Yuakajth didn’t usually get a chance to watch the eggs, Gwillanth and her blue mate did it most of the time, or the other golds, but this was his chance. The bronze sat on his haunches and looked down at the tents with soaring spirits.
So many had lived through the earthquake! Such strong, large eggs! He wondered how many would harbor bronzes and browns, new leaders for the Weyr, perhaps proteges for him and H’del to mold. How many would be beautiful greens. Yuakajth settled down for the watch, thoughts rarely straying from the clutch.
How wonderful it was to be a clutchsire. And easy! All he’d done was fly Gwillanth, a thrilling chase and a sweet catch, and afterward he brought Gwillanth some of her meals and stood watch when she told him to. His lovely eggs gave him such pride. He hoped he could be the strongest next time, turn after turn.
Yuakajth still felt a thrill when he recalled how he’d powered his way to the front, slapping an intrepid but exhausted brown in the snout with his tail only moments before he caught Gwillanth. Power, stamina, like a proper bronze; he wasn’t so blind as to see that ordinarily Gwillanth preferred some agility too, but in that flight he’d won her.
(Gwillanth chose him, actually, but the difference was lost on the poor young bronze.)
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What aspects of Yuakajth’s inner monologue jump out to you? In what ways are they different than Gwillanth or Pertemarth’s -- are they refreshing, concerning, beneath your notice? How well do you enjoy this interlude with Yuakajth? What does he tell you about rank and about what bronzes do specifically? What questions do you have after hearing his thoughts? Would you like to be a clutchfather, as Yuakajth understands it?