By Cuivienen we were very scared but I don't think we exiled people except for Kinslaying.

That's good. Being exiled is pretty awful.

I can't even imagine. Well. No one will make you leave here. You can join my tribe. It's called the Noldor.

That gets a smile, though her posture is still sad and exhausted. What are they like?

We like beautiful things and we like inventing and creating and building, and we take joy in words and language and names.

Oh.

Kobolds don't have names; most kobolds don't talk at all.

You don't have a name?

I don't. But it's fine; I'm a kobold, that's normal for us.

It's not normal for us. What should I call you? Do you want a name/ We can have an essecarmë, a naming ceremony, where you pick one.

You can just call me kobold. Or mimic me, that's what we do. She demonstrates a bouncy Fëanáro face. I might pick a name eventually but I don't want to, I don't want to forget what I am.

...okay. How do people not talk aren't they lonely all the time?

She grins. We cuddle a lot, and we sing, and we do things together. Talking makes some things easier, but knowing people is about paying attention to them, not talking.

...I think it's about talking.

Well, maybe it's different when everybody can talk. But among kobolds, there's a special job for people who can, since not everybody is able to learn and learning is dangerous - we call ourselves Speakers, but most of the job is understanding the other kobolds in the tribe so you can Speak for them to people who don't know them well enough to understand them themselves. Which means we have to be very, very good at understanding people without talking to them.

We're called the Quendi. It means speakers. It wouldn't - we wouldn't be a people without it.

She makes a face. People in my world think you have to talk to be people, too. They're wrong.

You have to talk to be Quendi. Not to be kobold, but definitely to be us. We sang even before we knew songs were magic.

Well, she snuggles into the hug. I talk, anyway.

I am glad. Otherwise I'd have been very confused when I met you and thought you were a new kind of animal.

...you wouldn't've been confused for long. I wouldn't have stayed.

Where would you have gone?

I don't know. Back, maybe.

Why did you come here?

Sigh. Snuggle. I wasn't aiming. If I go back and stay there I'll die. If I go somewhere without knowing anything about it, maybe I'd die faster but that's better than waiting and maybe I won't die at all. But living somewhere where everyone thinks I'm an animal is worse than dying.

I can't think of anything worse than dying.