20 entries
Play Free Now All chaptersHatch or be given the pet. Tiers file separately, so evolving fills three lines.

Found alone three days out from the treeline, guarding nothing at all. It has never stopped guarding nothing, and it is genuinely excellent at it.
Older than the grove. This is awkward, because the grove insists otherwise at every opportunity, and the sprite is far too polite to correct it in public.

Built to carry stone. Carried stone for ninety years. The quarry closed in the spring and it has been quietly looking for work ever since.

Sets fire to roughly one thing per week, entirely by accident, and is devastated about it every single time. Nobody has the heart to rehome it.

Present in every room you have been in today. You noticed it in two of them. It considers this a personal failure on its part and is working on the other four.

Weighs as much as a small anvil and flies anyway, which several people have described as an insult to the discipline of physics. The hawk has no comment.

Refuses to enter any room above freezing. Has strong, detailed, unsolicited opinions about your fireplace and will share them at length.

Grows a new facet every time it survives something. The ones you can buy have four. The ones you find in the deep have rather more.

Perfectly friendly. Extremely venomous. Has never understood why those two facts make people leave the room, and finds the whole business a bit hurtful.

Barks half a second before the thunder, every time, without fail. Nobody can work out whether it is predicting the storm or starting it.

Has died four times this month. Was not paying attention on any of those occasions. Shows no sign of beginning to.

Steals one small object per day and returns it a week later in perfect condition, from somewhere it definitely was not. The socks are never the same socks.

Has read every book in the Library, including the ones nobody has written yet, which it regards as the more useful half of the collection.

Sheds its skin once a year and keeps every one of them, folded, in order, in a chest it will not let you open. It knows exactly how many there are.

Leads a pack of one and takes the responsibility extremely seriously. Holds meetings. Assigns itself tasks. Reviews its own performance quarterly.

Hoards gold, as is traditional, but counts it out loud, which is not. The neighbours have made three formal complaints.

Raised in a jar that was, in hindsight, several orders of magnitude too small. The jar remains a matter of some resentment and comes up more often than you would expect.

Burns, dies, returns. Has firm opinions about the second part and, remarkably, none whatsoever about the first.

The last thing across before the seam closed. It has been trying to get home for a very long time and has, for now, settled for you. Do not take this lightly.

It is not a pet. It followed you back one night and has been treated as one ever since, which appears — as far as anyone can tell — to suit it perfectly well.
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