[Maybe she doesn't speak English! She doesn't speak at all, save for a god's language, but this is reverberations, felt by tree roots, hummed through certain beings, not a vocalization, but this does manage to draw her attention, and she puts her eyes on him quizzically. Not indifferent, but in marvel that he'd become so concerned about her real name. Slowly, she moves to lay down, listening to him list off names, only turning to bite snow free to keep up her efforts of digging into it.
What would it mean to him to know? She thinks of Akira, and carving the kanji of her name for him into soft snow. Soft, fresh, it was simple. It wasn't difficult. They were sitting by a campfire, but this person is on a quest of a kind, isn't he? Would he have the patience for her to carve her name into snow that's settled and frozen over?
It doesn't matter to her. The Celestials gave her the name she has, she never saw use for them before, and in a way, to have someone dub her anything is as if they've chosen a name they like best for her. She can't be put off by that. What would the name Amaterasu mean to him? Anything? He's persistent; she's in serious deliberation about how to share it with him, though she wonders if this would impact his faith or lack of it in any way.
It may be meaningless to him, and then, any name would do. Things are, whatever name given to them. Same as people, same as her. Spot doesn't change her. None of this mulling changes the fact, either, that he's the first person who seems adamant to figure it out, as if she must be in possession of one. As if his priorities have shifted since she joined him. Would it unnerve him to see her remove clumps of snow to spell it for him, or to find the means to convince him for his phone and type it? It only occurs to her now that she left that useful ear cuff behind, uncertain who to find to help her put it back on, worried she might crush it in her mouth without meaning to. That would've spared him from this conviction. So far no one has seemed all that averse to a wolf's thoughts sounding in their own head.
Usually, a wolf remains undeterred, but if he's serious, she'll meet him and match him in it, and she's been very still, contemplative, staring at him while she considers options and the best one. It may be that he won't give up, that he's as stubborn as her. There's very little she can do these days, and to give her name in some form when it's been asked, and asked, and asked of her is the very least that she can do, isn't it? Mind made up, she hefts herself up, and pads around to find snow that's a little softer than what she's been trying to dig into. It's still not fresh like the snow she was able to nose through for someone else, but it'll be less irritation on her teeth.
Claws won't work, she could accidentally scrape wrong. Heavy sigh through muzzle, she catches his eyes for a beat, unspoken all right, and after all his wondering, he ought to be patient. This isn't an effortless task for her. With some time, a handful of minutes, her scooping small paths, connecting lines into the mound of snow she's decided on with her lower teeth, letters begin to form: A, then M, another A after. If he doesn't leave her, if he can manage to wait long enough, before too much longer, she'll have shaped the entirety of her name for him. She glances to it, then steps back to be certain he can read it clearly, her eyes returned to him now, in her own patient neutrality. She hopes he won't make a fuss. Both about her being literate and the fact she took so long to come to this conclusion. There were many reasons, but perhaps the most obvious is how much work it took her to accomplish. Obviously, she has no voice, nor does she have the thumbs to write as easily as being who has them.]
no subject
What would it mean to him to know? She thinks of Akira, and carving the kanji of her name for him into soft snow. Soft, fresh, it was simple. It wasn't difficult. They were sitting by a campfire, but this person is on a quest of a kind, isn't he? Would he have the patience for her to carve her name into snow that's settled and frozen over?
It doesn't matter to her. The Celestials gave her the name she has, she never saw use for them before, and in a way, to have someone dub her anything is as if they've chosen a name they like best for her. She can't be put off by that. What would the name Amaterasu mean to him? Anything? He's persistent; she's in serious deliberation about how to share it with him, though she wonders if this would impact his faith or lack of it in any way.
It may be meaningless to him, and then, any name would do. Things are, whatever name given to them. Same as people, same as her. Spot doesn't change her. None of this mulling changes the fact, either, that he's the first person who seems adamant to figure it out, as if she must be in possession of one. As if his priorities have shifted since she joined him. Would it unnerve him to see her remove clumps of snow to spell it for him, or to find the means to convince him for his phone and type it? It only occurs to her now that she left that useful ear cuff behind, uncertain who to find to help her put it back on, worried she might crush it in her mouth without meaning to. That would've spared him from this conviction. So far no one has seemed all that averse to a wolf's thoughts sounding in their own head.
Usually, a wolf remains undeterred, but if he's serious, she'll meet him and match him in it, and she's been very still, contemplative, staring at him while she considers options and the best one. It may be that he won't give up, that he's as stubborn as her. There's very little she can do these days, and to give her name in some form when it's been asked, and asked, and asked of her is the very least that she can do, isn't it? Mind made up, she hefts herself up, and pads around to find snow that's a little softer than what she's been trying to dig into. It's still not fresh like the snow she was able to nose through for someone else, but it'll be less irritation on her teeth.
Claws won't work, she could accidentally scrape wrong. Heavy sigh through muzzle, she catches his eyes for a beat, unspoken all right, and after all his wondering, he ought to be patient. This isn't an effortless task for her. With some time, a handful of minutes, her scooping small paths, connecting lines into the mound of snow she's decided on with her lower teeth, letters begin to form: A, then M, another A after. If he doesn't leave her, if he can manage to wait long enough, before too much longer, she'll have shaped the entirety of her name for him. She glances to it, then steps back to be certain he can read it clearly, her eyes returned to him now, in her own patient neutrality. She hopes he won't make a fuss. Both about her being literate and the fact she took so long to come to this conclusion. There were many reasons, but perhaps the most obvious is how much work it took her to accomplish. Obviously, she has no voice, nor does she have the thumbs to write as easily as being who has them.]