Blood Falcon never did understand why her name had to be so foreboding. Blood in and of itself was necessary to everyone alive, and falcons were gorgeous birds of prey. As a pup she had tried to emulate their fierceness and their speed, quick to the hunt and cawing over her defeated kills rather than howling as a wolf did. (Stones, berry bushes, her father's tail, her unsuspecting sister.) Of course, Blood Falcon was of a sweet demeanor; she could never quite stay hawkish and proud as her namesake, but she did like to pretend. And she definitely liked to learn.
Peregrines were among the fastest. Kestrels could hover against the wind when hunting. There was even such a thing as a fox kestrel, but it didn't look like any fox she was told of! These things and more drew the pup's curiosity and were perhaps the first signs that she was destined to grow up a researcher. Mudsullied Jackal used to roll her eyes at her when she pretended to be a bird, but mimicking them put her into the mindset of one: their twitchiness, their sharp eyes, their ability to hone in and swiftly strike at their prey. Blood Falcon was almost positive she had been one in another life, if those existed. If not a falcon, then a bird of some sort. Maybe a great horned owl, silent as death in the night, or a sweet songbird like a skylark.
Once, and thankfully only once, Blood Falcon tried to fly herself to prove it after her sister's words really dug in. She had been lucky the ledge she had chosen hadn't been that high, as the rocks below had been a harsh welcome to her small body after that second of hope. She had also been lucky that her parents were healers, like their parents had been, with a wealth of knowledge and a ready den to take her in to mend and be chastised. In hindsight, it had been a stupid idea, but Blood Falcon was a puppy. And like many young things, she had hoped she was special in some way. Instead, she had only revealed the blood in her name and not the bird.
Why then, she asked her parents while stuck there in the half-dark, smelling the foul plants they mixed and mashed and fed her and pasted on her wounds. Why had they named her after a bird? Why wasn't she more like one, when her sister was named jackal and was just as bad as one?
One, her mother said, do not speak ill of family. Blood runs thicker than water.
Two, her father said, they were not very good at names. It was a family trait almost.
Three, her mother said, Mudsullied had been named for what they had seen. A pup who didn't mind digging in the dirt to find the root of things, literal and metaphorical.
Four, her father said, Jackal had been named by one who had denied us bloodkin. An uncle who will never return. A healer that perverted the art. She reminds us of him and is that of him that we once had, that we will do better with, that she will do better still.
Five, her mother said, you were named Blood so that you never forgot it. Blood is necessary. Blood is the life force. You are our love, our joy, what lets us live rather than merely exist.
Six, her father said, you were named Falcon so that you could soar beyond to wherever you wanted to be. That you would be independent and strong and proud.
Seven, her mother said, you were named Blood Falcon so that you would be feared when known. That it might be your protection. That your lineage of passive aid and healing wouldn't hold you back.
Eight, her father said--
"But I don't want to be feared," said the pup. "I want to be loved."
