecting a sense of warm and calm, despite the horrid shifting of her whole world around her. The shell around her still, she could send comfort, if nothing else. Focusing on that would keep her own anxieties in check, prevent her from floating into a frantic void at the feeling of sudden abrupt absences and Mother's wailing.

One of the other minds snuffs out, and Neath falters for a moment. This is new. There is an empty spot in its map of others. It had happened too suddenly for it just to have moved. It can't tell which one yet and makes no effort to find out - there will be time later. Later, later, later. It takes advantage of having one less mind to cover to strengthen its hold on everybody else.

Kanyoth's response to Azimuth was to completely ignore her. If she wanted to stay where she was and get squashed, that was her choice.

I AM BOUNCING! he shouted back to - he still didn't know this sibling's name [Circuits]. But the other fairly reasonable one. I STARTED ROLLING AND WITH THE MOVEMENT OF THE EARTH I AM NOW BOUNCING! I THINK THERE IS A LOT OF SAND!

Then Gwillanth was HURT and Pycglioth was GONE. He needed to hurry. He needed to get out!

This felt bad, Jjezreth felt sick. It curled into itself, trying to compress into a tight ball. Trying to be as small as possible to shut out the rest of the world. Mother was afraid and it was making Jjezreth feel scared too. It wanted to hide away in the comfortable blanket of her mind, not want to retreat from it.

It didn't understand what happened to Pycgloith, just that there was a sudden great void where it used to be. Jjezreth wailed, wordlessly radiating confusion and panic.

Gone. Gone gone gone. Misogauth latches desperately onto the offered protection, and though the world's shaking can be drowned out by Neath...the grief cannot. No. Nonononononono. Her voice lifts, joining Myrcelleth's in mourning. Like barbs, her mind claws at the two 'greens', trying to latch them all together.

No more. Misogauth could not lose anyone else. But it was the world that decided which of them lived, not she.

The potential loss of a great Voice was saddening, but it held nothing to the heart-rending sorrow at the extinguishing of one of the Other's bright sparks - a part of the constellation forever darkened. This is what it mean to Lose, to Grieve, Ilrioth thought bleakly. Briefly, his song falters, flicking as a candle in a gale. Then a steadying 'breath' and he has returned, voice steady, perhaps stronger, than before. He has no means by which to promise them safety, but he wishes it, wills it with all his heart, body, mind, and soul.

If he had been tightly curled before, now he is a tiny twisted-in presence, striving to be smaller and quieter and somehow safer, somehow back within the comforting-chafing bounds of shell and mental limits. Knuadth does not truly hear the others' efforts, let alone the chaos of the outside world.

Yet the songs, the sights, the sense of something binding him remains, the thinnest thread of being beneath/alongside the terror (a terror that hurts in a way nothing has hurt before, that makes all previous fears and anguish seem a pale, laughable plight).

And then a strand of those connections breaks and he wails again, a wordless and horrified sob.

Oh. That is death. A mind gone silent. Back to where they were before?

Courth is shocked quiet for only a brief moment, and then his efforts resume...In the opposite direction of before. 'Not out! Not out! In!' he calls out to his bouncing partner, Kanyoth. When the world is not ending, they will perhaps have to share notes on whether the movement changed anything. 'Gwillanth is a direction to focus on!'

One of them, gone.

The grief is immense, second only to the sheer terror spiking through their mindscape.

'Mother no--' Seth's nonsensical, panicked mind continues to roil. The others, their attempts at calm, do nothing. Not when they are being shaken and tossed, not when Gwillanth screams and cries out in pain - physical and not. 'Mother please, love you Mother, don't leave us too, loveyou, sorry so sorry never said, love youloveyou--'

Quieter now that the intial distress call has been heard and echoed around the clutch, the Nutshell egg is rocked backwards and then flung deeper into the sand by the gold's desperate protective posture. It cries out briefly, loses orientation, but mother is there. She is still there, very close now.

