@Mulherin was weighing heavily upon the fifth offspring’s thoughts – which in itself was strange because she hardly thought of anyone other than herself. She pondered the feeling for a while, slipping between the trees with a bit of a thoughtful furrow to her brow. She seemed to be concentrating.
The sky was turning somewhat, shifting from a moody sort of bright blue to a mild and hazy gray as the clouds ambled together. It would rain soon. But not before she would find her brother’s most recent trail and track him down.
The frown was suddenly gone, and her eyes glittered with excitement as she came to realize why she suddenly felt the need to seek her twin.
I know my name! She’d known it for weeks but had failed to speak it out loud, even if she had allowed others to guess it. And when the desire arose to finally say her own name, images of Mulherin had conjured themselves into her thoughts. Though she felt no stronger about him than she did anyone else, it was almost instinct that drove her to make him the first to know.
Redsky and the recently returned Wanderer would know next.
The morning's dew still clings to his fur; he'd been out and about, up earlier than the sun. He was up to nothing particularly exciting. A little jaunt in search of a mouse had led him through patches of thick bushes, which made his muscles sore from the painstaking stillness required in slinking through the vegetation without making noise. His efforts were rewarded aptly and earned him a meager, but fresh-caught breakfast. He is searching for more mice when..
Abruptly, a rustle nearby catches his attention, approaching footsteps and—
His sister. He spots her and pauses, his brow furrowing the slightest when he recognized her. Certainly, he'd expected someone else; she rarely went out of her way to seek him like this.
He walks over to meet her, giving no indication of his mild confusion and offering a low chuff in greeting.
He smelled of freshly eaten meat, nothing more than a mouse or two, which distracted her at first. She sniffed towards his muzzle, curious and wanting, but she did not linger there, snorting to dispel her constant hungering and taking a step back again. Does every stone have a name, you think?
she asked.
While he had taken to mimicking Avicus’ manner of speaking – an act she supposed had been a way to keep their mother’s memory alive after she had gone – she instead had modeled herself after Masquerade; and though she had never once thought the way he spoke was odd, she did often wonder if he thought that she was strange, for the things she thought and said.
I chose a name for myself, Rin,
she brought up after he had answered. She was speaking straight for once. Then suddenly she giggled as a thought occurred to her in that moment. What if I wanted to call myself Mulherin, too?
His tongue swipes over his nose, sensing her hunger. There were no leftovers to share today.
He listens, but seems to dismiss her stone question—finding more intrigue in the words that followed. She’d chose a name. He wonders how peculiar it may be.
In that cahhe, I’d rename you myhhelf. Tell me what you picked.
He jokes, and presses on with a smile.
There was only a small (if not entirely non-existent) chance that her fraternal twin would respond to her oddities, but she’d always ask them anyway, just in case he ever saw fit to answer. She stuck her tongue out at his jest before giving a little smile. It’s Carrionbird,
she answered proudly. But… I think I will go by Carrion. Or Carrie.
And in the next breath, she declared: it suits me. Would you ask me to change it?
Her new name seemed apt. She seemed resolute in her decision and he was willing to support it.
Carrionbird. It fits'hh, you keep it. Maybe I'll call ya Birdie.
He responds, grinning.
But where'd ya get the idea? Lemme guehh, did the stonehh name ya?
He asks.
Birdie?
Carrion looked skeptical – that sounds too pretty! – then somewhat thoughtful – maybe I’m pretty? – but she made no comment one way or the other about him giving her the nickname. She supposed she could grow to like it, especially if it stayed just between them and their family.
Mulherin made a joke then, or what Carrion took as a joke, which earned him a sisterly scowl. You know the stones won’t talk to me,
she huffed. It was a sore spot for her, though likely very funny to anyone who knew better than to try and converse with rocks. No, no, stones weren’t the source.
I was thinking I’d like to turn into a bee or a wasp for a day… then I decided that it would be better to be a bird instead.
She liked talking about the strange thoughts in her head, and Mulherin was one of the few wolves she was comfortable speaking to without riddles. When I thought of what bird to be, I noticed I am like the birds that eat from our kills when we’re done with them. The vultures and crows and things like that? They don’t even mind when it’s days old, just like me.
It wasn’t a very clever name, and it wasn’t unique like Mulherin, but it was straightforward. Anyone who knew anything about her would know why she shared a name with decayed flesh. I thought of a bird for you, too.
Did he want to know? Even if he didn’t, she said: you are like the Nighthawk.
He bit back a chuckle upon hearing her rebuke of the stones. It amused him to hear her stories and riddles, particularly, he enjoyed the challenge of testing them. Though odd, they were oddly endearing to him. Her mind was fascinating.
Other than Masque, Carrion was the only other Redtail he really talked to anyway.
Well, you know what else likehh rotting meat? Maggots. Maggie has a real ring to it.
He suggests, curious to hear what reply she'll come up with.
As for his bird, indeed, he did want to know. You are like the Nighthawk, she says.
The name earns an approving sway of his tail.
Okay Birdie, I’ll be Nighthawk.