What Are Their Names? (short story)
“Hey! Break it up, you two!” Shallowfig ordered when he slipped back into his den, Banshee following just behind. The kits looked at him, then at Banshee, then their eyes lit up when they saw the food, and they scrambled to their stubby paws and raced after.
Immediately, Banshee was unnerved by the kits swarming around her legs.
“Alright, alright, give her some space,” Shallowfig told his kits, sweeping them away with his tail. He took the minnows and set them on the ground a few pawsteps away, to give her room.
“And you got herbs!” one of them noticed, mouth and cheeks already messily stained with fish guts. “Do you smell ‘em, Racemekit?”
“Yeah,” Racemekit confirmed, sounding tired. His eyes were glazed and he chewed slowly and without vigor, contrasting his littermates, devouring the several minnows in ravenous gulps that had Shallowfig concerned that they would choke.
“You bringed them?” Tendrilkit asked Banshee.
“Uh, yep!” Banshee confirmed. Shallowfig wondered if she had ever spoken to a kit before, and that thought made him wonder when the last time she spoke to anyone–passerbys not included–before. Was she still close with her mother? Shallowfig shook his head. Best not to think about that now.
“We would have first,” Tendrilkit went on moodily.
Shallowfig tilted his head. “Is that why you snuck out?” Did they want to get medicine for their brother? Shallowfig had thought they were simply doing what all kits do, ignoring what their parents’ told them and going on an adventure.
Tendrilkit huffed. “No! You was asleep and didn’t see us!”
Shallowfig hid his smile. “Well, we have the medicine now, so don’t do it again. Come here, Racemekit.”
Racemekit did so. He seemed doubtful as he looked down at the large bundle of herbs, but he took them anyway, as slowly as he did the food.
Shallowfig’s nerves crackled, as they always did when he thought about his son. Already, his sickness was making him more somber each day. It took everything in Shallowfig not to hold his son close every second. He knew Racemekit would not want to be treated any differently than his littermates, even if he might…..No. It was benign.
Shallowfig remembered suddenly that he had a guest–who was watching the kits with interest. Knowing he should speak, and wanting to get out of his own head, he spoke with a smile. “Guess I should introduce you to them, huh?” He nodded forward, to where Tendrilkit was nibbling on a small rib. “Fire-spirit there is Tendrilkit. She’s as much a pawful as you probably think, if not more.” He blinked at Racemekit. He wasn’t going to call him the sick one. “My son here is Racemekit.”
Banshee followed his gaze warmly. “I see you went with the plant names.”
“Yeah,” Shallowfig responded. He didn’t know why his cheeks were warm. He returned his attention back on the kits at the minnows, and instantly frowned. “Pollenkit is the one that will need a bath.”
“Rolling in fish guts? Yes.”
Banshee chuckled before pointing with her snout toward the final kit, who had dragged her share to the other side of the den as to not be disturbed by her rambunctious sisters. “And her?”
“She doesn’t really live up to her name,” Shallowfig told her, heart filling with love for each and every one of his kits. Even if they were different from each other, they were all equally dear to his heart.
Then it sank in just what he named the final kit, and his mouth went dry.
Banshee looked at him expectantly.
Shallowfig tried to chuckle, but it came out like splintering wood. “I suppose I’ll have to rename that one if you decide to stick around, wouldn’t I?”
“!...Not that you have to stick around if you don’t want to, but if you do–Uhm, I guess maybe just Banshkit? Or Sheekit? Or you know what, how about a different name altogether? I think Woodkit suits her–” His rambling cut off by a paw pressed on top of his own.
“It’s a great name,” Banshee told him, eyes glistening. “I should know. My mother called Myrtlewing a Samca–you know what? Maybe we shouldn’t go with that. I can’t imagine it means anything good. Maybe Mylingkit? Lwakit? Hupiakit?”
“Can’t say I know what any of those mean,” Shallowfig murmured.
“My mother had some interests in her group when she was alive. Probably why mine and Ursula’s names are so….different. But I–I can understand not wanting to have anything to do with her.”
Shallowfig pressed, ever distantly, against Banshee. “The names don’t have to relate to her. I can pick the names because I want to. They sound really good. Which one is your favourite?” It dawned on him that he was asking Banshee to name one of his kits, and by the looks of Banshee’s face, it dawned on her, too.
“I think I like the name….”
--Yep, leaving it on a cliffhanger because I can’t decide on a name!
--Wasn’t planning on doing a follow-up, but gotta introduce the kits, right?
--I wonder what a Samca is
