Let me tell you about the Wren and the Wolf, love.

Once, there was a grey wolf. She ruled the whole forest, watching over the trees as they danced with the clouds, all the way down to the river fish who came and went as they pleased.

Then, she met a small wren. Their wing was broken, oh the poor thing, so she brought them with her. Wren and Wolf stayed together until the little wren’s wing healed, and it came time for them to move on. Except they wanted to stay, but the wolf insisted.

By Wolf’s side was no place for Wren. She thought. They were surely better off somewhere else, with someone else.

And she passed more years alone and telling herself she'd made the right choice.

Until the Wren came back. Grown, but still her Wren.

And this time, she'd never let them go.

Gabriella was oddly happy. Oddly happy and humming powerfully enough that her magic was influencing everyone's emotions. Fine and dandy, but there was such a thing as too much chipperness and that was when Dylan spent all day on a loop of smiling then catching herself.

But I needed a plan.

"Oi!" Loki was sunning himself by a window, eyes shut tight and legs stretched out. And he stayed there resolutely. "Up and at 'em."

He meowed bitterly.

"We're gonna see Gabriella."

Mrow.

"No one ever gets upset with you." I leant down, hands on my hips, and he finally opened his eyes and looked up to me.

Meow.

"Well, if you find a way to shrink me and add some pointy ears, I won't need you anymore."

He did, eventually, climb up to my shoulder (with more claw in my skin than necessary), and off to Gabriella we were.

The air was heavy with cumin and cardamom. She was stirring a pot with a soft expression not meant for your turn cooking for half a dozen obnoxious shmucks.

"You seem happy."

Loki meowed at my ear.

"I was being subtle."

"Subtle about what?" Her eyes didn't leave the pot, but the corners of her lips tilted higher.

Loki squirmed as I held him out in front of me, arms straight. "You're influencing everyone's emotions. It's upsetting Loki."

He turned his head to me as much as he could, and huffed as much as he could.

"I am?" She turned to me, and by in instinct I fixed my eyes on her ear to simulate eye contact, before remembering she didn't care about that.

"Your melody."

"Ohh," Hair fell into her face as she shook her head. "I forget how unconscious magic can be." She crossed the distance between us in two long strides, leant down, and kissed my forehead. "I'm sorry, Loki."

I touched fingertips to my forehead. My chest hurt.

Samarra used to do that, too.

He whined until she patted his head. I set him on the counter, and he swatted toward my arm before scrambling away.

Mrow!

"I was not using you!" I called his way.

Gabriella was biting her lip, watching him run off, a grin struggling to be held back.

I huffed, arms crossed, and rocked on my heels. "What's got you so high, anyways?"

She shrugged and returned her attention to the pot. "It's the anniversary of the day I chose the name, 'Gabriella'."

Logically, I'd known she'd chosen that for herself. But it still made my head spin. I'd rejected the first name I'd ever had. Killed and buried it quite well, if I said so myself. But after that, nothing. Just empty. That's how I'd felt.

Maybe still felt.

I didn't feel like anyone, so let anyone call me what they liked, and ended up with a few different 'names'.

I blinked a few times to bring myself back to the kitchen. Was it my turn to talk? I should say something; she didn't seem to be. "And?"

"It makes me think of how far I've come." She seemed lost in her own spinning.

Huh.

What's it mean if you reject a name and never replace it?

*I was thirteen and on my own for the first time ever. Until I wasn't and stumbled in with a few people on their own. Minerva, Isaak, Finley. They wanted to know what to call me. 'Whatever you want.' I didn't know who I was, but I knew who I didn't want to be.*

They painted their names and handprints on the wall of their safehouse, and invited me to add mine. There was one problem with that. Until there wasn't.

Isaak got tired of calling me 'kid' and suggested to call me 'Ezra'.

'Ezra', after the stray cat that had adopted everyone on his street growing up.

It worked. It functioned. And it was a bit nice to trade my old name for something.

Except a year and a wee bout of amnesia later, and I didn't feel like Ezra anymore. People still called me that, but I wasn't what they were expecting. Powerful, capable, a leader. An understudy stepping up last minute.

I wondered what Samarra called me when I was little.

Anyways, onto Dylan.

Gabriella had me thinking, so I collected data from someone with the opposite experience.

"You didn't change your name when you transitioned." I said to Dylan as she squinted into the inner workings of the clock the kids broke practising magic in the flat.

"I did not." She confirmed.

"You kept the name 'Dylan'." I tried again, knowing I should've brought Loki. But he'd started glaring the moment I'd entered the room of his new sunspot.

She pointed a screwdriver at me, then the charred clock pieces. "And you were supposed to be supervising when this happened."

"Huh?"

"Seemed like we were stating facts." She shrugged. "What'dya want?"

My hands found their way into my pockets, but they still tried their best to fidget, as I leant back. "Why didn't you pick a new one?"

Dylan stared hard at the outer casing, deciding its fate as fixable or not. "I dunno. It was just; it's mine. People didn't really think of it as a woman's name, but I was a woman, so I decided it was."

"Interesting." I hummed.

"Say, kid." The battle seemed to be leaning toward scrapping the clock for parts. She gestured at the charred bits. "If you're not gonna help with this, quit distracting me."

Dylan's way added clarity, even if it wasn't for me. The first name I had hurt too much to say, to hear, to think about. Dylan's name always felt like hers, even if others didn't think so. Mine never did. It was emergency wound care on a battlefield without any supplies. Painful and messy.

Ezra was meant for that kid who led a rebellion in Ecrin. Who didn't care who was hurt. It wasn't as painful to hear now, but it still fit like a shirt a size and a half too small. I'd let it go to the wind.

There were a few others I'd gone by over the years: Niko, Wick, Reid. Whatever the circumstances called for.

Because that was who I was.

Fluid.

Whoever I needed to be. It was how I'd survived this long.

But is that who I wanted to be?

I still maintained I hadn't been *using* Loki, but I prepped his dinner in the shape of little fishes and all was forgiven. So, he marched out onto the balcony, hopped on the railing I leant over, and nudged insistently at my arm until I started stroking him.

Mew.

"Just thinking."

I knew a variety of trans people, with a variety of reasons for their names. Stories, folklore, grandparents, meanings.

Cadao's stuck with me, because it was rather impossible now. He'd said his mothers had helped him choose a new one. My chest panged, and it had taken me a moment to remember to say something, even if it was a bland 'That's lovely.' as I escaped trying to figure out why it didn't feel lovely, and remembering Samarra was gone and I'd never know what she thought might fit me.

Loki kept pawing at my arm, crying out.

"Fine, fine." It was hard to put thoughts to words, drawings were a bit easier, but he wasn't going to stop until I tried.

"Samarra's...gone." The notion was like chewing glass, even if it was true. Loki's ears drooped, as he pressed tighter to my side. "She'll never see if I actually make anything of myself."

Meow!

"Who asked you?" I huffed, as he pushed his way into my arms.

"Gabriella, Cadao, they chose their names from family." I stroked his ears. "The others had something that represented them. I barely even know who I am."

Mrow!

"I know I named you."

Meow.

"You know who I am?"

Mew.

"Then, tell me."

He did nothing but purr, and push against my hand.

"Unhelpful prick."

We stayed like that for a few hours, or minutes, who was counting. Until Loki felt chatty again.

"Samarra's bedtime story? The one with the Wren and the Wolf?"

Mew.

"What about it, you?"

Mow.

I hummed, and Loki relaxed with my melody, purrs strengthening. The notes were lost in the wind, otherwise Gabriella might have room to call Loki a hypocrite on magic influencing emotions. Maybe I did know what Samarra called me.