"I'll never Impress, so why am I even here? I'm just taking up space that rightly belongs to some other candidate." Kicking the floor with his foot, Peregrin stroked Kahoo's head as he sat in his dorm, waiting for the hatching to take place so he could just go home. No dragon would ever want him, so what was the point? A sickly blind boy could never attract a healthy dragon. Suddenly there came a loud knock on the door. "The eggs are hatching!" the drudge shouted. "I'm blind not deaf, you moron." Peregrin grumbled but pulled the candidates robe on all the same. Deep within him a small spark resided, hoping against hope that there was infact a dragon out there among those eggs.

All Peregrin could to was listen as dragons hatched; crealing, squawking, bellowing and barking. He heard cries of joy as they found their bonders and sighes or disappointment as dragons passed some hopefulls by. A loud bellow from one side of the Sands caught his attention though. It was demanding, but also calling, as if the dragon was asking a question. Peregrin froze as he heard the bearer of the bellow approach...and stop... infront of him. It bellowed again, and gently nuzzled at his hand.

P'grin? I'm Macbeth, I'm here for you, and I think I can help you to see....

Peregrin was a little taken aback, afterall, he wanted to see for himself, he didn't want any help, but his mind was suddenly flooded with images of the hatching sands, as seen from Macbeth's eyes. Tears stung P'grin's eyes as he saw the other candidates for the first time, and a glimpse of Macbeth's foreleg, a beautiful, deep, blue. Macbeth suddenly squeeled and cut off the stream of pictures. P'grin was devastated, but he could feel how hard it was for the newly hatched Macbeth to keep transmitting them so fluently to his rider.

I'll try harder next time. Macbeth said firmly, and then nudged P'grin, trying to get the young man to follow him. But I'm hungry now, and you need to feed me.

P'grin followed, suddenly numb to the world outside of his little blue dragonet. Kahoo called her joy from the air and landed to settle on his shoulder as P'grin sat down next to the table where meat was offered. He felt someone gently place a bowl in his hand and began to feed Macbeth. "I...are you sure you're...mine?" he managed after a short time.

Dragons rarely make mistakes at Impression, right? I don't think I have.

Macbeth looked up at P'grin, who smiled for the first time in ages and dropped the bowl to hug him. "No, you haven't"