As Kyawtchais had come to expect, the watchful-one, tall-one, once-walker, never-still-one, greeted em at the gate. Kyawtchais hand spoke a greeting and needed to close eir hands to keep from adding the name-sign, One Watches, which was how ey had come to think of the watchful-one. But ey did not have the right to such familiarity.

If the watchful-one noticed eir closed hands, ey did not comment. Only welcomed Kyawtchais in and closed the gate behind em. But instead of returning to whatever work ey had been doing, the watchful-one held out a hand to Kyawtchais. Kyawtchais stared at the hand. This was a new thing. At formal meetings, townsfolk would clasp hands in greeting. But this was not formal. And ey had never seen the watchful-one or the silent-one, once-fisher do so. Ey risked a glance at the watchful-one’s face. Eir eyes were down, sparing Kyawtchais the blow of their depths. Ey wasn’t smiling or frowning. There was no expression Kyawtchais knew how to recognize. Would it be okay to ask what the watchful-one wanted? Or would this be one of the many times when out-family became offended by a simple question?

The watchful-one said nothing, still as ey had ever been, not fidgeting or pacing. Just… waiting.

Finally, Kyawtchais put eir hand in the offered hand. At first, the touch was prickly, like sharp-footed ants crawling over eir skin. But after a moment, the watchful-one tightened eir hand, the firm grip scattered the ants and let Kyawtchais relax.

The watchful-one was watching em now, and Kyawtchais kept eir eyes on their clasped hands, to not accidentally meet the other’s gaze. Their hands were moving, the watchful one drawing Kyawtchais’ hand up to eir mouth and… and kissing the back of it! Then pressing Kyawtchais’ hand to eir breast.

“I am Lefeng,” the watchful-one said. /Lefeng/. Mud. There was a story behind that name. A more interesting story than most names. Kyawtchais shook off eir need to follow that thought-thread and heard, “…don’t know town ways, and I tend to speak bluntly anyway. But for me, if we can find a trade and a place in this town, I’d be glad to have you as one of us.”

Kyawtchais’ free hand began to flutter and dance. Ey felt eir cheeks flush and suddenly ey understood why the watchful-one — Lefeng — loved to run so much. Not knowing what to do, but needing to do something, ey repeated Lefeng’s gesture, kissing the watchful-one’s hand and pressing it to eir heart. Then ey let the hand go to hand-speak “I am Dead-Fire.” Then aloud, “Kyatchais.”

“Dead-Fire?” the watchful-one’s hands were awkward shaping the new word.

“The blue light of the deep woods at night,” Kyawtchais voice-spoke.

“Ah!” watchful Lefeng said, “I would not have expected… We…” Ey stopped and cleared eir throat, “The far-walkers call it paumschaisawt, tree-fire.”

“Oh. I like that.”

“Tree-fire,” Kyawtchais’ hands said, testing the feel of the words; how best to shape them. Would it be fire-in-trees? Or fire-of-trees?

Kyawtchais’ Cenn had loved the trees. Loved them enough that in spite of the risks, ey had insisted on going out into the forest when eir contractions began. Penpy had a common name — dawn. Ey insisted eir child would have a name that meant something more than the time of day ey had been born.

Ey had gotten eir wish. Deep in the forest at night, attended by fearful healers and hired guards, ey had given birth. The moment the child had left eir body, eir eyes had been locked on the foxfire glow only seen by those who dared the woods at night. Kyawtchaisawt, the cold fire was called. Kyawtchais, then, became eir infant’s name.

It was a name that spoke of mystery, of secret things, of deep darkness.

“Have you seen it?” watchful-Lefeng was asking.

“Seen it?” Kyawtchais struggled to make her mouth work.

“Tree-fire. It’s a common name among my — farwalkers, but I never thought to meet a townperson named for it.”

“No,” Kyawtchais’s hands said before ey could make eir mouth move.

“It’s beautiful. There’s no way to mistake it for real fire. It’s made by mushrooms and other odd things. They glow green usually, but sometimes blue.” The watchful-one grinned. “It’s a friend at night. When it’s dark under the trees and you can’t see, if you know where the patches of tree-fire around your tent are, you can use them to find your way home.”

Kyawtchais felt emself smiling then. Ey didn’t smile often, and it always surprised em when ey did. Ey gently touched eir lips. Yes, ey really was smiling. Ey had never thought of eir namesake that way. Beautiful. Friend. Guide to home. Hadn’t known it could be thought of that way. Delight bubbled up in em and ey bounced once before ey could stop emself.

Outsiders didn’t understand. A farwalker from days away especially wouldn’t understand.

But if watchful-Lefeng can take eir strange name and make it beautiful, perhaps ey can also learn Kyawtchais’ strange ways and see their beauty, too.

Suddenly tears prickled in Kyawtchais’ eyes. Foolish body. “Did… did I say something wrong?” Lefeng asked.

“No,” Kyawtchais hand spoke, “No, I…” Ey stopped. For this ey would need mouth words, or the guarding-one wouldn’t understand.

“My parents came to me. They said they wanted an alliance, and would I come? And I remembered Chotaikytsai, and I am old and need to marry soon or have no place in any marriage group. So I said yes, I would meet you and see.” Eir hands were flapping now, not happy flapping, waving and wringing and trying to make right a wrong thing.

“I loved them, you know. And then they were gone, and I thought, even if you never understand me, at least I will have a place. At least I will not be alone.

“But my name is beautiful to you and I hope. I wonder. I…”

Eir mouth failed em, but ey still had eir hands. “I wonder if I might be too.”

The watchful-one’s eyes darkened, and Kyawtchais remembered that, ey, also, had lost eir fiances in tragedy. Recent tragedy. Ey said nothing. Perhaps eir mouth wasn’t working right either.

But ey reached out gently for Kyawtchais’ hand, and kissed it again.

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