What does it mean for a voice to go suddenly silent like Issrodeth, like Pycgloith? he asks very quietly to himself. Nothing good.

Liorenth joins in the chorus of grief for one who was part of our whole world which is now gone, and will not return. The grieving - wild, uncontrolled, but choral - oddly - eases the panic, as if displacing the feeling.

They needed...they needed, they didn't know. Something.

Calm. Peace. But how could they share that right now. It was too much, and while they tried to cling to it, to send out reassuring thoughts, warmth and peacefulness, they weren't sure how much of it was tinged with fear.

She hated not knowing what was happening.

And all she knew about this, was that it was bad and that it had taken one of theirs away. Something that felt more permanent than when mother would leave.

Be strong. they say, reaching to those closest, to any that'll listen. we'll make it through this.

So many names, so many bodies, so many minds to cover. Myrcelleth is too exhausted and frazzled to do much more other than shakily lift their voice to join in song, unsteady and small, but still trying to extend the same protection Neath, Ilrioth, Rioth and Yjeth were projecting. To the ones that had none. Even Courth. Even Seth. None deserved to feel unloved at the moment and Myrcelleth loved them all deeper than he could ever express. He knew that now. He was afraid, but he knew that now.

Rioth sang. She sang and sang and put the Big Voice to work, as much as it quavered, as much as she kept checking and plucking at the strands of her mind that tethered to her siblings, she sang on.

Issrodeth went silent and she shook and sang on. She didn’t want to think of the death in the Harper songs. She wasn’t singing those songs.

Another lurch and something HURT SOMETHING HURT HELP - and then Pycgloith was gone.

Her song broke and she SCREAMED, the lyrics spiking suddenly into a ”NONONONO. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. WE ARE HERE WE ARE HERE.” She tried pulling it back under control, but even her best attempts were shuddering, mad with grief and terror.

I'M PRETTY SURE THE ONLY REASON GWILLANTH ISN'T AS GONE AS PYCGLIOTH IS BECAUSE SHE'S BIGGER AND HARDER TO SQUASH, Kanyoth shouted back. I THINK I'LL TAKE MY CHANCES WITH OUT.

She was feeling pretty dizzy and sick with all the rolling and bouncing, and she wasn't out yet! But she was still here, and she could still get out! That was something!

Well at least someone was listening to her. Thank you Courth that is exactly what we should do. In the meantime, Azimuth pressed the same warmth and love _ that Gwillanth had given her _towards Mother. Grief wouldn't help anyone right now. Mother needed to be the calm and warm she always was. Azimuth wasn't sure what she'd do if she wasn't

"PLEASE", it's crying again, not just to Gwillanth now, not to the Others, but to the one who is lost, lost, rent away. The loss is physical sensation, but she's got no concept of grief not yet, it's far too soon to come to know this kind of pain. The panic rises in tempo with Knuadth and Seth, but there are other voices, like Courth, Rioth, and Challeanoth, voices of reason and some form of direction that give Synnevath's gasping terror some anchor, some direction. This was chaos. This was madness. Would this end?

Myrcelleth forced themselves to speak again, voice cracking and full of static, demanding attention in all of the clutter but difficult to parse. We will be okay under Mother! Please come back whoever is gone! She will protect us!
They reached out to Mother, so distant and so difficult to reach, trying to coat her in the same protective feeling they offered the others. She has earned it, well earned it.

If she had claws, they would rend flesh, but all she has is her mind. Misogauth curls into the comfort and terror, trying to resonate as one with all of it. If she melded herself with the others, surely it would be impossible for the world to steal another away. Surely. She cries again.

Now is the time to be together. We are many for a reason. Alone we are strong. Together, we are stronger. Ilrioth injects the words into his song, putting behind them a boldness he did not feel but still needed to be felt. Now, if only they could figure out a way to keep everyone together, to stop the loss of another star in their sky, a piece from their whole.

