baby dragon

by Bill Tiepelman

A Dragon's First Breath

There are few things more awe-inspiring than the birth of a legend. But legends, much like dragons, rarely come into the world quietly. The egg sat atop a pedestal of stone, its surface a masterpiece of ornate carvings that seemed less the work of time and more of an artisan with a penchant for beauty and whimsy. Vines of delicate flowers and swirls wrapped around the shell, as though nature itself had decided to protect the treasure within. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of magic that pulsed in the air—an ancient rhythm, slow and steady, as though the world itself was holding its breath. Then it happened. A crack. It started as a whisper of sound, the faintest of clicks, as a single hairline fracture split the surface of the egg. From the fracture, a soft, golden light began to seep out, illuminating the chamber in a warm, ethereal glow. The crack widened, and then, with a sudden burst of force, a claw—tiny, yet unmistakably sharp—pierced through the shell. “Well, it’s about time,” muttered a voice from the shadows. The speaker, an ancient wizard with a beard that had seen too many years and a robe that had seen too few washes, stepped closer to the egg. “Three centuries of waiting, and you decide to make your entrance while I’m mid-breakfast. Typical dragon timing.” The dragon paid no attention to the wizard’s grumbles. Its focus was singular and instinctual—freedom. Another claw broke through the shell, followed by a delicate snout covered in shimmering pink and white scales. With a final push, the dragonling emerged, wings unfurling in a spray of golden dust. It blinked once, twice, its eyes wide and filled with the kind of wonder only the truly newborn can possess. “Ah, there you are,” the wizard said, his tone softening despite himself. “A little smaller than I expected, but I suppose even dragons have to start somewhere.” He squinted at the dragon, who was now inspecting its surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and mild disdain, as though unimpressed by the wizard’s décor. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re lucky you hatched here and not in some bandit’s den. This place has history!” The dragon sneezed, and a small puff of smoke escaped its nostrils. The wizard took a hasty step back. “Right, no need to start with the fire. We’ll get to that later,” he muttered, waving the smoke away. “Let’s see, you’ll need a name. Something grand, something that strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies—or at least makes the villagers less likely to throw rocks at you. How about… Flameheart?” The dragon tilted its head, unimpressed. “Alright, fine. Too cliché. What about… Blossom?” The dragon snorted, and a tiny ember landed dangerously close to the wizard’s robe. “Alright, alright! No need to be dramatic. How about Auriel? A bit of elegance, a touch of mystery. Yes, you look like an Auriel.” Auriel, as though considering the name, stretched its wings wide. They glimmered in the golden light, a tapestry of soft hues that seemed to shift and shimmer with every movement. For a moment, even the wizard was struck silent. The dragon, barely the size of a housecat, somehow commanded the room with the presence of something far greater. It was as though the universe itself had paused to acknowledge this small but significant life. “You’ll do great things,” the wizard said softly, his voice filled with a rare sincerity. “But not today. Today, you eat, you sleep, and you figure out how to fly without breaking everything in sight.” As if in agreement, Auriel let out a tiny roar—a sound that was equal parts adorable and pitifully small. The wizard chuckled, a deep, hearty laugh that echoed through the chamber. For the first time in centuries, he felt hope. Not the fleeting kind that comes and goes with a passing thought, but the deep, unshakable kind that settles in the bones and refuses to leave. “Come on then,” the wizard said, turning toward the doorway. “Let’s get you some food. And for the love of magic, try not to set anything on fire.” The dragon trotted after him, its steps light but full of purpose. Behind them, the shattered egg lay forgotten, its ornate shell a silent testament to the beginning of something extraordinary. As they left the chamber, a golden light lingered in the air, as though the magic itself knew that this was no ordinary day. Legends, after all, are not born; they are made. But every legend begins somewhere. And for Auriel, it began here, with a crack, a breath, and the promise of a world yet to be conquered.    Bring "A Dragon's First Breath" Into Your Home Capture the magic and wonder of Auriel's journey with stunning products that showcase this enchanting artwork. Whether you're looking to decorate your home or carry a piece of fantasy with you, we've got you covered: Tapestry - Transform your walls with the majestic glow of this magical dragon. Canvas Print - Bring the legend to life with a premium-quality canvas that exudes elegance. Throw Pillow - Add a touch of mythical charm to your living space with this cozy, decorative piece. Tote Bag - Carry the magic with you wherever you go with this stylish and durable tote bag. Each item is crafted with care and designed to bring the story of "A Dragon's First Breath" to life in your everyday world. Explore these products and more at Unfocussed Shop.

