Laih's Char-Edged Avalanche Green Zhyfath

Grasshopper Pie Egg

Chocolate serves as sweetened milieu for wind-whipped turrets of rich crème, carefully sculpted into baroque swirls that eddy with nothing less than imagination's greatest degree in the fashioning. Dark brunette tops each spindrift peak with a vivid dash of dark cocoa, crumbling delightfully down minty slopes with charming magnetism, menthe fused to chocolate with all the glory of crunch to cream, vibrant to bland, dark to pale.

Grasshopper Pie Egg packs a punch—-it shifts, fuzzes, melts until cocoa runs in dribbles across a drooping menthe façade, shuddering convulsively into its own ruin of limp-lying shards, piled about the source of heat from within.

Char-Edged Avalanche Green Hatchling

Taut in both sinew and in hide, olive tones roll end over end, warring for dominance over the equally tumultuous individual that hides beneath. Cinders still simmer ‘round the edges of wiry frame, jade singed to ashy char that marks even her slim neck’s unarched strength. Blackest of charcoals still scorches talons' razored danger and the fitfully twitching tip of lean, ember-encompassing tail; heat translates to elemental passion, then to deception, then to changeability.

Char-Edged Avalanche Green Hatchling follows her feeling, her impulse—-a pulse that leads her to the feet of that /one/, the one topped off with impossible garnet coils. It's Laih for her, for now, and forever.

Darkness envelops you, engraves itself before your eyes and taunts you with its frustrating blankness. On and on it goes until your mind reels from its stark endlessness. Then it begins, the simmering hiss in your mind as /she/ rises from empty depths, spiraling upwards. A throaty whisper. »Laaaaaaiiiiihhhh.« Rising, rising to encircle your mind in ambered glory, the call becomes more imperative. »/Laih./« Shadows within are lost to fire's burgeoning brilliance and the exultant proclamation, »Laih! Zhyfath thought you'd never find her!«

Have you ever had Grasshopper Pie? It's decadent. Imagine a crust of crushed Oreos, filled to overflowing with whipped cream spiked heavily with crème de menthe, and more Oreo particles sprinkled on top. It's cold. It's crunchy. It's taking that old standby, mint-chocolate-chip ice cream, to the next level. Savor it!

Ever heard of Marcy Playground? They play the song we selected for your Zhyfath. If you've ever seen the movie Cruel Intentions, you'll remember that the ‘bad girl’ played by Sarah Michelle Gellar had a distinct theme song, called "Comin' Up From Behind". To us, its sultry and dodgy beats epitomized the deceptively dangerous element that she herself has. One of our favorite lines is used in the hatchling name, since it describes her so perfectly: "She's got an avalanche packed in a snowball." If you want the mp3 of the song, email any of us :)

Zhyfath! It's been dwelling in the back of my mind for a good long time, fretting, waiting for its chance—/Zhyfath/. It's got a beautifully breathy sound, yet it sizzles across the air with that subliminal charisma that is Zhyfath's own. Pronounced ZIH-fath, she'll no doubt make complaints of those who call her ZIH-fith. »Fath. Not fith. Zhy-/fath/.« Could any name be more right?

Fire-born and fire-breathing, Zhyfath's elemental personality will likely push Laih to grow and change from her comfortable perspective. While Laih isn't Miss Perfect herself, Zhyfath will revel in stirring up a little trouble, a little confusion, and sitting back to watch the show. Nothing mean, mind you, just a broad streak of mischief that might surprise Laih, or maybe fit right in. Before flights, she may goad her would-be lovers into arguments or tiffs, but instantly repent after the fact. Gossip? She'll love it—-both spreading it and healing any harm that results from it.

When in trouble, plead proddy. When in proddy, make trouble. Proddiness is tough for you, no matter how much she enjoys it. You see, she wants you to enjoy it too, so she'll give you suggestions. »Sillyth says that her rider likes it when S'oandso flies her. You and he could…« Extremely detailed she'll be, drawing on imagination and your knowledge to paint an all-too-explicit picture that will make you blush every time; it's her signature trademark that recurs for each and every flight. It might be someone you know, or someone you caught a glimpse of. She's particularly fond of giving her little ‘suggestions’ when you're having conversations with the subject of her contemplation. »Ooh, look at his hands. Think about…« What's more, she prolongs the time until her flight, just to make it that much sweeter when it finally happens.

Oh, and one more thing – she /always/ speaks of herself in the third person. Hence the confusing first sentence! It might take a while to get used to, for both you and other dragons, when you hear her say, »Zhyfath's neckridges itch, Laih.« »Ayeleth, scoot over. You're squishing Zhyfath's wing.«

Almost ridiculously tiny from the time she was born, Zhyfath is and always will be dynamite's small package. Her dainty figure bears a rich green hue that seems singed and darkened around the edges, as if she's burning from within and has already died down to a dull roar. You're always a step behind :)

Her compact body gives her that agility that larger greens and other colors cannot manage; she is by far the most nimble of the clutch and cheerfully tweaks the browns and bronzes about their sometimes ponderous movements. »Oh, come on, Kwaith! Don't tell Zhyfath that you can't do that!« It's all in fun, you know.

Her favorite scratch-spot is the very tips of her edged neck ridges—- those blackened points /itch/ like nobody's business! In her early days, she'll cause a great deal of trouble by shredding blankets and scoring various items through her practice of blissfully rubbing those peaks against anything and everything with complete lack of notice for any damage she's doing.

That touch inside your mind-it's a gravelly, throaty contralto that snags attention like you wouldn't believe. Imagine how your voice sounds after breathing smoke-rough, but somehow sensual—-rather, Ella Fitzgerald meets Smokey the Bear. That huskiness isn't just on the surface - it's profoundly sultry from the inside out. Rich golden and amber bloom within her voice when she feels well, richening to crimson during her flights and darkening to nearly black when faced with a situation of sadness or tragedy. The scent? There are many, all depending on her mood and each bringing forth the impression of wisdom, of rich spiciness - aged wine, old oil, incense and myrrh. Never musty, yet not fresh-faced, it's sublimely /hers/.



Egg Desc: K'rali

Hatchling Desc: C'leb/Seria, K'rali

Dragonet: C'leb, K'rali, Vinnie

Dragonsong: Marcy Playground

Sire: R'sin's Sparneth

Dam: Vinnie's Vyath

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