“Vim, Vim!”

The flamingo hurried over, flapping its wings wildly as if about to take flight. She didn’t though, and kept herself on the ground as if to join me in the struggles of being a flightless creature.

Turning a little, I frowned at the monarch as she carried over a very big bag of goodies. She held the bundle in her beak, though it obviously didn’t impede her ability to speak.

“They gave me food!” the monarch declared happily as she stepped up to show me. She hit me with the large bundle in the process, though it of course hadn’t hurt or bothered me. I noted though how hard the bundle had hit me, since it had been hard enough that it likely would have hurt or even killed a human.

Odds are whatever was in the bag had just been bruised terribly.

“Looks like alms. They likely gave it to you in hope of being blessed, or spared,” I said as I peeked into one of the openings of the huge satchel. It looked like it was full of fruit and vegetables.

“Spared?” the monarch tilted her head, and by doing so made the bag fling a little. As it did I heard the sounds of wetness.

Yes. Some of it sounded a little mushed. Likely not just from the impact just now, but her rough handling of them. She had ran up here to the top of this hill rather quickly, instead of just flying like she should have.

“Humans see your kind as gods. Or children of them. Divine beings, as I’ve explained,” I said as she slowly lowered the bag. It was big enough, and the material thick enough, that the stuff inside didn’t just outright spill out immediately. Instead it all made mushy sounds as it settled down.

“I see. So I had stolen from them,” she said sadly as she glanced down at her prize.

“No. Not necessarily…” I said as I bent down and opened the bag. In the setting sun some of the food gleamed a tad, as if wet.

I picked out a large melon. I lifted it up to show it off to the bird, who stared at it as if it were a jewel. A giant jewel.

“They gave you this in reverence. Misplaced, I’ll be honest, but that doesn’t change that fact,” I said.

“What is reverence?” she asked as she leaned forward, to smell the melon.

I held the thing firm as she went and took a bite. She did so noisily, and made a small mess as she did.

“Deep respect or esteem. They held you in very high regard, as I said they see your kind as something akin to divine figures. Deities. Gods. Angels, or spirits,” I explained as she ate the melon with gusto. She must like it.

“Some did bow at me. Like they had done before,” she said between bites.

I nodded. The first few villages we had come across, together, I had allowed her to venture into them with me. So that I could keep an eye on her, to make sure she didn’t accidentally do anything that would force my hand. Of those villages we had visited their residents had all acted the way I had expected them to. Two village’s had hidden in their homes afraid to even speak with us, another two had ran and fled at the mere sight of us and the last couple had bowed and treated us like visiting gods. They had stared, genuflected, and spoke to us as if in utter servitude and reverence.

This was the first time I’d allowed her to go into a human settlement without me. I had stood here, on this hill overlooking the village, as to watch and listen.

Gladly it seemed nothing had gone wrong. There were no fires. No screaming. No deaths. In fact it almost looked like the village was preparing now for festivities. They had likely just believed they had been visited by a wondering god, or something like it, and wanted to now make today something of a holiday. There were plenty of people gathered in the center of the village, listening to someone talk. Likely either their elder or some kind of priest or shaman.

“These are very tasty!” the monarch declared as she finished eating the last bit of the melon. I held out the final piece for her, and then had to shake my hand a tad to clean it of all the juices and gunk she had made go all over the place.

It wasn’t her fault. It was likely hard to eat with a beak.

“Which one next?” I asked her.

“The yellow one!” she excitedly chose one of the smaller fruits, which I went to grab for her.

Feeding her the smaller melon, I felt like I was feeding a horse or something like it. She took big bites, and occasionally her beak pecked or bit a finger. It of course didn’t harm me, but I’d need to tell her to be careful if she ever tried to eat out of someone else’s hand. A human, even a non-human, would likely get hurt by her on accident. Her beak was sharp, and she was strong. Too strong.

She was still a monarch. Even if she acted like a child… and well, was one.

For a good long moment, I simply fed the young monarch. Every so often she commented about how she didn’t like the taste of one, but even those she ate fully without hesitation.

Just further proof she was simply enjoying life and all it held.

It didn’t take long for her to eat nearly everything in the bag, even some of the stuff that had squished.

“Vim, Vim!” the monarch shook her head a little, likely as to clean her beak of juices, and then she stepped closer to me. “They asked for my name!” she then said.

Ah.

I nodded slowly. “Yes. Names are common amongst those like us. Especially those who partake in cultures and societies. It’s a way to tell one a part, to differentiate one from others, but it’s also a way to further impart one’s individualism,” I said.

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The monarch studied me for a moment, and I realized I had used a few words she had likely not outright understood, so I coughed and nodded.

“Basically it goes back to what we’ve spoken of before. You are not just a tool. You are your own being. Your own person. A name is, and can be, used as proof of that. It’s more than just a title, or the word for your kind or species. It’s something personal. Private. Something that you, and only you, own,” I said.

“I’m a monarch,” she stated.

“Yes. As they are humans. But each and every one of them also have names. Words to use to describe them, they themselves. If one doesn’t do that, how would you tell apart you and your siblings? Your parents? At least, once you’re fully grown and their size,” I said.