by Bill Tiepelman

Spellbound by Roses and Scales

Once upon a time in a realm not far from the corner of your wildest daydreams, there was an enchantress named Lyra. Known throughout the land for her shockingly bright red hair and her particularly unusual pet—a tiny emerald-green dragon—Lyra was both feared and admired, especially for her ability to bring roses into full bloom with a mere whisper. But today, Lyra had a problem. “Listen, Thorn,” Lyra muttered, adjusting her off-the-shoulder lace gown as she gave her tiny dragon an annoyed look. Thorn, who was coiled around her shoulder like a scaly scarf, yawned and blinked lazily at her with his ruby-red eyes. “You can’t keep stealing the villagers' socks!” she scolded him, plucking a rogue sock from his little claws. “Last week it was Balthazar’s best black stockings, and he still hasn’t stopped telling people I’m some kind of sock thief.” Thorn snorted, a wisp of smoke curling from his nostrils as he nuzzled her cheek innocently. The truth was, Thorn had a bit of a sock addiction. For reasons no one quite understood, the little dragon found socks irresistibly cozy—especially single socks, which he hoarded like a treasure trove beneath Lyra’s bed. She had tried giving him blankets, but they didn’t have quite the same appeal. No, it was socks or nothing for Thorn. The Sock Conundrum To make matters worse, Lyra’s roses were getting out of hand. The roses loved her so much they had started sprouting all over the place—particularly inconveniently when they appeared in her bath, her bed, and, last Tuesday, right in the middle of her morning toast. “It’s not fair,” she grumbled to Thorn, waving a toast crust at a particularly smug-looking rose that had taken root on her kitchen table. “I mean, sure, I’m the Enchantress of the Roses and all, but I’d like at least one part of my life that doesn’t involve thorns, petals, or that endless fragrance of roses. Honestly, it’s like living in a perfume shop.” Thorn cocked his head, as if to say, And your point is…? He stretched, flicked his tail, and hopped off her shoulder, sniffing around for new socks to pilfer. Lyra sighed, rolling her eyes. Thorn was an adorable pest, and she knew it. A New Challenge But Lyra’s rose problem was about to get worse. Much worse. One fateful evening, while she was sitting in her garden trying to unwind with a glass of elderflower wine, she heard a voice behind her. “Excuse me, miss?” Lyra jumped, almost spilling her wine, and turned to see an oversized rose standing behind her. It had a remarkably debonair appearance for a flower, complete with a tiny red velvet hat and an unmistakable smirk. “I—uh—hello?” Lyra stammered, wondering if perhaps she’d had a little too much wine. “No need to look so shocked, darling,” said the rose, whose voice was surprisingly smooth. “The name’s Roderick. Roderick the Rose. And I’m here to make you an offer.” The Rose’s Proposal Now, in Lyra’s line of work, she’d dealt with many a strange magical occurrence—talking owls, gossiping pixies, even a flirtatious tree—but a talking rose was new. “An offer?” she echoed, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Alright, Roderick, you’ve got my attention.” Roderick twirled one of his leaves and winked. “You, my dear, have a certain… problem. A rose problem, if you will. Roses popping up here and there, no matter where you go. I think you and I could come to an understanding.” Lyra raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening…” “You let me stay,” Roderick proposed, “as your personal garden companion—think of me as a rose advisor of sorts. In exchange, I’ll use my magical prowess to manage your rose situation. No more blooms where you don’t want them, and maybe even a few… extras where you do.” “Extras?” Lyra said, trying to hide her intrigue. “Oh, the possibilities are endless,” Roderick assured her, puffing himself up. “Imagine: roses that bloom in the moonlight, petals that glow with the colors of sunset, roses that sing arias on your birthday. Think about it.” Lyra couldn’t help but smile. “Fine,” she said. “You can stay. But one prank, Roderick, and you’re mulch.” Roderick winked, clearly thrilled, and wiggled his stem in what might have been a bow. And Then Came the Wine-Fueled Mishaps That night, Lyra celebrated her new partnership by pouring herself another glass of elderflower wine and giving Thorn a celebratory sock (he pounced on it with glee). Everything seemed perfect—that is, until she woke up the next morning. At first, she noticed nothing amiss. But as she got up and walked to the mirror, she let out a shriek. Roderick had taken his job way too seriously. Tiny roses were now woven into her hair, down her back, even into the very fabric of her gown. And the kicker? They were all humming. Quietly, but unmistakably humming. “Roderick!” she shouted, as Thorn watched in wide-eyed delight from the bed. “Explain yourself this instant!” Roderick appeared from beneath a nearby window sill, looking remarkably pleased with himself. “Just a small token of our new partnership, darling. A bit of morning ambiance, if you will.” “Ambiance?” Lyra sputtered. “You turned me into a walking rosebush with a musical soundtrack!” She spent the rest of the day plucking roses out of her hair, scolding Roderick every time he dared to smirk, and muttering about why she ever thought talking roses were a good idea. By nightfall, however, she had to admit… the humming roses were growing on her. Life, Laughter, and Ever-Blooming Roses As days turned into weeks, Lyra found herself adjusting to her new, unusual companions. Thorn, as usual, continued his sock-stealing habits, and Roderick developed a penchant for serenading her as she cooked dinner. And though Lyra might have grumbled and scolded, she couldn’t deny that life felt a little brighter, a little more magical, with her strange little family. In the end, Lyra learned to embrace the endless roses, the cheeky dragon, and the overly charming rose with the velvet hat. Life in the enchanted garden was a beautiful mess, and Lyra wouldn’t have it any other way. And the socks? Well, Thorn never did give them up. — The End —     Bring "Spellbound by Roses and Scales" Into Your Home If Lyra’s mystical world of roses, dragons, and whimsical enchantment has captured your imagination, you can now bring a piece of that magic home. Our exclusive collection inspired by Spellbound by Roses and Scales is available in a variety of beautiful products: Tapestry – Perfect for transforming any space into an enchanted garden. Throw Pillow – Add a touch of magic and comfort to your home decor. Puzzle – Piece together the story of Lyra and Thorn with this mesmerizing puzzle. Tote Bag – Carry a bit of fantasy with you wherever you go. Each product is crafted with high-quality materials, designed to immerse you in the allure of this enchanted artwork. Browse the full collection here and let Lyra’s whimsical world find a special place in your life. This captivating tale brings to life our February Queen from the Nature’s Queens: A Year of Female Fantasy Icons - 2025 Calendar. Meet Lyra, the enchantress with fiery red hair, a mischievous emerald dragon, and a rose garden that has a mind of its own. Her magical misadventures are filled with humor, charm, and a touch of fantasy whimsy. Dive into Lyra’s world and bring home the magic with our 2025 calendar – a year-long journey celebrating fierce, enchanting icons of nature. Explore the calendar here.

