Lithops dorotheae is one of the “living stones,” a name as literal as it sounds. In its Namaqualand home it hides so well among quartz pebbles you could walk right over it and never know. The two leaves press together at the sides, marked with red and brown lightning-bolt patterns that look almost drawn on, each plant its own slight variation. In autumn, a large yellow flower pushes from the seam, splitting the leaves, which continue to part until a fresh pair emerges. The whole affair is slightly grotesque and wants no water at all, a point that baffles many beginners who accidentally ruin plants by irrigating too often. These are seed-grown, already showing the color and character that set them apart from the fertilizer-swollen Lithops that flood the market.