The five candidates brought in under the cover of night have slowly, and only slightly, been integrating themselves into the Weyr. The two girls and three boys - all blonde haired and scrawny - have slowly begun to reveal a few details about themselves to the few that would listen. For whatever reason, they have found themselves particularly drawn to Kate, and the young candidate has been seen ushering them around the Weyr, showing them this and that. Rumor has it, though, that when the proclamation went out that there would be no more Sands or Galleries visitors until announced differently, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Yaike is only a few months younger that Faila, having celebrated his fifteenth turnday not long ago. While Tione doesn't open up to many, he's proven that he has a particular talent with some of the more stubborn runners, and has been helping in the stables with the training of the new mounts. Despite the fear that he exhibits more often than not around dragons, he seems to be enjoying his time at Xanadu as much as anyone can when they're thrust from the middle of nowhere into civilization.
At Kilaueth's hatching, 5 became 3, as both Faila and Nytor Impressed, and Yaike was left to guide their little group in the barracks. As they once more were ushered out onto the Sands, 3 now became 2, as Yaike was found by In Your Head Brown Ciebaith, and has joined the others in the barracks as I'ke.
Born: Turn 2664
In Your Head Brown Ciebaith
Burnt sepia enshrouds this scraggly beast's too-thin body, his sharp pointed snout nearly completely dipped in ink that crawls its way along jagged ridges. Smothering every inch of hide along the top of this dragon, somber brown sinks deeply into every crevice and ripple of muscle to form a walking shadow. His body is stretched out, giving the impression of being longer than usual while crouched low to the ground, though his skeletal yet powerful legs are all sharp edges and elongated; even each individual talon shoots out until a wicked point. Tickling its way past the suffocating umber are traces of a fiery red and orange that licks up from toes to elbow, catching his billowing yet frayed wing sails in a thick smoky fire.