Names Left Unspoken

The earth dipped beneath their feet as they traveled through the forest. Mud-covered boots were followed by bare feet. 

The child had not said a word all day. 

She had not said a word all day. Somehow, despite her small frame and unsteady steps, she managed to keep up, never falling too far behind. She stumbled often, her feet catching on tree roots or loose stones, but she never complained. Her wide green eyes darted around, drinking in every leaf and shadow as if the world outside her ruined village was something entirely new to her. 

And perhaps it was. 

To them, it was obvious she had never been this deep in the forest before if she had even left the village at all. She flinched at the sound of birds rustling in the trees, gasped at the sight of glowing mushrooms clinging to the roots of an ancient oak, and lagged behind to stare at a stream as if she had never seen one before. 

Still, she pressed on. 

Still, they ignored her. 

A look of awe at bird song, a closer look at velvety flowers, and frozen in place at a spider's web. The sun bore down through breezy leaves, leaving sun-kissed stones and basking lizards. 

Even with hours ticking by, the child's resolve never wavered. They had to give credit where credit was due. They've never seen such a tiny thing with that much determination. When the sky eventually deepened to dusk, they finally stopped. 

The path had thinned into a small clearing, surrounded by trees thick enough to keep the night’s wind at bay. They dropped their pack to the ground and knelt, gathering twigs and dry leaves into a small fire pit. A flick of their fingers and a flame sparked to life, curling into the wood with a steady glow. 

The child stood at the edge of the clearing, hesitating. 

They sat cross-legged beside the fire, pulling out a strip of dried meat from their bag. Chewing slowly, they stared into the flames. 

A growl broke the silence. 

They didn’t react. 

The child, despite the clear hunger clawing at her stomach, didn’t ask for food. She simply stood there, watching. Waiting. 

They continued eating, pretending not to notice the way her fingers twitched at her sides. She took slow steps towards the fire as if they were a hungry beast that would attack. They weren't. The child had already claimed that role. 

When she arrived, she sat down slowly a couple of feet away. The sounds of fire crackling, singing crickets, and the absence of animals rang out through the clearing. Then, at last, she spoke. 

“What’s your name?” 

Their chewing slowed. 

The fire danced to a tune unheard. 

They considered the question carefully, weighing the outcomes. If they answered, perhaps she would be satisfied, and the conversation would end. But there was also the chance that once she had one answer, she would think she was allowed to ask more. 

They exhaled through their nose and shook their head. 

“Names are sacred,” Their voice was quiet but firm. “We don’t give them out easily.” 

It was basic etiquette, but they weren't really surprised that a human child didn’t know. If she had asked a fae, then she might not have gotten off so easily at the disrespect. They were far less lenient than elves. 

The child frowned. “Why?” 

They raised an eyebrow. “Must you keep talking?” 

She hesitated, then pressed her lips together. 

A moment passed. Then another. 

She hunched forward, her small hands curling into the fabric of her tattered dress as if holding herself back. 

“…Can I ask one more?” 

They sighed, rubbing their temple. It seemed that no matter the race, all children were the same. Asking and asking, why why why, no answer satisfying the greedy thirst. 

They gestured lazily toward her. “Fine. One more. Then I’m sleeping.” 

She brightened slightly, considering for a long moment before speaking again. 

“…Why are names sa—saac… s—” She stumbled over the word, her brow furrowing in frustration. 

They took a deep and long sigh. “Sacred.” 

Were humans slower to develop? They had thought elves and humans to be mostly similar with Lunar Elves having roughly 100 years over humans compared to other elf races. But perhaps they were wrong. The child looked to be around 10 at the very least. That was plenty of time to learn proper speech. Maybe she was just an idiot. 

She nodded, determined. “Why are names sacred?” 

“Because names hold power.” 

She blinked at them, waiting as if expecting a longer explanation. 

None came. 

They leaned back against a tree, shifting into a meditative position. Their hands rested on their knees, eyes half-lidded but aware. The night would not pass without its dangers, and though they needed rest, they would not leave themselves vulnerable. 

For a while, there was only silence. Then, after some time, they could tell without opening their eyes that the child had mimicked them once again. 

The night passed. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── 

By dawn, the fire had died down to soft embers, its warmth replaced by the crisp bite of morning air. They moved carefully, covering the soot with dirt, their hands steady and quiet. 

They glanced at where the child had curled up the night before. 

She was awake. 

Sitting. 

Watching. 

Their fingers twitched. Saying nothing, instead hoisted their bag over their shoulder and stepped forward. 

The child stood immediately and followed. 

They clenched their jaw. 

The forest was different in the morning. Softer, golden light filtered through the branches, dew clinging to the grass. Birds flitted between the trees, their morning songs weaving between the rustling leaves. 

The child took it all in with wide, fascinated eyes. And for a while, she was silent. 

Then, quietly, hesitantly, her voice rang out from behind them. 

“Where are we going?” 

They closed their eyes, patience wearing thin. 

With a begrudging sigh, they replied, “I’m going to my destination. You were the one who decided to follow.” 

The child fiddled with her fingers. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, she hurried to their side, tilting her head up to look at them. 

They ignored her. 

She stared. 

They gritted their teeth. Not looking, not even a glance, no sign they had even noticed her, and yet she didn't falter. After a few minutes, they finally snapped. 

“What?” 

She brightened immediately. 

“Can I ask another question?” 

They blinked. Then scowled. 

“You just did.” 

Her hands fiddled with the hem of her dress as she gave her best attempt at puppy dog eyes and a big deliberate frown, bottom lip jutting out. They let out a slow, deliberate breath, lifting their gaze to the sky as if seeking divine patience. A muttered quiet prayer, and then they finally relented. 

“One more. That’s it for today.” 

The child was prepared and asked her question without hesitation. They stopped mid-step. 

“Are you going to the elves?” Their head turned slightly, caught off guard. For the first time, they hesitated and regarded the girl with narrowed eyes. She seemed caught off guard as she quickly ducked her head. 

A cut on her cheek, starburst shaped burn peeking from under her dress strap. Peachy hair that went to her shoulders with choppy bangs, as if she had cut them herself. Strands looked burnt at the tip, with the rest tangled and painted with grime. 

Her olive-toned skin contrasted with their own deep rosewood. Lavender eyes gazed down below to her hair of waves in an ocean of dirt, much shorter than their own curls of sky and clouds. 

“They were the… the place next to home. And they came from the sun going down.” 

Her sentences came out stuttered, stopping and restarting when she couldn't find or pronounce the right words. The sun dipped lower in the sky, the horizon painted in warm hues of orange and pink. Eyes similar to the pine needles around them were dappled with soft rays. Maybe not a complete idiot then, as they resumed walking west. 

A hum of approval, a nod, was enough to silence her for the rest of the trip. 

Once more, the sun dipped below the trees, and the moon blessed them with her gaze. Still silent, they began setting up camp once more. The leaves rustled with the gentle caress of the breeze. Birds went home to newly born chicks, and the crickets came out to take over the job.

Looking around, the girl had wandered off. 

They didn’t call after her. A few minutes later, she returned with small arms clinging to a bundle of sticks. She shuffled closer, hesitated, and then quietly placed them in the fire pit. 

They watched. 

For once, they didn’t sigh.