Tryl and Red White Siamese Lyneratoit

HATCHING
Winter was progressing at an alarming rate, and the eggs on the hatching sands were slowly hardening. Almost too slowly. Some worried that so many eggs on and in the soft red sands were just too many and they weren’t kept warm enough. Logical minds argued that if there were a problem, the experienced mothers on the sands would have said something.
An unseasonably warm week had wreaked its havoc on the snowbanks of Ryslen, turning the winter wonderland into a sloppy wet muddy place. Many of the candidates - novos - were reassigned from the “traditional” chores to keep the floors clean and dry in the major entryways. Some, if not all of them were pleased to be out of barracks cleaning duties.
It seemed that a breath of fresh air was what everyone needed - especially the eggs. Shortly after the sun passed zenith, a harmonious rumble issued forth from the hatching grounds. The call had been anticipated for so long that half of Ryslen was quite startled and the other half... weren’t. At any rate, the hatching grounds were quickly filled but the hearts of the tiros were heavy - many of the eggs showed no sign of movement, and a few even seemed flaccid.
The IceLanders were among the novos that had rushed to the sands but had not bonded after the last rocking egg had hatched. It seemed that they would have to wait a little longer while Winter lasted at Ryslen. There were a grand multitude of eggs left and surely they would hatch? It was barely daybreak when Ryslen was seranaded with dragonsong again. But again the IceLanders did not bond. And worse, due to some unknown magic a lot of the eggs that had rocked first seemed to have been ‘stopped’. Though it was hard to understand just what had happened the IceLanders were a supersticious people and they knew that praying and waiting was about the only thing they could do.
The weather at Ryslen for the following days was erratic at best. It couldn’t decide whether to blow spring gently in, or to blow in another snowfall. Every day it was cold and gloomy enough to hazard a prediction of snow was followed by one just warm enough to melt the crystalline drifts a little further. The hearts of the Ryslenese were similarly afflicted – everyone seemed to long after the warm caress of spring after an incredibly cold winter, but knew full well that until the Flurry clutch was off the sands winter would never truly end.
When the attention-getting call of the Flurry mothers resonated through Ryslen the third time, the multitude of novos hurried to assemble. There were more dragons and furry candidates now than Ryslen had ever seen grouped together for one clutch. The eggs were rocking quite ferociously (for eggs…) and yet too few eggs showed signs of life. But at least some were still alive.
With an explosiveness that seemed unnatural for the dragon that followed, the next egg broke. Lithe white hide marked with brilliant crimson points. Though everyone assumed the white-red Siamese was male, that was not the case, and Tryl was first to learn that truth. “HER name is Lyneratoit!”

FLEDGELING
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ADULT
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Tryl impressed at the Ryslen Flurry 2003

Lantessama Isle - Ryslen