Pycgloith--their light snuffed out so quickly, and it was terrifying. This shook Yjeth, but she could not afford to acknowledge that now--she packed away her feelings, the rise of horrible, new grief. Yjeth could hear Rioth's concentration break, and she called out to her clutchmate, bold, bright, and hot: "Steady yourself!"

The effort of doing something gives Courth a feeling of calm. It is like trying to solve the meaning behind a word in the quiet – only with more threat of imminent death. He wriggles, he shakes, he pulls with his mind at the bulk of Gwillanth like that will help. Even the singing helps set a rhythm.

He does not call back out to Kanyoth, who clearly has her own approach under control. 'Steady...two...three. Move...two...three...' he mutters instead, inadvertently falling into Pycgloith's advice, and focuses on the rhythm of the shaking earth.

Despite their comfort with Rioth, Alaphiath was not going to be calmed down at the moment. This was absolutely not a time for calm. This was a time for getting out, even if she couldn't figure out how to fly. They wiggled wildly, trying to get some kind of push to get out.

Issrodeth went silent, no more Great Mind, gold like Gwillanth. Where did she go? She wasn't supposed to leave like that. Alaphiath's usual curiosity has been smothered by distress. Before she can process that, Pycgloith vanishes like Issrodeth. That is even worse in a way than Issrodeth's vanishing. They didn't know Issrodeth like they knew Pycgloith.

Alaphiath leans into Rioth, vibrating with distress.

She heard Yjeth and clasped tighter to her mind; she didn’t say that she was here, but it was enough in the act itself. It was a silent nod, a true reassurance. Something hurt.

There were others leaning into her after all…and that was enough to steady some of her quavering, begin her song anew, enveloping and reassuring and hoping this would end.

MOTHER IS ALRIGHT! Myrcelleth announced with one final call before collapsing into Neath and Misogauth. It was finally over. It will be okay. It will all be okay. They were too weak to join in with the singing and even the static had cleared up. They had no energy for anything anymore other than being with their beloved 'greens'. It was the clearest anyone has ever 'seen' Myrcelleth, tired and small and timid. So very timid.

Neath is only aware of the world stilling through the minds of its others. It trembles with exhaustion and something feels wrong about the egg it lives in, but its effort to keep the others calm continues. It will not, can not stop until things have settled again. It pulls Myrcelleth's mind as close as it can, wraps Misogauth in warm, soothing comfort, and waits.

Courth feels like he is still vibrating even in the stillness, motion carrying on long after it's stopped. The world doesn't have an up or down anymore. It is...quiet. Outside, that is, not in their little world of minds.

He gathers himself up, quite calmly, and reaches out to everyone still listening. 'Now it feels like the right moment to scream for attention.' When everyone outside is not thinking of themselves and their danger. They will be remembered. 'HELLO?'

Though the concept of time had become more definite since those early days, it still felt like an eternity had passed before the earth subsided back into its usual sedentary state. A high ringing, harsh and unmusical, filled the stillness, making it difficult to find the peace the stillness should bring. But while the earthquake had passed, all was still not well. Mother was still present, her voice strong but it was strained with something, a pain something without body could not truly know.

He continues his singing, trying, as it had many times before, to reach out to Mother. Mother had reassured it so many times, the least it could do was offer the same. Mother was alive but Mother was hurting. Someone had to help.

The Loud One's [Courth] cries went unheeded. There was time for that later.

'Please' Misogauth begs the world to stop, for Mother's ache to stop. She curls into the space left by the now dispersed static and presses beneath the blanket that Neath's calming efforts create. Desperation. It was a not an entirely new emotion, but it sang strongly in her now.

Was Mother okay though? It didn't seem like it to her... Although that didn't matter now. Now she needed to help Mother and Others. Azimuth added her own voice and power to the song of calm and grief, hoping that now the Shaking had stopped, that everything would be fine. It had to be fine, right?