She did her little blink thing, with her tiny membrane, and nodded slowly. “I see. It’s proof of who you are. That you are you, and not just another stone on the ground,” she said as she glanced down to the grass. There weren’t many stones here, so I wondered why she had chosen rocks as an example. Maybe because our very first conversation about such things had been in a field of stones?

“Your name is Vim. You are not a Vim,” she stated.

“Correct.”

“Where did you get it?” she asked.

I smirked softly at her. “My parents. I am Vim. Vim Vitae. My parents gave me that name, but I am the one who claims it. I’m the one who proves who I am,” I told her.

“Vim Vitae… my parents did not give me a name,” she said softly.

“No. They hadn’t. Sadly another ounce of proof of their failures,” I said.

“Does that mean I will never get a name?” she asked.

“Absolutely not. Names are usually given, yes, but they’re also claimed. Or chosen. Not everyone has parents, you know,” I said.

“Chosen… can I then choose my own name?”

I nodded gently.

She hummed softly and tilted her head to look down at the bag of fruits and vegetables. Hopefully she’d not ask the name of whatever she had found tasty, and try and choose that. Most of the stuff in there had names that didn’t suit a person. Or… well… even a giant flamingo monarch, either.

“Why were you named Vim Vitae?” she then asked.

Ah. She wanted to know the method. Good.

“My life. My strength, my abilities. My name means powerful life. It was chosen not just because of my great strength though, but also in hopes that I emboldened the meaning. My parents had wanted me to be great myself, above and beyond even my power.”

“Your strength… so would I be named heat?” she asked, comparing it to herself.

“It’d suit you, being capable of what you are. But I’d pick something more… you,” I said.

“More… me?” she tilted her head at me.

Reaching over, I brushed her beak of some little bits of food. “Your pink color, maybe. Your feathers or wings. Maybe your eyes or beak. If not your physical appearance, then maybe your inquisitive nature, or your desire to learn… Or if you want, you could choose something not about yourself at all. Name yourself after something else, the sky, or the wind. A pretty flower, or a season of nature,” I said, explaining it a little.

“I don’t want to be named after something else. I am me,” she said quickly.

I smiled and nodded. “Completely understandable.”

“They had called me Miss,” she said with a point of her beak to the village nearby.

“An apt way to address you. Your voice is very lady-like, even if you have a childish demeanor.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s a title, or descriptor. They saw you, didn’t know who or what you are, but heard your lady-like voice and picked the best suitable thing to address you by. It’s a polite form of addressing a lady,” I said. Usually it was for an unmarried one, but I didn’t need to have that conversation just yet.

“It was polite?” she asked, sounding happily shocked over it.

I nodded with a frown. “Yes. Had they said it oddly to you?” I asked. Maybe they had? Why had she found it strange?

“Not at all! I like it! I want to be Miss!” she said happily.

I shifted a little, and wondered if I should just let it be or correct her. I mean… in a way, it could and did work as a name. There’d be nothing wrong with it… but…

“It’s as I said. A title. Kind of like how you’re a monarch. If you really like it, why not add it to something else then?” I suggested.

“Miss Beak!”

I hesitated again, and realized that was my fault. I had mentioned her beak earlier just now, but that wasn’t how I had meant it. I meant for her to pick a name, a word, that was attributed to her features not the features themselves. Like maybe how her beak gleamed, or how sharp it was.

“Miss Beak,” I said simply.

“Yeah?” she tilted her head at me in such a natural, calm, way that it made me flinch.

Oh boy. She was long since choosing a name. She had chosen it, dedicated it to her heart and memory and soul.

“It’s a lovely name,” I said.

“What? Oh! Yes. It is!” Miss Beak nodded, and then went to lower her head. She bit at the bag, as if to search for any leftovers.

I sighed and bent down to help her dig out the last few pieces of food.

To be so serious about a name, and then to simply move on like that so simply. It made me wonder what she found important, and what she didn’t.

She was a monarch. So it was only natural she’d be odd. And I suppose out of all the things to be odd about, a name was one thing that I could at least understand.

A name was important, but it was in the end but a name.

Pulling out a half squished cluster of grapes, I held them up to her. She took big bites again, eating not just the grapes but the little stems and rachis the grapes were clinging to.

“I like these ones!” she said happily.

“You should. Not many people know how to grow these things properly,” I said. I wonder where they had gotten them from; I didn’t see any vineyards around here.

Either their farms were a distance from their homes, the village itself, or they had gotten them in trade. I didn’t realize that human communities in this era had already advanced to the point of trading with their distant neighbors.

A shuffling noise drew my attention from the nearby village, and I found I had gotten lost in thought. Miss Beak was now rummaging around in the sack, since I no longer held anymore grapes. Not even a scrap of its stem or shoot was left.

I sighed and realized I’d now need to find a way to get similar treats for her from the next few villages we passed through. Which would be a slight pain, since I had nothing to trade for them. I barely had clothes lately.

“Would you teach me how to grow these, Vim?” she asked as she pulled her head out of the sack. It seemed there was nothing left to eat.

I smiled at her and nodded. “Sure.”

Rather she grew them herself than extort from the humans trying to repopulate from the wars.

“Let’s go ask for more!” Miss Beak then turned away, hurrying back down the hill.

“Wait…!” I groaned as I went to follow her, to try and stop her.

“Hurry Vim!” Miss Beak ushered me happily, uncaring of my woes.