2024-06-26 - we are TH. and this is me.

"Hello, Rocranth."

It was a little purr, somewhat distracted and more than a little bleary as the bolt shot through her dreaming little mind; oh, yes, this is something that they must have and, Portoro supposed, it was something they had to do.

Perhaps Gwyllanth can find them and speak to them, then.

She stretched, grumbled against her confines, and listened. The sound at the end of each name was certain, it meant US it meant what GWYLLANTH and PERTEMARTH was, and there was some communion in that realization. They were -th, all of her companions and the big ones that lie beyond her confined space.

And one by one, the TH started to announce their names. Some were as bold as Rocranth, some hummed them with uncertainty. Some names were short. Some were sharp. But all were new - and after all of what she remembered...she couldn't just be "Gwyllanth."

Gwyllanth was that vaulted sky, that endless love, the bearer of stars, keeper of Shayled and lover of Pertemarth. She was great and good and terrible.

These were not Potoro - but how could Potoro know what she was when she was so confined?!

A bubble of unwelcome anger and frustration caught Potoro unexpected somewhere in her middle, where her chest pounded; she shook and stilled again. Gwyllanth must have thought this too, long before she was SHE, before she was mother.

Another of Potoro's companions seemed to throw a name - Ath - into their midst; "That's so short!" she'd chirruped at the sender before gamely sending it and the giggle drifting along among the many, still free for the taking. Still, she'd sent it without claiming something for herself and so set to fixing that.

Parvath. Prakrith. Grissoth.

These were nice sounds, taken from the names outside, uncurled and woven into something new. Were they hers? Were they what she wanted to be?

How could she even know? What if it was incorrect?

Seteth. Kyrioth. Innoth. Heh. There were those -oths. 'Oth' kept returning. Perhaps she could work with that. And not just be "Oth!"

Were they stately, were they bold, did they shine? Did they love? What was too long, what was too short? Because goodness she couldn't just be "Ath!"

Oth. Ooo*oooth*. Heh. Odoth. Rioth.

Rioth.

She was starting to feel a little silly when - like Rocranth's bolt - the correct one simply thundered into her games, so sharp and beautiful that she was stunned it hadn't always been there, just waiting for her to stumble across it. It stole her thoughts for a moment; she turned it over in her head a few times with a satisfied little purr, before steeling herself to shout:

_"Hello? It's my turn now. Please call me Rioth." _