by Bill Tiepelman

Splashing in Magic Waters

Deep in the heart of the enchanted autumn woods, where the leaves were ablaze in shades of red and gold, there lived a gnome named Gribble. Now, Gribble wasn’t your average, everyday garden-variety gnome. No, no. He was as mischievous as they came, with a snicker that could make the trees blush and a wit sharper than the blade he never actually used. Let’s be honest, Gribble was more about fun than work. And then there was Sprout. Ah, Sprout—his pint-sized dragon companion. Sprout was... well, "adorably chaotic" is a good way to put it. With wings too big for his body and a tendency to hiccup smoke rings, he was like a flying toddler with an attitude. Together, they were a walking (or flying) disaster, but in the most entertaining way possible. One crisp autumn afternoon, Gribble and Sprout were on a stroll through the forest, not looking for trouble (which meant trouble was definitely going to find them). They came upon a stream, the water clear and cold, reflecting the fiery canopy of leaves above. Gribble, always up for a bit of nonsense, decided this was the perfect time for a break from ‘important gnome business.’ And by that, he meant absolutely nothing productive. The Plan (or Lack Thereof) "Alright, Sprout," Gribble said, rubbing his hands together, eyes gleaming with glee. "Time for a bath!" Now, dragons don’t traditionally love water, but Sprout, with his unpredictable baby brain, decided today was the day he’d be an exception. With a high-pitched squeal that sounded like a kettle about to blow, he launched himself into the stream, flapping his tiny wings and spraying water everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean all over Gribble’s face. "Ah! You soggy little lizard!" Gribble sputtered, wiping his beard, which now looked more like a soaked mop than the dignified tangle it usually was. "I said you take a bath, not me!" Sprout, of course, was far too busy splashing and blowing little fire-bubbles to listen. Every few seconds, the dragon would hiccup, sending out a spark of flame that turned into harmless bubbles in the cool air. A bubble popped on Gribble’s nose, and he couldn’t help but snort in amusement. The little pest was too cute to stay mad at for long. The Splash War Begins "Alright, Sprout," Gribble said with a wicked grin, rolling up his sleeves. "If it’s a splash war you want, it’s a splash war you’ll get!" He leapt into the stream with all the grace of a rock tied to an anvil. Water exploded in all directions as the gnome belly-flopped into the shallow creek, sending waves cascading over the unsuspecting Sprout, who immediately retaliated with a gust of wing-flapping and shrill giggles. Gnomes weren’t exactly known for their swimming abilities, but Gribble didn’t care. He was having the time of his life. And so it went, back and forth, with Gribble laughing like a madman and Sprout trying his best to drown him in two inches of water. To any casual observer, it looked like a full-blown riot had broken out between a miniature dragon and an overgrown garden ornament. And to be fair, that’s not too far off the mark. "You call that a splash?" Gribble bellowed, swiping a wave toward Sprout, who ducked and responded with an expertly timed tail-flick that sent water straight into Gribble’s open mouth. "Gah! You slimy little..." Gribble sputtered again, but his laughter was louder than his complaints. He could’ve sworn Sprout was actually smirking at him. Cheeky lizard. Serenity, Interrupted As the sun dipped lower, casting a warm orange glow over the forest, Gribble and Sprout finally collapsed onto the shore, soaked and exhausted. The forest around them had returned to its usual serene self, the birds singing sweetly, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. It was almost... peaceful. Until Sprout hiccupped again. This time, instead of bubbles, a tiny jet of flame shot out, catching Gribble’s boot on fire. "Well, that’s just perfect," Gribble groaned, staring at the tiny flame that had decided to settle on his foot. He lazily dipped it into the stream to put it out. "Thanks, Sprout. Really. Just what I needed." Sprout gave an apologetic chirp and then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, splashed Gribble one last time. The gnome sighed dramatically, raising his eyes to the sky. "I don’t know why I keep you around," Gribble muttered. "But then again, who else would set my foot on fire just to get a laugh?" With a huff of mock indignation, Gribble stood up, his clothes still dripping. He looked down at the soaking wet dragon, who was now curled up in the shallows, tail flicking contentedly in the water. Gribble couldn't help but grin. For all their chaos, he wouldn’t have it any other way. "Alright, come on then, you soggy salamander," Gribble said with a smirk, offering Sprout his hand. "Let’s go find something else to ruin." And off they went, leaving a trail of wet footprints and charred leaves behind them, two mischievous companions bound to wreak havoc on whatever unsuspecting corner of the forest they found next. Because in the life of a gnome and his dragon, there's no such thing as a dull moment.     If you’ve fallen in love with Gribble and Sprout’s chaotic adventures, you can bring a piece of their whimsical world into your own! Prints, products, downloads, and licensing options for this delightful image are available in the My Gnomies Archive. Whether you’re looking for a splash of magic for your walls or unique gifts that capture the joy of these mischievous companions, explore the collection today!

by Bill Tiepelman

Guardian of Ember in a Frosted World

In the frozen expanse of the Frosted World, there was a legend, whispered among the wind-chilled peaks and carried across the snowbound valleys. It spoke of a woman, a queen-like figure, whose crimson gown burned as brightly as the embers of a long-dead fire, a woman who could command both flame and frost with equal ease. Her name was Ashera, known to some as the Guardian of Ember, a being of immense power and mystery who roamed the icy plains with a small dragon at her side—her only companion in the eternal cold. The Frosted World was unforgiving, a place where warmth was a memory and the cold itself felt alive, constantly reaching out with icy fingers to drain the life from all it touched. For centuries, the land had been locked in a deep winter, a curse brought upon the world by the ancients who once ruled it. But while the land had grown still, cold, and barren, Ashera moved through it with grace, her red gown a stark contrast to the endless white that surrounded her. She had not always been alone. Long ago, Ashera had been part of a kingdom that thrived in the heart of the frostlands, a citadel of heat and light that stood as a beacon of defiance against the cold. But the kingdom had fallen, swallowed by the encroaching ice and time. Only Ashera remained, having made a pact with the ancient spirits of fire to keep a single flame alive within her—a flame that would burn for eternity as long as she wandered the desolate wilderness. Now, she was the last keeper of that ember, a fire that glowed faintly in the heart of her dragon companion, Seraphis. The small creature clung to her arm, its scales shimmering with the same red glow as her dress. Seraphis was young, but his lineage was ancient, tied to the very heart of the world. He was a symbol of hope, a spark waiting to ignite something greater—perhaps even to melt the curse that had buried the world in ice. The wind howled, sending flurries of snow spiraling around them as Ashera made her way through a narrow pass in the mountains. Her steps were soft, but each one left a faint trail of warmth behind, the snow melting momentarily before freezing again. The frozen landscape, with its towering trees crusted in frost and icicles hanging like claws from the cliffs above, was treacherous. Yet she moved with purpose, her eyes fixed on the horizon, where an ancient city lay in ruins, hidden beneath centuries of snow. She was searching for something—an artifact of immense power, one that had been lost to the frost but which could restore balance to the world. The fire within her was strong, but it could not last forever without being rekindled. The Flameheart, a jewel of molten energy, was said to lie deep within the ruins of the ancient city, guarded by the ice spirits that had overtaken the land. It was her only hope. As she crested a ridge, the ruins came into view—ghostly, silent, and shrouded in frost. The remnants of towering spires and crumbling walls peeked through the snow like bones of a long-dead giant. A heavy silence hung over the place, broken only by the soft crackling of ice as it shifted under the weight of centuries. Seraphis stirred on her arm, his eyes narrowing as a low growl rumbled from his throat. Ashera sensed it too—the cold was not merely a natural force here. It was alive, ancient, and aware of her presence. The spirits of frost had once been protectors of this land, but now they were twisted by the curse, vengeful and hungry. She moved forward cautiously, her breath forming clouds of vapor in the cold air. The air around her began to shimmer as she summoned the flame within, her gown glowing brighter as waves of warmth rolled off her, melting the snow in a wide radius. The frost spirits would come soon, drawn by the heat and the promise of fire to extinguish. The first of them appeared as a wraithlike figure, its body formed of swirling snow and ice, eyes glowing with a pale blue light. It hovered in the air before her, silent at first, but then it spoke, its voice a brittle, rasping whisper. "You should not be here, firebearer," it hissed. "This is a place of cold and death. Your flame has no place in this land." Ashera stood her ground, her hand resting on Seraphis’ back as the dragon hissed in return, tiny plumes of smoke rising from his nostrils. "I seek the Flameheart," she said, her voice steady despite the chill creeping into her bones. "It belongs to the world, not to the cold. Let me pass." The spirit shrieked, its form distorting as more wraiths appeared from the shadows of the ruins. They swirled around her, their voices rising in a cacophony of cold fury. "You will freeze here, like all the others," they taunted. "Your flame will die, and the Frosted World will consume you." But Ashera did not flinch. With a single gesture, she summoned her power, the flames within her surging to life. Her gown ignited in a blaze of crimson and gold, the heat rippling through the air, forcing the frost spirits back. Seraphis let out a roar, his small body glowing with molten energy as he joined her, flames licking along his wings as he spread them wide. The spirits screeched, retreating into the shadows, but they would not be banished so easily. They gathered at the edges of the ruins, waiting, watching. Ashera pressed forward, her gaze locked on the heart of the city. There, within the remains of the central spire, lay the Flameheart, its glow barely visible through the layers of ice that entombed it. She approached it slowly, Seraphis by her side, his eyes fixed on the jewel. The air grew colder, the frost spirits closing in once more, their fury palpable. But Ashera was undeterred. With a single touch, she reached for the Flameheart, her hand glowing with heat as the ice began to crack and melt away. As the jewel came free, the world seemed to hold its breath. For a moment, the cold itself faltered, the frost retreating, and in that moment, Ashera knew that the balance was shifting. The Flameheart pulsed with warmth, filling her with renewed strength, and she knew that the curse could be broken. But as she turned to leave, the frost spirits screamed in rage, surging toward her in a final attempt to reclaim the frozen world. She raised her hand, and with a single thought, unleashed the full force of the fire within her. A wall of flame erupted from the ground, burning bright and fierce, consuming the spirits in an instant. The Frosted World was silent once more, the cold retreating as the warmth spread from the Flameheart. Ashera stood tall, the jewel in her hand, her crimson gown flowing like liquid fire in the wind. Seraphis perched on her arm, his eyes glowing with triumph. The Frosted World would thaw, in time. The curse had been broken, and with it, the promise of a new dawn. Ashera, the Guardian of Ember, would ensure that the fire would never die again.     If you enjoyed the world of Guardian of Ember in a Frosted World, you can explore art prints, products, digital downloads, and licensing options inspired by this piece at this gallery link. Bring the magic of Ashera and her dragon companion into your home or collection with a range of beautiful items that capture the essence of this frosted fantasy world.

