The bird nested in a nest of thorns, unable to fly, too weak, hurt, and young for it to use its wings to fly away from the pain filled world that was its home. The parent birds had left it long ago, an old male bird with bad eyesight took care of the younger one instead. Far too often the thorns would scratch the old one's underbelly as he slept on top of the nest made of blood-soaked thorns and not inside of it, like the younger bird, whose whole body touched the thorns no matter what it did.
As the older one cared for it the younger bird had grown accustomed to the pain, its cries silent in the face of the older one's sharp beak. Scarred by the world and its guardian, the young bird yearns for the moving white clouds, vibrant blades of green grass that become shiny and go dull as they are carried by on strong winds that the bird was unable to use. How… How can I move like you? The young bird thinks to the flying grass, floating white clouds high above, and the blue free endless sky that the old bird often traveled to.
One day, when the old bird was hunting for food, a bird about the same size of the flightless bird landed on the edge of the nest. He twitters softly at the scarred bird, "Come out of the nest, I can teach you how to fly. Like the flowing grass, rain-giving clouds, changing sky above, and wings to be proud and free upon."
The scarred bird's new companion lightly hops from one thorny side of the nest to another while singing of freedom, flight, and a journey before flying away. He visits the scarred bird whenever the older bird is away from the nest, and flits from one side of the nest to the other as he encourages the other bird to hop about the nest's edge. Slowly the lack of thorns constantly digging into the younger bird's side allows it to heal and move its wings without as much pain as before. The timeless days pass in blurs for the younger flightless bird until one day its companion asks a question.
"Do you have a name?" he chirps to the scarred bird as he cocks his head to the side.
The scarred bird warbles softly in reply "No… Why would I need one?"
"Well… there are a lot of us out there, so everyone needs a name, right?" the flightful bird chips at the scarred bird before circling around the nest once before he flies away into the vast sky.
The next evening he returns underneath the dying rays of the sun, and the scarred bird chirps her name to her companion.
"Elen."
With her name falling from his beak the scarred bird hops out of the nest for the first time, now fully exposed to the world, vast sky, passing clouds, and grass-carrying wind that blows by. She trills her name for him and the world to hear, even as he sings it alongside her when both take flight and enter the sky above, a sky that she could finally claim.