A couple of others from the clutch tried to call them back, but Kanyoth would not be deterred. They were getting out! They would not be trapped and squashed, never to be free like Pycglioth!

The earthquake felt timeless and Kanyoth became one with it, shaking, shaking, shaking, strong enough to shatter the ground, strong enough to shatter what held them "in here." They hoped. They hoped beyond hope.

The earth stops shaking, but Kanyoth does not. They are no longer bouncing, but they are still rolling all around as best they can in the increased amount of sand. Come on, come on, come on!

HELLO! they shout back to that one sibling whose name they still didn't know. Did Mother suck in sand? It sounds like she's sucked in sand on top of being hurt!

HI IGITH! they shout back at the other gold. I'M STILL TRYING TO GET OUT! HELP ME OUT!

Even if the shaking had stopped, the terror and grief remained, like the very dust slowly settling in the world outside.

But the shaking was not what had Seth's attention. The others, their panic and attempts to calm each other, they were not even at the forefront of their mind. No, Seth was focused on Gwillanth, gallantly hovering and protecting them in spite of her own pain. Sorry for ever doubting her. Sorry for every harsh opinion they had held against her. They loved her fiercely in that moment, never wanting her to leave them, wanting her to be safe and okay and know that they were sorry and loved her more than anything.

Liorenth joins the singers - it might not be the same song though, he is still keening a griefsong for the lost - but he joins his mindvoice to theirs anyway. And now he sings his fear and love for mother. Don't go. Please don't go.

Nothing makes sense. Everything is awful. There is the unending horror of Pycgloith gone-gone-gone-gone, and the other, just as huge horror of everything he had taken for granted (the ground remaining ground, the others' presences, Mother being calm and loving and unhurt andandand-) going wrong.

The wrongness extends even to his dim awareness of the space that has always been his - now pinched and weighed down by what must be Mother, because it presses and shifts and carries an echoing pang of her own hurts. And such hurts! Knuadth lurches away from them, but there is nowhere else to go. Everywhere is fear and pain and grief that spills out over his trembling thoughts.

Myrcelleth could barely focus as cries now ricocheted around the cave, somehow louder than than when the earth quaked. It was too much, too much. Pycglioth is gone. Mother is alright. The rest are... alright. They had to be. That could not have been all for nothing, all of that singing drawing their mindvoice to barely above a whisper. A whispersong, something, something to add still even though Myrcelleth had little left to give. Mother would be alright. She has to be. There is no way that she couldn't be.

Vindication. Courth's smugness is the warm wash of tiny sparks of electricity. There is the brief idea that this emotion is the wrong one to have, as small pockets of recognisable death appear in the sound around them, but that's a problem for later.

There's a new kind of mind to study. Studying is easier than dealing with the emotions of the day.

'HELLO,' he adds to the cacophony. 'WEIRD MIND, COME HERE.'

So many gone (any amount was too many to one who had never known loss). But still they remained, Mother remained - pained, choked, but alive. It has never tried to reach to any of those outside of this cavern before, had never had cause to, but it reached for them now. Help us. Help Mother. We are still Here.

Then, he repeats this, deep and true and strong for all to hear. We are still here.

Death. Grief. Pain. Misogauth's world came to a standstill as a life outside snuffs itself out. A gaping hole seems to open in her chest, and from it her blood pours. There are no words now, only sorrow.

They did not like earthquakes.

It had hurt them. Hurt Pycgloith. Hurt Mother.

Stay strong, they repeat, mostly to their siblings but also to Mother. we are still together. we will be alright.

Neath is momentarily distracted by the arrival of new minds. These, it knows, are green. They are green and they are saving Mother, and it wants truly, desperately now, out of more than just a pact formed with two other minds, to be like them. It reaches out weakly, just barely brushing the soft, lush patches of its mind against them, then withdraws again to continue protecting its siblings. Mother does not need its help, not now.