by Bill Tiepelman

The Littlest Flame: A Dragon's Heartwarming Beginnings

In the vast kingdom of Elderwyn, home to towering castles, enchanted forests, and creatures of legend, something extraordinary happened one quiet morning. No, it wasn’t the usual kind of extraordinary—the kind with knights rescuing maidens or wizards hurling fireballs. This was different. This was the day that a very small, very adorable dragon decided to make its debut. Meet Smidge. And yes, that’s exactly what he was—a smidge of a dragon, no bigger than a loaf of bread. But don’t let the size fool you. Smidge had big dreams, despite being born in the smallest egg of the clutch. His brothers and sisters had all hatched into impressive little fire-breathers, already causing minor property damage to the local village (a rite of passage for any dragon, really). Smidge, however, had yet to produce more than a puff of smoke and some particularly aggressive hiccups. “You’ll get there, Smidge,” his mother, a glorious red-scaled dragon named Seraphina, would say in her deep, echoing voice. “It just takes time.” Smidge wasn’t so sure. While his siblings were off practicing their flame control, he was busy... well, trying not to trip over his own feet. His legs seemed too long for his body, his wings flapped more like a startled chicken’s than anything majestic, and his fire? Let’s just say no marshmallows were getting roasted any time soon. The Quest for Fire (And Not Burning Himself in the Process) Determined to prove himself, Smidge set off on a mission. It wasn’t a typical “slay the knight, hoard the treasure” kind of mission. No, Smidge had something much simpler in mind: learn to breathe fire without sneezing. It was a modest goal, but you had to start somewhere. He waddled out of the cave early one morning, waving goodbye to his siblings, who were busy setting a small forest on fire (totally accidental, of course). Smidge’s journey was one of discovery. He needed to find a quiet spot, away from distractions, where he could really focus on his fire-breathing technique. “Ah, here we go,” Smidge muttered, stumbling upon a clearing in the forest. It was peaceful, with the sun filtering through the trees, birds chirping, and most importantly, nothing that could accidentally catch fire—except maybe a few shrubs, but sacrifices had to be made. Smidge squared his little shoulders, took a deep breath, and... poof. A tiny puff of smoke escaped his nostrils. Well, it was better than last time, when nothing but a few weak sparks fizzled out. He puffed his chest out, feeling rather proud. “Alright, let’s go again,” he said, this time putting every bit of effort he had into it. He inhaled deeply, focused, and—achoo! The sneeze came out of nowhere, and with it, a burst of flame that wasn’t quite forward-facing. Instead, the flames engulfed his own tail. “Yow!” Smidge yelped, hopping in circles, frantically patting out the flames with his tiny claws. After a few minutes of awkward tail-chasing, the fire was out, but his pride had taken a hit. “That,” he muttered, “could have gone better.” Making Friends (or, How Not to Burn Bridges) Despite the hiccups (and sneezes), Smidge wasn’t about to give up. He just needed a bit of help—some guidance. And so, he set off deeper into the forest, hoping to find someone who might teach him the ancient art of dragon fire-breathing. What he found instead... was Barry. Barry was a troll. Not the menacing, bridge-guarding kind of troll, though. No, Barry was more of a “tree-hugging, amateur painter” kind of troll. He stood about 12 feet tall, with moss growing on his back and a pair of reading glasses perched precariously on the end of his bulbous nose. “Hi!” Smidge chirped, looking up at the towering troll. “I’m Smidge. Can you help me learn to breathe fire?” Barry squinted down at the tiny dragon, one mossy eyebrow raised. “Fire, you say? Hm. Not really my specialty, kid. I’m more into watercolors.” He gestured to a nearby easel, where an interpretive painting of what Smidge assumed was a tree stood. It mostly looked like a blob with branches. “Oh,” Smidge said, his tiny wings drooping. “Well... thanks anyway.” Barry sighed, scratching his head. “Look, kid, I may not know much about fire-breathing, but I do know about practice. That’s what painting is, really. Practice. You just gotta keep at it. Eventually, you’ll figure it out.” Smidge tilted his head, considering the troll’s advice. “Practice, huh? That’s it?” “Yep,” Barry replied with a shrug. “And, uh, maybe don’t set yourself on fire next time.” Smidge couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’ll try not to.” The Littlest Flame Ignites With Barry’s advice echoing in his head, Smidge returned to his clearing and tried again. Days passed, and though his flames were still small and sputtering, they were growing. He only set his tail on fire twice more, and there were no major forest fires—just a few smoking bushes. One evening, as the sun began to set, Smidge felt different. He had been practicing all day, and though he was tired, something inside him felt ready. He stood tall (well, as tall as a baby dragon could), focused on the horizon, and took the deepest breath yet. Flame surged from his mouth, a beautiful, controlled stream of fire that lit up the sky in shades of gold and red. Smidge blinked in surprise. Had he just... done it? “I DID IT!” he shouted, hopping up and down in excitement. “I’M A REAL DRAGON!” At that moment, his mother appeared, her massive wings casting a shadow over the clearing. “I knew you could do it,” she said proudly, watching her littlest flame with a smile. “You just needed to find your spark.” The Future of the Littlest Flame And so, with his newfound fire-breathing ability, Smidge became a legend in his own right—not for his size, but for his heart. He wasn’t the biggest or the most powerful dragon in Elderwyn, but he was certainly the most determined. And that, as any dragon will tell you, is the secret to greatness. As for Barry, well, he continued painting his abstract masterpieces. Smidge, now a proud fire-breathing dragon, made sure to stop by every now and then to check in on his favorite troll, usually offering him a little flame to dry his watercolors. Because that’s what friends are for—helping each other, whether with flames, brushes, or a little bit of encouragement. Smidge might have started as the littlest flame, but he knew one thing for sure: the world was about to see just how bright even the smallest dragon could shine.    Bring a Piece of Smidge's World Home If the heartwarming adventures of Smidge, the littlest flame, brightened your day, why not bring a bit of that joy into your own space? Whether you’re looking for something whimsical to decorate your home or a playful gift for someone special, we’ve got just the right items to capture Smidge’s charm. The Littlest Flame Puzzle – Piece together the adorable world of Smidge, one puzzle piece at a time. It’s the perfect way to relax while celebrating the little dragon who lights up our hearts. The Littlest Flame Tote Bag – Carry a bit of Smidge’s playful spirit with you wherever you go. This tote is perfect for your everyday essentials, and it comes with an extra dash of dragon-sized cuteness! The Littlest Flame Tapestry – Transform your space with this vibrant tapestry featuring Smidge, the little dragon with a big heart. Perfect for adding a whimsical touch to any room! The Littlest Flame Metal Print – Elevate your decor with this stunning metal print. Smidge’s colorful world will shine beautifully on your walls, capturing the spirit of adventure and fun. Each product brings Smidge’s delightful story to life, making it easy to keep his uplifting energy around you. Whether it's a puzzle for a quiet afternoon or a tote bag for your daily adventures, Smidge is ready to brighten your world. Explore more at Unfocussed Shop!

