Dawnlark Plains learn your rules; you'd better learn your rules

That was a question he hadn't been asked before. River! He answered immediately, cheerfully, then paused. His expression became confused, then. Winterbourne? No... River. Ahhhh! He was too young for this identity crisis! The young Corten huffed out a sigh through his nose and gazed expectantly at the golden wolf.
Your name? He requested, though his attention was drawn to the feather his sister had abandoned immediately after. The pale boy moved to grab it, turning to wave it at the big wolf. Birb? River repeated, voice muffled by the feather. Where was it now, then, if not attached to the feather? And why hadn't he brought it, too?