Synnevath perceives Gwillanth's pain as though it is hers too, and for this she punctuates each note of mother's scream with her own anguish, and in spite of this she adds her piteous voice to the chorus of loss that now reverberates around them. There is a pause when she receives and contemplates Courth's words, and somewhere deep in a still, barely-conscious recess in her mind, she notes this level of coolness with a sort of detached shock. Now? At a time like this? There are so many lessons to learn. This thought flashes across her mind all too quickly, and she's crying out again, taking in the notes of comfort, the commands to be strong. She must. She has to. Synnevath's song continues, laced with the same panic and confusion as before.

They were coming for us. They were coming for us. They were coming for us. That was all that was on Myrcelleth's mind and he tried to curl tighter around Misogauth, to stop the bleeding from her. It was real enough to him, he knew now that this was just sorrow. If she was injured he will care for her and make sure she will be okay.

They will be okay. We will be okay. Myrcelleth's reach is very poor, but at least to the ones closest, it is soft and warm.

It had been a normal time, the chatter of the clutch, until Mother's worry, until-

Diath panicked, retreated back into the darkness as the world shook like countless Mothers moving it at once in all directions it knew. Splayed what would be soon be wings in desperate, instinctual attempt to fly fly fly-

There are no words from it, there is only the noise of the world, the noise of Mother's scream, of Others'- There is terror infectious and pain from Mother and voices gone silent in a way it knows- the way all dragonkin knew from the heart- was what it truly meant to never return.

Only when the shaking stops, Diath's own keens falling hoarse, do it comes mentally back into the open, reaching desperately for whatever minds it can, needing to affirm they were there, lapping waves of fear, worry, love, against them.

"Please, be alright-!"

New minds, new rhythms. This day was full of Newness, but this was much more welcome than other parts. They were not alone. Help was coming, for them, and especially for Mother, who had been their unwavering shield throughout this nightmare ordeal. He did not relinquish his song, not yet, not when he still felt such fear and numbness from its Others, but he let it slip back from Mother a bit.

The Others he knew he could touch, and so it was upon them he focused his calm and his strength. He would remember those who sang with him, and later, he may reach out for happier songs in calmer times. But at least now he knew there would be a later.

We are here. Listen to us all! Feel us, Mother. Breathe. Yjeth's presence would roar, like sugar sparkling and crackling bright in flame. What was once projections of soothing melted into seething, defiant determination, reaching out to sister, brother, and other minds alike: Fierce, unwavering protection. Love. All of them would know the touch of Yjeth's devotion, as best as she could provide.

They were here, the greens were here. But Misogauth's bleeding did not stop. The fluid turned to sludge, drowning her even while trying to pour from her. Her voice burbles in faint recognition of the greens coming to assist, but the siren song of grief steals her attention.

Mother... The word was so full of love, so full of affection, trying so hard to project that even though he was spent to nothing, to less than dust. He loved all of them so much. He loves them so much.

Neath truly panics for the first time when one of its saviour greens picks it up and removes it from its siblings. It squirms inside its soft shell - Put me back, they need me, put me down now, please, please, please - but stills as soon as it is returned to the group. It tries once, twice to re-extend its reach back to the entire clutch, but its energy is spent. It's all it can do to embrace Myrcelleth and Misogauth again, curling its mind against theirs and providing somewhere comfortable to fall. It will allow itself to fall later. Now just isn't the time.

Once the shaking had stopped and Mother was calling for help, Alaphiath could think of something besides keening distress and grief and Pycgloith gone, Issrodeth gone, others gone, Mother hurt. She could curl into Rioth and seek Jjezreth and where was the other, the fourth in their group? Were they okay or had they vanished like Pycgloith?