by Bill Tiepelman

Resting in the Light of Legends

In a realm where mythical creatures still roamed (but had long since given up the urge to terrorize villages), there was an odd couple that had become the talk of the skies: Ember, a fiery phoenix with feathers as bright as a thousand sunsets, and Ash, a young dragon who still hadn’t quite mastered the art of flying straight—or fire-breathing, for that matter. Ember had found Ash on a cool autumn evening, tangled up in a very unfortunate situation involving a tree, a rather judgmental squirrel, and his own wings. The phoenix had sighed, wondering how a dragon of all creatures had managed to wrap himself up like a Christmas gift, before carefully disentangling him. “Thanks,” Ash mumbled, once his limbs were free, his silvery scales glinting in the setting sun. “I was just, uh, testing a new trick.” “Right. And how’s that working out for you?” Ember’s voice was dry, but the twinkle in her eyes showed more amusement than judgment. “Still perfecting it,” Ash replied with what he hoped was dignity. It was not. From that moment on, their bond was sealed—mostly because Ash seemed to find himself in various other predicaments that required rescuing. And Ember, ever the patient guardian, always came to his aid. She wasn’t quite sure if she was more babysitter than friend, but there was something endearing about the young dragon’s enthusiasm, even when it was misplaced. Their dynamic was, in a word, hilarious. Ember, ancient and wise, had seen centuries of chaos and was a firm believer in taking things easy. "I didn’t survive this long just to get my feathers singed by some overgrown lizard," she’d say, ruffling her wings dramatically. Meanwhile, Ash was constantly brimming with youthful energy and an insatiable curiosity that often got him into trouble. One evening, as they rested under the glowing autumn sky, the leaves swirling around them in fiery hues, Ash nestled into the warmth of Ember's wing. The meadow was calm, a perfect contrast to the usual chaos of their days. Ember’s feathers radiated a soft glow, keeping them warm as the evening air began to cool. “You know,” Ash began, his voice sleepy but thoughtful, “I’ve always wondered… Why don’t you ever burn out?” Ember chuckled softly. “Oh, I do. That’s kind of my thing. I burst into flames every few hundred years and rise from my own ashes. You know, the whole rebirth deal.” “That sounds exhausting,” Ash said, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. “I can barely get through one day without tripping over my own tail.” “You’ll get the hang of it,” Ember reassured him, though she couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. “Or maybe not. You might be one of those ‘learn by repeatedly failing’ types.” Ash snorted, a tiny wisp of smoke puffing out of his nostrils. “I am not. I just like to experiment.” “With gravity?” “Very funny.” They both fell silent for a moment, watching as the last of the daylight began to fade, leaving the meadow bathed in twilight. It was these quiet moments that Ember cherished. Despite Ash’s tendency to be a walking disaster, there was something soothing about their companionship—an unspoken understanding that neither of them was quite like the rest of their kind. “You know,” Ash said after a long pause, “I think we make a pretty good team.” “Is that what you call it?” Ember’s beak curved into a smile. “I call it ‘me keeping you from lighting yourself on fire.’” “Well, yeah, that too. But still,” Ash murmured, closing his eyes as sleep began to pull him under. “I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” Ember felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire in her veins. It was rare to find such an earnest soul—someone who didn’t care about her age or the legends surrounding her. To Ash, she wasn’t some mystical bird of flame. She was just Ember, his slightly sarcastic, always-reliable partner in crime. “Get some sleep, little dragon,” she whispered, her wing curling protectively around him. “Tomorrow’s another day, and I’m sure you’ll find some new way to defy the laws of physics.” But even as she said it, there was a fondness in her voice that she couldn’t quite hide. They might not have been the most conventional pair, but in a world where legends often stood alone, they had found something more valuable than fire or flight: each other. And as the stars began to twinkle overhead, casting their light on the peaceful scene below, one thing was clear—friendship, much like fire, had a way of warming even the coldest of nights.     Bring the Magic of "Resting in the Light of Legends" into Your Home Inspired by the warm bond between Ember and Ash, this stunning scene can now become a part of your everyday life. Whether you’re looking for a cozy addition to your living space or a unique piece to showcase your love for mythical creatures, we’ve got you covered with these exclusive products: Resting in the Light of Legends Tapestry – Bring the warmth of this legendary bond to your walls with this beautifully crafted tapestry, perfect for adding a touch of fantasy to any room. Resting in the Light of Legends Throw Pillow – Curl up with comfort and style with this decorative throw pillow featuring the vibrant artwork of Ember and Ash. A perfect accent for your couch or favorite reading chair. Resting in the Light of Legends Fleece Blanket – Snuggle up in the warmth of a fleece blanket adorned with the beautiful image of these mythical companions. It’s soft, cozy, and ideal for a chilly autumn night. Resting in the Light of Legends Tote Bag – Carry a piece of fantasy wherever you go with this practical and stylish tote bag, showcasing the heartwarming scene of Ember and Ash resting in their legendary bond. Explore these and more unique fantasy-themed products at Unfocussed Shop to bring a touch of magic into your everyday life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Gotham's Firebreathing Hero

