"Oooooh," enthuses a still-beaming Jenessa of the newest dragonet to break shell and climb clumsily to her feet - the hatching is halfway through, by the looks of things, with at least fifteen of the thirty and four eggs in Taylienth and Tasyirth's latest clutch yet to split - "she looks like what would happen if someone took those fine olives that grow up Nerat's way, you know, and made an entire ocean of them." E'lan can't help a fond chuckle, at his weyrmate as well as the image - once a Harper, always a Harper - but Jenessa's not alone in following the sea of olives green's progress with her eyes. The match she makes, in the end, is with an awkward young woman from High Reaches Weyr, all overlarge hands and feet, knobbly knees and hair a rusty red-brown frizz, found by a wise Xanaduian green and rider during the hatching feast marking the end of her third unsuccessful candidacy at her northern home, and, Weyrleader or not, Eelie is far from the only one cheering the excellent pairing aloud.