We are alright, we are here, Mother will be fine Like a prayer, Azimuth whispered these words to herself and to those around her. Please let that be true. As she was moved away, moved elsewhere all she could think was that this had not been how she had wanted to leave. It was alright. (It wasn't). They were here. (Pycgloith was gone) Mother would be fine. (They had no way of knowing that). Still they had to keep going. to stop would be to disappear. Azimuth refused to disappear. Therefore, she must continue

Things were okay. They could feel the other minds now, the dragons that were not eggs, and they were filled with relief.

Everything was not alright, not yet, but it was on the way towards that. Towards being safe, though she keeps her awareness on the rest of the clutch. She is still worried about them, for them, for Mother, but they will be alright. As long as they're together.

As the world begins to right itself, voices going from cacophony to conversation, Ilrioth seeks those hurting worse, hurting more. All had been touched and changed by this event, but to what extent and how they were coping varied. His searching found the deep, slow bleed of One's [Misogauth] grief. Slowly, gently, he curls his mind against hers, not smothering, but there. Let yourself feel, but know we are here. You are not alone.

His touch recedes, but a tether remains, anchoring his presence to hers as long as it is needed. He will do so for any and all that need him. It is his own way of helping, his own way of healing.

Diath almost panics again when the new minds, green minds, begin taking the others away. A flare of fear through and around it before new experience reminds that this is just away, not away-forever. It's this as much as Mother's assurances, explanations of what is happening, that calm it. That allow it to go with the flow, for all it remains tight within it's egg, tense within it's mind.

It will be some time before it's able to relax again.

Unfamiliar hands touch their shell, pull them away. Seth creels and whines to be separated from Gwillanth and the others, as an unknown greenrider tuts and worries over them - a crack, right at the brittle dent at the top of their shell.

They are exhausted, though, mindsick from fear and grief and sorrow and worry. And in their deliriuous state of mind, the others may just barely hear the whispers of "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'm sorry..."

Then, then Seth goes silent. Not gone, not like Pycgloith. No, this is shame. Shame for their prior actions. Shame for ever doubting just how much their mother loved them. Shame for being so very, very wrong.

Their wounded pride hurts far worse than the crack in their shell.

If being lifted and carried by the greens makes Courth go back to his little chant of 'steady, steady, steady' then at least they can't understand him. The others can, but they can't judge, their litanies are just as bad.

It's better to focus on the interesting points. There are more minds her to touch and feel the differences of: more strange-not-dragon minds, more alien-strange minds, more dragons. When those run out, Courth goes back to counting the minds of the clutch still left awake, his touch just static as he gets more and more tired. Eventually, the world will stop shaking.

SHE HAS A NAME! Kanyoth shouts back at the one sibling who's name he STILL didn't know. IT'S IGITH!

He is still rolling around and shaking, even when one of the greens, befuddled, comes up to him. HI! he shouts in greeting. GO TO GWILLANTH MY MOTHER PLEASE. SHE NEEDS THE HELP MORE THAN I DO. Unless you want to help me get out of here. I'd appreciate that.

This green does neither. Instead, she picks him up, and soon they are off, flying into the sky. WOOO! WE'RE FLYING! GO GET SOME OF MY SIBLINGS, SOME OF THEM WANTED TO FLY AWAY.

Gwillanth, weary, sings, and Kanyoth sings back to The Mother: I am safe, Mother, I am here with one of the seven greens, we are going to where you say, I hope I will be out soon and see you all safe.~

The green puts him down, and he attempts to continue to free himself, but the green stops him from the inevitable rolling and pins him there, to wherever they are now, and then others of the clutch join them, brought by other greens, and so Kanyoth finally settles, since they don't know where he is or the shape of the clutch around him, and he doesn't want to knock into somebody by accident after ALL THAT.

Are all the rest of you okay? he asks when they are all together again, except for Gwillanth, genuinely concerned. He can feel Misogauth's pain, but that seems to be emotional pain, not physical, at least, and she is already being comforted by someone she is more amenable to.

