Stray particles of black and gold scatter along the browned sandstone and slicked-granite surface of the floor, its darkened patina worn to pathways by turn upon turn of hopeful and excited footsteps. The heat is striking, even here, already rolling in waves off the sands, with only the occasional stray breeze to shift the air. Large and barrel-shaped in appearance, it also posesses amazing acoustics, and even the softest whisper echoes as if spoken aloud, making this passageway almost unbearably noisy when crowded.

The bowl slopes away in two directions from one end of this passage, while the entrance to the Sands yawns at the other; a narrow corridor leads up and into the galleries.

(Sarilee) The careless glitter of rose quartz reflects and refracts the light from within its bed of granite, each beam bringing a new shifting, a new subtlty of sight. Rows of long trestle table are seated in orderly awareness under the carven vault of the ceiling, centered around a great dais upon which sits the best-made one; this, too, shows the roughness of the others, but a roughness smoothed by time, and accented by the complexity of beams that show Turns-taken tesselation in their upward arch. Neither tapestries nor coverings mar the marbling of wild beauty, leaving unadorned grandeur that in naturalistic simplicity provides comfort to the occupants of the cavern.

(Sarilee) One archway, the only covered by a drape of black and gold, shields the entrance to the bowl from the blow of sand; another, almost unobtrusive, marks the entrance to the lower caverns through a short, winding and uncarefully-carved tunnel.

Cymri slips into the hall from candidates' areas, tugging absently on the tell-tale white knot to readjust it along her shoulder. Her eyes lift from the path to collide with G'min, and she pauses,

G'min is sitting, leaning back against the wall of the Weyr's Hatching ground, relaxing away from the heat for a bit. Glancing up, his eyes widen. "Do my eyes deceive me, Cymri?"

Cymri gives her head a quick shake, automatically tucking back behind her ear the hair her gesture loosens, "No, Eilish...or rather, Loralith, caught me this afternoon." She smiles, "They seemed to think I just missed the dragon last time around, and I couldn't manage to dissuade either of them." So, here she is. Candidate again.

(Sarilee) Sarilee has been sitting at an end table with a young man, chatting cozily, but her gaze follows his, curious, towards Coriianna. And green eyes promptly widen, "What do you suppose happened to /her/?" Her companion merely gives a distract shrug, his eyes all too keen on the thoroughly soaked woman.

(Sarilee) Coriianna shakes herself all over and heads for the klahpot, shaking her head and chuckling to herself. "Dragons!" She pours herself a mug of hot, steaming klah, and looks for an empty chair.

(Sarilee) Sarilee frowns at her friend, annoyed, and mutters, "Perhaps you should get her a /towel/." Really, it is more of a command. Sarilee then swivels her head to peer more closely at Coriianna, eyes speculative. Jealousy fades, though, at mention of dragons, and a smile curves the girl's lips instead. Lifting soft soprano, she calls across a few tables, "Don't tell me they knocked you in?"

G'min chuckles softly, patting the ground next to him. "Have they treated you poorly yet?" he asks softly, tilting his head to the side. "And....I'm really quite glad for you, you know."

(Sarilee) Coriianna turns at the sound of the voice and shoots a grin Sarilee's way. "Worse!" She actually looks pretty good soaking wet, aside from her bedraggled hair that really needs a good combing. "Their riders talked me into helping one bathe!"

Cymri smiles and takes the few steps closer, sitting down with only the barest hints of grace. "Poorly? Why no, not yet. Although Eilish certainly didn't spare many words first getting her point across...Are you?" She angles her body sideways, "It seems so strange to think...I'm going to be Standing for one of Eratoth's own." Or Pequoth's, but still...

(Sarilee) Sarilee does, indeed, look amused. If also quiet impressed. "I wouldn't mind bathing a dragon; they're such lovely creatures." She turns to smile at the returning boy, lips turning into a look of vague disgust as she catches his eyes once more upon the quite lovely, wet WeyrSmith. "Teron, really...why don't you pull up a chair for her over here by the hearth." If Teron's going to keep *looking* like that, Sarilee's at least going to have them both well within her sights.

G'min can only nod with a smile. "Well, Pequoth sired the gold......and frankly, I think you'd look mighty fine sitting atop a golden queen all your own. But.....I guess it remains to be seen. I'll be rooting for you though."

