The truest thing that Tarian has ever known was the fight.
That life was a battle meant to be fought alone.
But with Altissima pressed so tenderly against him, he thinks about how wrong that was. Some battles would come, the gray pegasus doesn't doubt that. But for the winged female beside him, Tarian would fight (and keep fighting) for her to know that she didn't have to battle them alone. (He doesn't doubt that Wildling could fight her wars, but he wants her to know that she doesn't have to wage them on her own. Not anymore.)
He smiles at her analogy, thinking about what they once said about his grandparents. That golden Valerio had been the Sun, and silver Aletta his Moon. He thinks of his parents, who they had called Malachi the Light for his pale coat and Kalina the Dark for hers. How fitting these names that she gives them, the moon and the stars in a pattern that has flowed through Tarian's bloodline for generations.
For the newest one, he thinks that his child could ask for no better mother.
Not when she shines like the stars, not when she blazes out the shadows from the very sky.
As he gently mouths through the fine silk of her mane, those thoughts guide him to a name. (For some reason, his mind imagines a little boy with their wings and Altissima spots, though he imagines that Altissima would know best. A mother's intuition, he wryly thinks.) "Starros," he murmurs into the blue-sheened curve of her neck. "What do you think of that?"
TARIAN
@Altissima