When he was a boy, Corvus hadn't liked his name very much.
He'd sulk after his father as they checked snares in the woods, black-feathered birds chirping overhead. Most of the village didn't come out this far, seeing them as bad omens, but his father was not most people, apparently, stroking his mustache thoughtfully, his blue scarf wrapped around his broad shoulders.
"Why'd you have to name me after them?" Corvus had complained.
His father'd spared a glance skyward. "You know why. They're your mother's favourite."
"Yes, but—they're bad omens."
"Says who?"
"Everyone."
His father chortled. "Just because everybody says something doesn't make it true, son."
"Yes, but—" Everybody said his younger brother Antoni was better natured than him; easier to get along with, easier to understand, and smiled at all the right times. He was never cold. Never standoffish or too quiet.
"Ravens are perceptive," his father had carried on. They were nearly to the snare now. "Clever. So are you. Would you rather be like Lord Bradford's boy, named without thought at all?"
Better that than to be named after ravens, Corvus had thought glumly, who gathered together are known as an unkindness, but—
"Still no luck at naming the city?" Corvus says, turning away from the trees to bring two cups of tea to main table at the Banther Lodge.
Terry sits by the dim light of the window, the sun long since set. His lips twitch upwards, though, as Corvus sits down across from him. "It's hard to find something that will work for all of Xadia," Terry says. "The books Lady Opeli—"
"Cleric," Corvus corrects softly, smiling; it turned out Earthblood elves didn't have those, and so he kept forgetting.
"Right, Cleric—the books she gave me about the Pentarchy are interesting, but if I pull from just one of the kingdoms, the others will be upset. And if I pull just from human languages—"
"Xadia won't be happy."
Terry snaps his fingers. "Exactly."
And it's not like naming the city is exclusively Terry's task, but much the way Soren has thrown himself into rebuilding Katolis to not think about his sister, Corvus suspects Terry is doing the same to avoid thinking about his ex.
"I'm afraid I'll be little help," Corvus says. "Neither myself or my family has ever been very good with names."
"Really?" Terry gives him a tiny, sincere smile. "But your name is so pretty."
"For the raven family, really?"
"Ravens—Moon and Earth ravens, I guess, are good luck for my people. They're symbols of kindness. Reminders of it too. There's been enough cruelty, don't you think?"
"Hm." There's a strange warmth that spreads down to his toes, and it's not just the hot tea in his mug as Corvus takes a sip and considers. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he says confidently. "You did a very good job choosing your name, didn't you?"
Choosing his own path, again and again, when the time came to choose. It reminds Corvus a little of Soren.
Terry's smile widens, light in his eyes not just for the people around him that Corvus sees often, but for himself too. He deserves more of it, Corvus thinks, after all of Claudia's darkness. "Yeah." Terry exhales in almost a snort, tension ebbing out of his shoulders. "I guess I did."
