Nana

If the Grove's inhabitants were unprepared for Dearcandhubh's Plague-wrought transformation, they were triply so for Nana's. It took a while for them to even be able to recognize the mass of bone, stone, and plant life as one of their own.

The contagions of the Scarred Wasteland reacted oddly with her heritage... Born of Fire and Water into Nature, touched by Plague. Over time, the conflicting energies and mutating influence of the Wasteland changed her, toughening her flesh while wasting away other parts. Parts of the land seemed to melt into her as she stopped to eat, only to congeal in different places. Moss began to creep into her bones as it competed with the wasting, eventually winning out. But by the time it did, Nana was almost more magic than dragon. There is some debate on whether she is even a living dragon anymore, or a construct made from her flesh, magic, and the land.

Nana herself doesn't seem to care much for definitions. She's the daughter of ethereal Feamnadh and cheery Lanntair, after all -- ponderous, possibly depressing questions have no chance! Existence is enough for her -- why bother with semantics?

She enjoys decking out her new form in colorful silks and jewels, and small creatures can often be found hitching a ride in her hollow ribcage. She can most often be found galumphing along with her father, or sister Shale. Sometimes she stops by the Witch's Garden to talk with Dearcandhubh and try to help the more reserved Guardian-turned-Bogsneak find her place in the clan again. It's slow going, but Nana is ever optimistic.