woman on fire

The question wasn't one he had truly considered -- how did one decide on what to name another? It seemed a greater responsibility than even looking after them, and Scimitar found himself swept in to silence as he pondered this question.
 
"What did you want to call them?" It was a terrible deflection from his own uncertainty, and the cinnamon wolf propped himself up slightly, his eyes sweeping over her tired form as he looked for her reaction. Perhaps their cultures were very different in the manner of names -- his own mother had stuck fiercely to naming her children after an item she called a 'sword.' He had never taken such interest in the matter before.
 
"Swift, for our beginning roots," he mused, once more resting his muzzle to the ground.