Zara
His joy floods the bond, washing away my fears. Not all of them—I’m still terrified of being a mother, of raising a child who’s unprecedented, of the responsibility this represents. But Torin’s certainty helps. His absolute conviction that we can handle this helps.
Because he’s right. We’ve handled everything else. Survived impossible odds. Transformed our very beings. Stopped genocide. Built peace from the ashes of near-war.
We can handle a baby.
Probably.
“Names?” I ask, letting myself imagine it. Letting the fear transform into excitement.
“If it’s a girl, maybe Mira?” His voice catches slightly. “I think my sister would like that. Knowing she inspired all this.”
“Mira.” I test it. Nod. “And if it’s a boy?”
“No idea. You?”
“We could combine traditions. Deep Runner names usually reference water. Storm Eagle names reference sky or weather. Maybe something that embodies both?”
“River?” he suggests. “Rivers connect sky and water.”
“Storm?” I counter. “We’ve been called the storm since the beginning.”
“Maybe we wait,” he says, laughing. “Let them tell us who they are before we decide what to call them.”
I like that. Like the idea that our child gets to define themselves. Gets to be unprecedented without being burdened by too much expectation from the start.