Dragonhealers will remark, in the coming days, how incredible it is that this egg, found practically writhing so far away from Gwillanth and the rest, looks relatively unharmed, beyond a few notable dents here and there. Kanyoth within is battered and bruised, head spinning for awhile, and alas STILL NOT FREE AFTER ALL THAT.

Ethereath had been dozing, pleased by but ignoring the chattering of her siblings when suddenly her egg began to shift and roll.

No--that wasn't the egg!

Her voice, her Move! What! Why! Stop! is likely to be drowned out among the others as she goes from startlement to exhiliration--flying!--to terror and horror as Issrodeth, almost as great and and all encompassing as mother, is snuffed out, followed by one of their clutchmates.

The little egg bounces on the suddenly shifting sands, only saved from crashing rocks and flailing limbs when it is sent rolling, a motion that also takes it from the security of nearness to its clutchmates, mind inside blasting it's confused distress into the dark.

Synnevath feels dull, drained, depleted. For the first time she really retracts, as much as mentally and physically possible. When the others said to be calm and be strong, she believed them; another awful realization at the periphery of her mind. How could this happen? How could... no. Other thoughts, ones she dare not articulate. Then there was the lost, they were gone and that was hard to understand too. This grief felt raw and heavy. When her egg is delicately relocated, first the shock of new unknown minds near hers, the temperature change, the sensation of somewhere new, all of this was so much to bear. She knows, on some level, that everything will be okay, that's what she's been told, so this must be true, and when her egg is deposited near the rest of the clutch again, and the familiar energies are palpable once more, she curls up and falls into a deep, deep slumber devoid of those beautiful egg dreams, where it is dark, and she's still alive, heart still beating fiercely in spite of the chaos of that day.

They are moving again, but it is different this time - controlled, chilly, but lacking the uncertainty and unpredictability of the quake. For a brief, uncomfortable time, all of its Others are far, but then they are together once more and all is well. Or, at least, as well as it could be, given and despite everything.

Their shell has a few more scrapes on it, though they have somehow been acquired in a way that its appearance is, by and large, still bilaterally symmetric, hidden amongst its comet blaze. Ilrioth is tired in a manner hitherto undreamt, egghausted even, but he remains steadfastly awake, his song softened to a lullaby, until the rest of the clutch have slipped into their own slumbers. Only then will he rest.

Knuadth keens again as he feels himself shifted and moved. It is not the earth swallowing him up this time, but a new mind cradling him carefully, tilting so that the world spins less and he no longer leans against his strange pinched side. Yet more change makes familiarity something he must cling to, and as much as he had withdrawn from the humming web of his siblings, now he chases their minds with sluggish, murky thoughts, desperate to reach them -

But Mother murmurs, soothing and strong and everything she has always been (and also so tired, pained in ways that sink to his depths, in ways he will not forget for a long, long time). It is all he can do to drink in this reminder that she is still here, that the world has not been completely upended and rent apart.

When ground is ground and air is air and they all seem to be together (he quails away from the thought of feeling his way through, counting, and coming up one short), he still wedges himself closer. Solitude did not keep him safe, and he does not see how being close will help either... but feeling his anguish and fear reflect in so many other facets somehow makes it better. Only a bit better, but it is enough.

Stunned, and with a cracked dent in her shell, Ethereath reaches out to announce that she's okay, and to the green that finds her, but otherwise for the moment, she simply takes things in.

What happened? Something big. Something bad. Something that snuffed out the very stars in the sky.

She'd hardly known any of them.

The others appear to be falling into sleep but Ethereath finds herself more restless than ever in the wake of the earthquake, awash in the pain and grief of the minds around her.

Earthquake.

That is the name of what has devastated the others so. Beaten. Helpless.

This, she understands, is what it means to be small.

But someday, she won't be small anymore.

Someday, she won't be helpless.

And when that day comes, there will be a reckoning.

Chatter. The usual hum of it surrounded Auth as they dozed. Their siblings spoke often to one another now, but Auth wasn't usually interested in their conversations as they tended to be very circular.

