Garuda’s egg incubated on top of Siryawë’s glass blowing kiln.

The egg was a gift from Sierta, now her wife, when she proposed.  When she saw the egg for sale at Oracle on a trip to Kansas City.  She didn’t realize the egg was in fact an egg, thinking it was just a cool egg shaped rock.  She thought Siryawë would love it, and that it would be cool to propose by having the ring on the tip of the egg.  So, that’s what she did as they had dinner together at Shalimar of India in North Conway, along with a cup of chai apiece.

Seven months later they were married, and for seven months the egg sat atop Siryawë’s kiln, sitting in a fresh cup of chai each day.

For eight years the egg sat in it’s daily chai in the heat and glow of molten glass as Siryawë crafted her art, 

One day as Siryawë was refreshing her little shrine (08Oct2016) she bumped the egg and it rolled off the kiln, and, trying to catch it, Siryawë accidentally knocked it into the molten glass.  Heartbroken Siryawë was convinced she had destroyed the ‘stone’ egg.  But, she pressed on for the day, the molten glass seeming okay enough to at least try proceeding.

As she was finishing for the day it occurred to her to try and trem the egg on the off chance it some fragments had survived, chiding herself for not thinking to do that sooner.  To her surprise it had, and more, it was the strangest rock she had ever tremmed… like it was nearly hollow… which was strange for how heavy it was.  Still mad that she hadn’t thought to do this immediately, she gently raised the egg through and out of the liquid glass and placed it, seemingly untouched (save for now being uniformly black and covered in a glaze of glass) into the annealing kiln overnight to gently cool.

The next day, Siryawë came in with the egg’s chai to take it from the (now cool) oven and the egg was no longer an egg.

Overnight Garuda had shattered their black encasement, rising up in a flash of white heat, it’s mane flowing and crackling like wild flames along it’s back, and thick smoke pouring out of the slits scoring their neck and chest.

With every breath live embers puffed from his belly, and with each movement he sounded of crackling glass… a living kiln!  Siryawë was in shocked awe.

Garuda’s hear rises and falls both at will and somewhat involuntarily with mood.  Sometimes they get so hot that the broken glass embedded in his body can start to melt, flow, and take on different shapes.

Garuda literally burns with the same passion it was born within: the passion of love, love for craft and love for others.  He cares for others deeply and will protect those he loves with every ounce of his energy.

Garuda’s heart is composed entirely of glass, and despite his wild temperament he is quite sensitive.  His heart will actually crack under intense emotional pressure, but can also heal over time.

In the five or so years Garuda has been living with Sierta and Siryawë he has been like a child to them both, and while sapient they can’t communicate with him verbally.