(Sarilee) Coriianna smiles, hiding her chuckle, taking the towel and thanking Teron. "Thank you... Teron?" she says with a smile, and takes the offered chair by the hearth as well. "Thank you, I am a tad chilled. Though it was somewhat refreshing, it was a hot day." She grins at Sarilee. "Yes, there were several other people doing it. I don't mind either, but no scrubber ever stays dry."

(Sarilee) Coriianna wraps the towel around herself and goes about drying herself off briskly, then removes the leather cord that holds her hair together, and starts towel drying her hair.

Cymri turns characteristically pink, the color (as ever) wisping naturally and becomingly along wide cheeks. "I wouldn't go so far as to say such things, G'min, but..." She pauses, clearly composing herself, "I must say the idea sounds ...intriguing." Her smile softens, "I still don't understand just what it is you riders share, but," She frowns thoughtfully, "It must be so very special." If R'il wouldn't speak to G'min, and it's called a 'lifemate,' after all... Dismissing the topic with a straightening of her shoulders, Cymri adds, "Of course, it does mean I stay at the Weyr from here on, and trust Sarilee with the tithes again." She rolls her eyes, "I never know /what/ to expect with that girl."

(Sarilee) Teron smiles at the woman, ignoring Sarilee's silent protests -- though he does do as ordered. "Think how much more you'd have appreciated the task in a few months," is his only comment, and Sarilee nods quickly. She pats the chair next to her invitingly, then waits for Teron to return to her side.

G'min chuckles softly. "Well, you might have to give up trading for good. Do you realize that?" He asks softly, tilting his head to look up at the sky. "There are a lot of eggs on those sands. One is probably going to be yours you know."

Cymri blinks, then chuckles, very softly, "Actually, I don't think I have considered it." Sobering, she watches not the sky, but G'min, and slowly murmurs, "Eilish said that about Standing twice making me that much more meant for it, but ... It's still difficult to think of things that way." Not that she wouldn't want to ride, precisely; rather, she's never *wanted* to do so. "I've always just been Cymri, the trader."

G'min chuckles softly. "You could be Cymri, the rider. And I think you'd enjoy it. We may not always get along with each other, but when he comes to doing what we have too.......we pull together well. Gamma's sure changed this Weyr."

Cymri rests one hand impulsively on his, smiling at the praise for his sister. "She is a wonderful woman; I'm glad to work under her." And, from the stories, glad to have arrived /after/ the new leadership.

G'min shrugs. "Yeah, but we don't have to talk about Gamma. I do hear enough of, and from, her everyday." He winks then continues. "How is barrack life treating you?"

Cymri rolls her eyes, delivering a dry: "Oh, it's tough. Real tough." Eyes sparkling, she shakes her head, "Actually, everything seems nice so far." She scoots back farther against the wall, then teases, "From my day of it."

G'min smiles slightly, shaking his head. "Nope. Means you can't kiss me." He tilts his head so that he can see her face without actually loooking at her.

"Whatever shall I do with you then..." Lightly teasing, and softly not-teasing, Cymri looks directly up at him. "If I can't do that?" Eyes narrowing, she murmurs loftily, "I just don't know how I'll manage to control myself." But the loftiness does fade, by degrees, towards the end.

G'min smirks slightly, turning back to her. "You ok?" He asks softly, a question that she could give him some......spurious answer, but the expression in his eyes is one that begs the truth.

Cymri just smiles, eyes regaining their normal steadiness, and nods, "I am, really." Shrugging, she offers a simple explanation, "I don't know just what it is...the headache the other day, being Searched anew.. I suppose I'm just feeling a bit not-myself lately."

G'min chuckles softly, winking. "Don't worry. By the time you get used to Candidacy, it's over." That's some help, isn't it? But the bronzerider shrugs. "Well, I probably should go back into the oven now."

Cymri smiles, huskily offering his own words back, "Don't worry, by the time you get used to guarding the sands, it's over." It does help to know.

G'min pauses as he rises, glancing over at her for a moment, suprised by the tone and words. "Well, then." Leaning down again, he places a kiss against her cheek, then starts into the sands.