Bickering now. This was a little more irritating. The itchiness of disagreement among the others pushed Auth into full wakefulness and they huffed with annoyance. Something about Mother and her absences. Auth didn't much care whether Mother was here or not. She was not the whole world anymore. They listened absently, unwilling to commit their full attention to the waffle, and found that Mother was distracted by something.

What was-

A jolt both phyiscal and emotional shook Auth in their shell.
The world had broken-
The weyr was screaming-
Pain and fear was pressing in, suffocating them-

They had to escape NOW.

Auth felt the scattered minds of their siblings yelling at one another, some in panic, others attempting to comfort. Auth was not focused on them, they were focused on themselves. While this horrific moment brought out admirable leadership qualities in some, it only triggered survival skills in this young dragon. They didn't reach out to help the others, nor attempt any sort of contact with Mother. They concentrated on where they were and what was happening in their immediate sphere of consciousness. Surviving was all that mattered.

Frustration and anger began to overtake the fear in their heart as they strove to break free of their confinement for the umpteenth time. They railed against their shell, unsure of they were making any physical progress or if it was just emotional turmoil they were throwing at it. They were dimly aware of Kanyoth attempting something similar, which gained their approval.

Without wasting time shouting or crying for help, Auth put all of their energy into pushing out.

But it wasn't working!

Caged. Angered. Suffocated.

Auth hated this place. HATED IT. They wanted OUT!

As sudden as the quake had come, a silence struck the clutch for a moment that lasted a lifetime. A lifetime. A life. A glimmer in their mind vanished without warning. Pycgloith was gone. Just... gone. Pycgloith was gone and the sky was falling and Mother was crushing them all.

Auth snarled and snapped at their imprisonment, relishing the anger now, embracing it. Better to rage than grieve or tremble.

The weight of their siblings cries and the not-yet-hard shells pressing in against them were both choking Auth. Mother had gathered them to herself, crushing them closer to protect them. And all Auth wanted was to be free of Her, of them, of this nightmare!

Others came now. Unfamiliar minds, unfamiliar hands clutching at their egg. They felt torn from the clutch, from Mother. They were briefly aloft and felt a moment's clean breath before being laid with their siblings again.

Auth was dazed and shaken. They were exhausted. Mind, body and soul.
Around them they heard their siblings reach for one another, consoling and comforting.
Auth could not find words to share. They did not want to speak. They felt hollow.

But they extended a tether, a lifeline, to those around them in silent support.
It was all they could do.

Her song had dipped into a keen, her cries for mother and her siblings, her assurances had been ripped straight from her chest, from somewhere more raw and visceral than the thoughts in her head.

Something HURT IT HURT and she wanted that to stop, too.

They need me to sing. I can fix this. Ilrioth and I and the rest. We can fix this. We are here.

And even after the earth stopped shaking, the world did not stop moving. The new kind of mind would have amused her any other day. Now it was just a scramble, fading into static and dropping from Rioth's mind altogether. The jostling was dreamlike, unreal. The outside spoke of cracks, of concerns about handling her egg and others a certain way, of concern during a touching. None of that made sense.

And even as her song finally trailed into tired little trills, as she finally allowed herself to stop gnawing on her paw, she would not let go of the others until the exhaustion took her completely, forcing the tiny dragon into fitful rest.

Liorenth sings also with the singers, as the rest of the world falls away into darkness. He does need the song, continues to join the chorus - follows the lead of Rioth and Ilrioth -- to share the grief-distress and to feel the others. He isn't much of a singer really, but he can hold the shape of words and the shape of a song together.

Outside more voices, some are incoherent. He feels the greens now, hears voices and none of it makes sense. He is, perhaps, so close to being lost - but there is still in his grasp the thin strand of the song to tether him to this world. And eventually he too falls silent for a while and drifts into a quiet, healing darkness, sending out the whisper of a sob.