Gotham's Firebreathing Hero: A Bat-Dragon with Issues Everyone thinks being a hero is all about dramatic rooftop poses, cool gadgets, and maybe a bit of saving the city. Sure, I do all that. But try doing it as a dragon, with wings that don’t fit in phone booths (do they even have those anymore?) and claws that rip through your own costume like it’s made of tissue paper. Oh, and breathing fire? Not as cool as it sounds. The Day It All Went to Hell Let’s rewind to my latest "mission." A gang of thieves decided to knock over a Gotham jewelry store. Pretty standard Tuesday night. I perched on a building opposite, overlooking the whole thing, preparing for my big entrance. “Time to look cool,” I muttered to myself, puffing out my chest and making sure my bat emblem was perfectly visible. You’d think being part dragon means naturally intimidating. Yeah, no. Gotta strike a pose. Look menacing. But with wings? It’s hard not to look like a flying squirrel having a bad day. I swooped down from the rooftop—wings spread, cape flapping—and landed on the sidewalk with a thud. My claws left scratches all over the pavement, which, by the way, the city is so going to charge me for. Gotham’s insurance rates suck. I marched into the store like the badass dragon I am, only to step on a "WET FLOOR" sign. “Seriously?” I grumbled as my talons skidded. The employees stared, jaws dropped, and one of the robbers? He straight-up dropped his gun and burst out laughing. “This dragon guy's gotta be kidding.” “Yeah, laugh it up, smartass,” I said, baring my teeth, though it came out more like a hissy cough because, you know, fire-breathing doesn’t always work on command. “You’re about to have a very bad day.” One of the robbers raised a gun, and out of sheer habit, I puffed out my chest to blow a stream of fire—except I accidentally aimed at a rack of expensive jewelry. The store instantly became a bonfire, and I had to hear the jewelry store owner screeching about how “THE SAPPHIRES! YOU BURNED THE SAPPHIRES!!” “Well, maybe don’t leave your flammable gemstones out for dragons to torch.” Fire-Breathing... Issues Look, no one tells you how awkward it is to manage fire when you're trying to be a hero. Think it’s easy? Try managing some villain while also mentally calculating how much damage your last fire blast caused. By the time I grabbed the thieves and tied them up with some wire—ignoring the fact that I knocked over three display cases and set off five smoke alarms—the place looked like someone hosted a barbecue in the middle of a Tiffany’s. As I dragged the gang of idiots out the door, I couldn’t help but smirk at my “work.” “Another successful rescue by Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero.” The cops showed up just in time to look at the carnage and scowl at me. Again. “You’re paying for the damages, Bat-Dragon.” “Sure thing, Officer. Just send the bill to my offshore dragon hoard.” No sense of humor. Seriously. A Hero Complex? Maybe. Yeah, I have what people call a “hero complex.” But it’s Gotham. Someone’s gotta stop the thieves and muggers, right? Even if I do occasionally fry the merchandise... or melt a sidewalk. Or two. Okay, maybe three. But heroes aren’t perfect, especially when they have to deal with wings and flames coming out of their nostrils. The problem with wings? Every time I land, I destroy something. Concrete, cars, the occasional trash can that happens to be in my way—oops. Try dealing with a cape that gets tangled in your tail or trying to squeeze into tight alleyways while making sure you don't knock over a building. So yes, I occasionally set the wrong thing on fire. It happens. But let me ask you—how do you expect me to concentrate on capturing villains and making sure I don't roast your precious storefronts? Honestly, isn’t it better to have a bat-themed dragon hero who's a little rough around the edges than none at all? You’re welcome, Gotham. And let’s talk about the villains. I’m telling you, these guys are ridiculous. Last week, I had to deal with a guy calling himself the "Jewel Jaguar." I mean, come on—what is it with these Gotham criminals and their obsession with cat-themed monikers? The worst part? I ended up torching his getaway car by accident and set off the sprinkler system in three different buildings trying to "correct" it. I swear, half of Gotham's property damage is on me. Hero Hotline: Unfiltered You think being a hero is all about glory? Let me enlighten you. Crime-fighting: It’s 80% waiting for something to happen and 20% accidentally destroying public property. Utility belt: Do you know how hard it is to fit my wings into a costume that comes with a utility belt? There’s a reason why most dragons don’t wear pants. Public image: Every time I land to "save the day," it’s a 50/50 chance whether the citizens are going to thank me or sue me. Mostly sue me. So yes, I have some fire-breathing "issues." But hey, if Gotham needs someone to scare the crap out of criminals (and, occasionally, bystanders), I’m your dragon. A bit of collateral damage here and there? All part of the job. But don’t worry—I always leave a good impression. Well, mostly in the form of claw marks and scorch marks, but still. Always a Hero At the end of the day, I get the job done—sometimes with extra smoke, occasionally with singed capes, and yeah, okay, a burnt storefront or two. But when you see a fire-breathing bat-dragon flying above Gotham, you know the city's under *some* kind of protection. Just ignore the smoldering bits. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find some fireproof replacement tights. Again. Want more dragon-fueled chaos? Let us know in the comments below. Just try not to trip over any "Wet Floor" signs.    Get Your Own Piece of Gotham's Firebreathing Hero While I might be busy saving Gotham (and occasionally burning it), you can take a little piece of this fiery dragon-hero home with you. Whether you’re into puzzles, tapestries, or just need something to dry off with after a heroic day, we’ve got you covered! Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero Puzzle – Piece together this epic dragon in all his fiery glory. Perfect for when you need a break from fighting crime (or setting things on fire). Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero Tapestry – Transform your walls with the ultimate heroic decor. It’s like having me guard your living room. Just don’t hang it near the candles. Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero Bath Towel – Dry off in style with a towel featuring your favorite bat-dragon. No promises it’s flame-resistant. Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero Poster – Hang this bad boy up and feel the power of the dragon. Warning: may inspire spontaneous rooftop posing. Get yours today, and remember—if you can't fight crime like a dragon, at least you can decorate like one!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Flame-Furred Dragonling

