Ohrmuzd

He had long been made fun of for his love of the color pink. But he didn't care; for one thing, he had been born this way: the color quite literally grew on him. For another, it was pretty. Dragons, male, female, and everything in between, were attracted to him, either romantically or purely aesthetically, simultaneously muted and vibrant magenta fur impossible to miss.

Of course, this made him a worthless hunter: anything could see him from miles away. But, again, it didn't particularly matter to him. He preferred foraging anyhow, constantly plucking pretty flowers to add to his mane as he searched for edible plants. Every time he came back with new flora adorning his fur, friends fawning over them and admiring his choices. When they, naturally, wilted, he removed them from his fur and preserved them in dried bouquets in his den.

Every shelf in his cave was home to bouquets, placed carefully without any sort of organization: not by color, age, or even type of flower.

All he wants in a mate is someone who will share his love of flora and fauna.