Dandelion Weed Egg
Recalcitrant green stands sentinel, clutching all but one hardy plane of
this oblong egg; that wayward spotlight is stained a jaunty yellow-gold,
all sunny smugness and tomboyish truculence. No treasured orchid, this,
but an ostracized dandelion whose triumph is its undauntedand

Dandelion Weed Egg shudders once, then once again; then in one
final burst explodes green and yellow shards in all directions, its
dragonet tumbling wish-quick and feather-light onto the sands.

Streamlined Sea-Green Dragonet

Fearless she is, and joyous in it, her insouciance revealed in the rakish
tilt of silvery swept-back wings, the carefree — often care/less/ — swing
of that sinewy tail. Sunlit sea-green shines iridescently over the play of
this sleek dragonet's muscles, conferring motion even in rare moments of
stillness. Abalone's subtle sheen complements argent-damascened neckridges
and the tidal edge of cobalt dashed along the base of her throat. Jeweled
eyes gleam with a vast, undauntable spirit, expressed in the entirety of her
diminutive frame.

Oh. Oh. Discovery! Bubbling up within you in playful fountains of
delight, you become one with her joy as she recognizes you, claims
youand all the milling activity about you fades as you focus on the
bounding, boundless source of energy who passionately pours her name
into your spirit

» My name is Miyoth! «

Hummingbird: Good luck, doctor/healer, balance (especially her bright colors that promote healing and balance), smart, spiritual, grace

River Otter: Wealth, good health, playfulness, status, good luck

Crow: Protection, wealth, fights bad omens, hunting, powerful, helps to take the soul to the spirit world


Miyoth is from the Japanese, 'beautiful generations'. It's lovely, without being soft, with just a hint of moths in the moons' light. We've been cherishing this name for many hatchings, waiting for just the right dragon — and thus for you.

We chose the dandelion egg — perhaps the anthesis of such traditional beauty — to put her in because you liked its symbolism: its defiant claim to survive, its natural wildness amidst and despite of the order around it. Because it reminded you of yourself, and because it fit.

Especially in youth, her voice will be somewhere in that shady range between soprano and alto, at times raucous and unrestrained, and given to gleeful shrieks of joy or amusement, but not physically shrill. She will never lose that spontaneous whoop, but as she matures the tone will deepen to match that of her mental voice: a little husky, smoky, occasionally reaching toward sophistication, and almost always there is a faint hum which reverberates in your mind, and often spills into vocalization. Her mental signature speaks of silver, of green, and just that thrumming, humming hint of violet.
Learn to listen for the humming, which she does when she thinks she's being quiet, or when she's pondering strategy, or rehearsing a newly acquired skill — when things are just rolling along and she's not really paying attention, but is content and happy, though she hums, too, when she's a little sad, a low, bluesy tone; or again, when she's excited, high notes that break into little whistles as inspiration strikes.

The hummingbird is Miyoth's totem, you see: small, swift-moving, daring, the only bird that can hover or fly backwards. Agile, acrobatic, and strong, she is tiny in size but not in spirit. Independent, too, not a flocking bird, if the female hummingbird wants attention, she accepts it, otherwise, she ignores the performance and display of the males. But it's the crow and otter, her supporting totems, who give her that great sense of play, her rather raucous wit, and her naughtiness, as well as a high love of thrills and adventure. She'll be daring, a clever learner when it suits her, oblivious to rules—you'll have to teach her teamwork, responsibility, and perhaps even a sense of fair play.

She'll take every new skill and explore it to the Nth degree. Gliding? How far can we go? What happens if we tilt our wings like this? Flying? Oh joy! Hers will never be the straight, even path. Like Zaireth, she'll always give an uneven ride, because she's ever zipping aside to explore a variation in wind patterns, or just to see, well, if that bug can do a maneuver, how'd he do it and can she? Could she if she just tipped a little more to the left? Maybe if she tried…. hm. No. But Miyoth will try again, and again, and again. You'll have to watch, to protect her, and keep numbweed with you constantly, and maybe your weyr had better be fairly near the dragonhealers', just in case. But she'll take care of you, Zephrene, and watch out lest you're afraid, or angry. » Don't be mad. Are you mad at me? I'll be good. « And she will, til she forgets.

And, oh, she'll be such a trial during weyrlinghood — the "correct" way isn't her way, and she'll twig to that at once, and want to try things differently before she's learned grace or strength or simple instinctual reactions to prevent her from landing in the soup. But while she'll be contrite about getting hurt, upset if you get worried or angry, she'll never regret the attempt. From Katrineth she inherits the tendency to experiment, to find out what happens when you change this, when you say that, oh, and what does this taste like? Does it move? Eat it. Does it talk? Taste it. Does it bite back? Squish it. And then tell about it.

Stories she loves, both the hearing and the spinning, and she's quite the actress to boot. The story may deviate from telling to telling as Miyoth forgets parts and makes up the rest to suit her current mood, but she loves the recounting of your adventures together almost as much as she likes to be off and do-do-doing! » This time, we went here, and there was this — what is that thing called again, Zephrene? — whatever there… « She's creative, and may tend to talk in stream-of-consciousness, her attention diverting from one moment to the next.

When hunting, Miyoth delights in the sheer flavor of her kill. She'll go for the choicest of beasts, those she's certain will have that zest she wants—she'll choose quickly, but she'll linger over dinner, though she won't down too many at one time. She likes to eat, will eat sparingly, but more frequently perhaps than other dragons. Then again, she uses up so much energy that she needs to eat a lot. She may tend to be protective of her kill, even though that other dragon is far more interested in getting his own meal rather than second helpings.

When Miyoth sleeps, she sleeps. Nothing is about to wake her save the bright sun in the morning or that certain touch of your mind. As much energy as she uses, it will be important for her to get plenty of regular rest, not that she'll want to sleep, but the day will go so much more smoothly if she does, if you insist. (Do insist.)

Miyoth's itchiest spots will be on the soft flesh of her throat and along the thicker ribs of her wingsa light finger rubbing just there would help so muchand, every now and again, between her talons.

She's slim-boned, sleek and sinewy like her dam but compact like her sire, with gorgeous airy wings — and read just a little further to see part of why they're silvery — and a lovely full rib cage for the deepest of breaths. She's hued the subtle, sunlit sea-green of abalone, iridescent with hints of other hues; silver damascenes her neckridges, sharing that with her dam just as the swash of cobalt at her throat remarks back to her sire. Diminutive but never dainty, in her you'll find the dashing fighter pilot you've always wanted.

Like her father, Byzanth, she's an explorer, but where he loves to come home she'll clamor to stay out. Yet home is home, and when she's finally worn out, and finally admitting she's tired(!), that's where she'll want to go— if only for the night. Oh, and home. Likely she'll want one of those outside couches, the ones with 'windows' (if filtered with oilcloth and tapestries in winter's cold) rather than the inner warm nests. She'll push the tapestries aside, even though others complain about the draft, because she wants to see, and is always just a little afraid of missing something. She'll want it clean, too, except for that one corner where she keeps her clutter of treasures: found things, shiny things, long skinny wiggly things; anything that reminds her of fun times or, even better, of Zephrene-and-Miyoth.

And yet you'll always have each other to remember each other by, mind and heart and soul, more intimate and more binding even than the friends you'll likewise share. No matter your past, you'll have this future: always, together.

High Flight

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split cloudsand done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of

wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,
Where never lark, or even eagle, flew;
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

—John Gillespie Magee.

Egg credits: Kh'rys
Inspiration credits: Arien, B'nal, Kh'rys, K'lora, Lysalla, N'fra

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