In the quiet, maple-scented corner of the Everamber Woods, something far from quiet was about to happen. It all began when a certain someone—let’s call him Boris the Nearly Brave—decided that dragons were nothing more than oversized chickens with fire breath. "I’ll make my fortune selling flame-proof armor," he’d declare, waving his sword around in the village tavern, entirely forgetting he’d spent the last three years cowering from squirrels. But fate, as it tends to do, had other plans. Plans that involved tiny claws, fiery pink fur, and an ego-deflating encounter in the heart of autumn’s most beautiful, and least predictable, forest. The Trouble with Eggs Boris, fueled by one too many tankards of mead and even more bad decisions, set out on an epic quest—well, a quest anyway—to find dragon eggs. The village rumor mill had been in overdrive: someone had spotted a strange glow in Everamber Woods. And since Boris was running out of excuses to avoid his debts, he figured, "Why not? Maybe I’ll find an egg, maybe I’ll die. Either way, it's less embarrassing than borrowing more coin from Granny Norgle." So off he trudged, swinging his sword at nothing in particular, and muttering about becoming the most famous dragonslayer this side of the River of Regret (a fitting name, considering his future). The deeper he ventured into the woods, the more brilliant the autumn colors became—reds, oranges, and yellows swirling in the wind, as if the trees themselves were on fire. And at the heart of it all, nestled between two particularly ancient-looking oaks, was an egg. Now, you’d think Boris would be suspicious about an unguarded, glowing egg just lying in a bed of autumn leaves. You’d think he’d stop to ask, "Where’s the giant, fire-breathing mother that laid this thing?" But no, Boris—drunk on mead and ego—picked up the egg and stuffed it in his satchel like it was a stolen loaf of bread. The Hatchling Awakens For a good five minutes, Boris was convinced he’d won. He could already picture himself strutting through the village, selling dragon omelets for a fortune. But then the egg began to crack. A faint glow seeped through the fissures, followed by a high-pitched chirp. This, of course, was the part where Boris panicked. "Stay in there, you overgrown lizard!" he shouted, as if that would stop nature from taking its course. And then—pop!—out came the strangest creature Boris had ever seen. It wasn’t quite the fearsome dragon of legends. No, this little beast had fluffy, vibrant pink fur, big soulful eyes, and wings that looked like they belonged more on a bat that had partied too hard than a dragon of terror. Its scales glittered, but in an oddly adorable way, and its tiny horns curled like it was still deciding whether to be cute or dangerous. The baby dragon blinked at Boris, then promptly sneezed. A puff of smoke curled out of its nostrils and, as luck would have it, ignited the nearest pile of leaves. Boris jumped back, flailing as if he’d been shot at by a crossbow. The dragonling, however, just sat there, wagging its tail like a puppy who’d discovered fire for the first time. "Great," Boris muttered. "Not only did I find a dragon, but it’s defective." The Unlikely Partnership Now, most people would’ve left the pink, fluffy ball of destruction right there in the forest. But Boris, ever the opportunist, figured there might still be a way to profit from this. Maybe he could train it to breathe fire on command, torch a few bandits, or at least keep his feet warm at night. He named the dragonling Fizzle, because that’s all it seemed capable of—small bursts of smoke, little pops of fire, and an uncontrollable knack for setting things ablaze that shouldn't be ablaze, like Boris’s beard. It turned out that Fizzle wasn’t just a dragon. He was a flame-furred, overly affectionate, extremely curious dragonling who thought everything was food, including Boris’s sword. "Stop chewing that, you oversized squirrel!" Boris would yell, yanking the blade away before Fizzle reduced it to scrap metal. But Fizzle would only blink those big, innocent eyes, as if to say, "What? Me? I’m just a baby." And that, dear reader, is how Boris the Nearly Brave became the babysitter to the least threatening, most destructive dragonling in history. The Quest for the Great Dragon Mother As the days turned into weeks, Boris and Fizzle became an odd pair. The dragonling grew—not in size (because let’s face it, Boris’s luck wouldn’t allow him to raise a proper dragon)—but in curiosity and chaos. Every day was a new adventure in avoiding complete disaster. One time, Fizzle ignited a cart of hay in the middle of town, sending Boris scrambling to explain why the "big, scary dragon" looked more like a stuffed toy gone wrong. "It’s not dangerous! I swear!" he shouted to the mob with pitchforks. "It’s... uh... just playing!" The villagers were, understandably, not convince    Bring Home the Chaos and Cuteness If raising a dragonling like Fizzle seems a bit too much, don’t worry—you can still bring a piece of his fiery charm into your life without the singed eyebrows. Check out these delightful items featuring the legendary Flame-Furred Dragonling: Throw Pillow – Cozy up with this vibrant and whimsical throw pillow, featuring Fizzle in all his pink-furred glory. A perfect touch of magical mayhem for your living room. Tapestry – Transform any space with the warm, autumn vibes of this stunning tapestry, featuring the adorable and mischievous dragonling. It’s like bringing a piece of Everamber Woods into your home—minus the accidental fires. Fleece Blanket – Stay warm (just like Boris tried to!) with this ultra-soft fleece blanket. Curl up under its magical design and let Fizzle keep you cozy without the risk of unexpected flame bursts. Tote Bag – Take a bit of dragon mischief on the go with this enchanting tote bag, perfect for your adventures—whether you’re braving the woods or just heading to the market. Whether you’re an aspiring dragonslayer or just a fan of fiery cuteness, these items will let you carry the spirit of Fizzle with you, without the need for flameproof armor. Shop now and add a little dragonling charm to your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

A Dragon’s Gentle Awakening

The meadow had seen better days. Between the relentless winter and whatever those drunken wizards did last spring, the flowers hadn’t exactly bounced back. Patches of scorched earth still dotted the field, as if the land itself had given up and decided, "Screw it, we’re done." And that’s when Ziggy, a newly hatched dragon, decided to make his grand entrance into the world. Ziggy wasn’t your typical dragon. Sure, he had the sharp claws, the fiery breath, and those cute little wings that hadn’t quite figured out how to lift him off the ground yet. But his real power? Timing. Ziggy had the gift of showing up precisely when life hit rock bottom, like a beacon of hope... or at least, a mildly entertaining distraction from the dumpster fire of existence. Emerging from his egg, Ziggy blinked at the world, stretching his tiny pink wings and yawning as if he'd just woken up from a hundred-year nap. The sun kissed his iridescent scales, casting a glow that would’ve been poetic if the damn field wasn’t so dead. His first thought? “Well, this sucks.” Ziggy trotted through the wilted flowers, his feet crunching through dried leaves. The meadow had been described to him by his ancestors as “a lush paradise, perfect for your first flight.” Right now, it looked more like the kind of place where hope goes to die. “Guess I missed the memo on the apocalypse,” he muttered, kicking over a burnt dandelion. “First day out of the shell, and I get... this?” He plopped down, tail twitching in frustration, and looked around for something to do. Ziggy wasn’t exactly big on “destiny” or “greatness” just yet. At the moment, his priorities were food, naps, and figuring out what the hell that weird itch was under his wing. But then, a noise caught his attention. It was faint, but it sounded like someone in the distance was having a really bad day. Or a really good brawl. Curiosity piqued, Ziggy trotted toward the sound. As he crested a small hill, he found the source—two travelers, battered and bruised, sitting next to a dying campfire. One, a burly warrior with more scars than social skills, grumbled as he tried to wrap a bandage around his leg. The other, a roguish figure, held a flask to his lips like it was the last drink on earth. “Of course, we get attacked by ogres,” the rogue said, taking a swig. “Why wouldn’t we? Just our luck.” “At least we didn’t die,” the warrior growled. “Yet.” Ziggy watched them from a distance, intrigued. These two looked like they had been through hell, and judging by their conversation, they weren’t exactly brimming with optimism. In fact, the rogue was muttering about how they’d probably end up as ogre poop in a ditch somewhere. Real uplifting stuff. But there was something in the way they carried on, even in their defeat, that struck a chord with Ziggy. These idiots weren’t giving up. They’d been knocked down—hard—but they were still here, bandaging their wounds and cursing the universe, but not quitting. “Dumbasses,” Ziggy snorted. “Guess someone’s gotta help ‘em out.” With a little dragon-sized puff of determination, Ziggy stepped out into the clearing. “Hey, jackasses!” he called out, his voice cracking adorably. “Need a hand?” The rogue nearly choked on his drink. “What the—” The warrior blinked. “Is that... a dragon?” “Congratulations, you’ve got eyes,” Ziggy retorted. “Look, I’m new here, but even I can tell you two need all the help you can get. What happened, anyway? Ogre? Goblin? Or did you just trip over your own egos?” The rogue smirked despite himself. “A dragon with an attitude. I like this kid.” “Trust me, it’s mutual. Now, what’s the plan? Or are we just gonna sit here and wait for death to take us like a bad date?” The warrior grunted. “No plan. Just... survive. Maybe make it to the next village, if we’re lucky.” Ziggy rolled his eyes. “Wow. Inspiring. Listen, you two look like you’ve had a rough day, so here’s the deal: I’m sticking with you. Consider me your new bodyguard.” “Bodyguard?” The rogue raised an eyebrow. “You? You’re like... two feet tall.” “Yeah, but I breathe fire,” Ziggy shot back, blowing a small flame for emphasis. “And believe me, I’ve got plenty of fuel in the tank. So, are we doing this or not?” The warrior stared at the tiny dragon for a moment, then sighed. “Screw it. Welcome to the team, dragon.” And so, Ziggy—newly hatched, slightly crass, and full of sass—joined the ragtag duo. Together, they limped through the wastelands, fighting off monsters, bad luck, and occasionally each other. But through it all, Ziggy became more than just a source of sarcastic commentary. His small but fiery presence gave the two travelers something they hadn’t had in a long time—hope. Because sometimes, the greatest strength comes from the smallest, most unexpected places. And in a world full of chaos, death, and disaster, a tiny dragon with a big mouth was exactly what they needed. After all, hope doesn’t always come wrapped in a shining knight or a legendary warrior. Sometimes, it looks like a pink-scaled, fire-breathing smartass who refuses to let you give up. And that was how Ziggy, the dragon who thought the world was pretty much garbage, learned that even in the worst of times, there's strength in showing up. Even if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. The End    Celebrate the Magic of "A Dragon's Gentle Awakening" Feeling inspired by Ziggy’s story of resilience and sass? Take a piece of this magical adventure home with you! Acrylic Prints: Let Ziggy’s strength and charm light up your space with a stunning, vibrant acrylic print that captures the heart of his journey. Tapestry: Cozy up with the whimsical beauty of this story woven into an enchanting tapestry, perfect for bringing a touch of fantasy into your home. Greeting Cards: Share Ziggy’s hope and humor with loved ones by sending them a unique greeting card featuring this unforgettable dragon. Stickers: Keep Ziggy’s energy with you wherever you go! Slap this adorable dragon sticker on your laptop, water bottle, or journal. Bring a little bit of magic—and a lot of attitude—into your life with "A Dragon’s Gentle Awakening" merchandise!