A gusty rattle of a sigh quietly drifted from the gourd’s mouth before he tuned back in to the world, realizing that there were still gusts of wind rattling the upper branches of the trees, though near the fire it was totally still. Granted, his company may have had something to do with that, though just by looking at the wind-being the Horseman couldn’t tell one way or the other if there was any sort of exertion going on when it came to using these powers. They were just staring at the fire, still in a state of constant motion either by fidgeting or pressing their hands together, the wind composed fingers wiggling in an approximation of the flames.

It suddenly struck the Horseman, as he quietly made sure that his mount would be comfortable sleeping, that he had no idea if the wind-being even had a name. Surely they had to have some sort of title, at least. Quietly sitting down on the other side of the fire, the Horseman was somewhat gratified to see the wind-being look over at the motion and opted to try his luck.

“Excuse me…” The wind-being waited a moment before giving a nod, seemingly to show that they had heard. “…m…may I ask y-your name?”

They paused again, with the Horseman remembering a bit belatedly that he was asking a specific, if not somewhat complicated answer of a being that did not seem to be capable of speech. The realization came with the force of a thrown rock at his pumpkin, and he immediately tried to backpedal.

“I-I mean, if y-you can…I w-will not f-f-f-force you—!” But the wind-being was shaking their head, gesturing in a way that seemed to indicate that they were fine with answering. Still, the Horseman felt as though he’d put the being up to an unfair challenge. Yes or no questions were all well and good, but anything more complicated, like trying to spell out the intricacies of a name, could be more than a mouthful. It was hard enough for him sometimes, and he was mostly capable of speaking…

“P’rhaps you can spell it…?” He offered quietly, though they gestured a ‘no’, the face crinkled as though the pumpkin-headed Horseman had made a downright foolish suggestion. Seeming to think for a moment, the wind-being then brightened before straightening up, and giving a rough approximation of what sounded like a collection of cannon shots. The suddenness of the sounds had the Horseman a little, well, perhaps on edge at first, though mostly confused when he realized exactly where the sounds were coming from. What on earth could it mean by this…? Its name was Cannon?

“C-Cannon…?” The wind-being nodded, but immediately gestured as though there were more. What more could there be? Cannon already meant something.

Wait, if the wind-being had wanted to indicate that its name was cannon, a mimic of at least one shot would be more than enough. Why the grouping…? Unless, there was a specific…oh!

“A…cannonade?” And lo and behold, the wind-being nodded, “smiling” and clapping their hands together in a particularly enthusiastic affirmation. Cannonade. In a strange sort of way, it worked very well. But more gestures were coming from across the fire, and the Horseman immediately looked up to try to read them. The be-Cannonade, was…gesturing to him…?

Oh…of course. He did ask, it seemed only fair that he should have to respond in kind.

“…I am c-called th’ Horseman, i-it’s more of a t-title than a…name…” The somewhat stilted declaration prompted Cannonade to stare at him, before tilting his head in confusion and gesturing to his own head. “…I can t-take it off, please do not ask me to…”

The very thought alone made the coiled feeling come back with a vengeance, and Cannonade immediately made sweeping, negating gestures, almost as though sensing the change in mood. But the brief calm did not last very long, as Cannonade seemed to think for a moment before finding a new query. Raising a hand, he waved it a little to get the Horseman’s attention before pointing to the rider’s mount, a question clear in his eyes.

“…Ah, sorry?” The Horseman tried, not quite understanding the query. Cannonade seemed to think the matter over, pondering for a few moments before pointing to himself, and giving a repeat of the earlier sound, the collection of cannon fire. He then pointed to the Horseman, this time swiping a hand back and forth at the neckline. All these done, the wind-being then pointed to the horse again, this time with his hands stretched towards the mount, who snorted curiously at the gesture. Still, it did the job of giving the Horseman more of an idea of what Cannonade was after. Unfortunately, it still wasn’t much of an answer.

“Nnno, my horse doesn’t, really have a name, either.” At least, the Horseman didn’t really think so. Half-remembered things flitted at his mind, but none of them seemed to encapsulate the bond he had with the great animal. Nothing quite fit in just that way they seemed to. Cannonade seemed to settle back, quietly accepting the answer, though didn’t appear entirely content with it.

Frame flickering, the wind-being’s eyes turned towards the fire for a moment, hands quietly shifting around. The Horseman watched, feeling a mite bit guilty for reasons that he wasn’t sure he could really explain. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have a name, or didn’t remember what it was, right? Still, if even a being as alien as Cannonade had a name, then perhaps…

The pumpkin-headed Horseman let his thoughts turn inward, quietly trying to pick apart the muddled heap of not quite memories sitting in his hollow head. He’d tried, a few times before, but never with a worthwhile amount of success. Everything just seemed to, mix and cross paths in strange, confusing ways, too tangled to really pick apart without some form of reference. So many bits of information simply floated around his mind, he caught only flashes of things, words, sounds, perhaps names as well…?

Jacob, William, John, Jack, Samuel, David, John, Harry, Fredrick, Jackson, Morris, Daniel, John, Lawrence, Henry, Joseph, Wallace, John… John…

“…John…” He murmured aloud, immediately snapping out of his stupor at the questioning chime from Cannonade. Looking up through the eyeholes of his gourd, the Horseman homed in on the wind-being’s face, noting the confused tilt of the head and scrunched, searching look in the eyes.

“…ah, it’s, nothing…” The Horseman replied, trying to taper down on the heaviness of the rasp in his voice. What he was not expecting was for the wind-being to straighten up, gesturing at the Horseman as though he had just said something revolutionary.

All he could really manage was a confused noise, tilting his own pumpkinhead at Cannonade’s antics. Not that the wind-being seemed very deterred by that, or very much for that matter. Cannonade kept gesticulating, pointing to the Horseman with one arm and waving the other in a sort of ‘again, again!’ kind of motion.

 “…say…John again?” The Horseman tried, wondering if that was what the wind-being was after, and was immediately rewarded by a round of what sounded like a mashing of cheers, chimes, and roaring, powerful wind. It grabbed at his clothing, rattled the gourd perched on his head, and whipped around him like an enthusiastic, live thing as Cannonade appeared to clap with elation at the mere mention of the name.

The wind calmed a bit when the Horseman hurriedly reached up to straighten out his somewhat loose gourd, though Cannonade retained his insistent air. Semi-transparent, air composed arms continued to make pointing, emphasizing motions, not that the Horseman really had a clue as to what was causing the wind-being so much excitement. All he’d really said was a name, John…

Wait…

“Yuh-you think my name, sh-hould be John?”

And on the mark Cannonade started to nod again, looking rather pleased with the Horseman’s response. The Horseman, for his part, let the name play over and over in his mind, internally feeling out the sounds, the timbre, the slight lit to it in his memories. John was…

…hearing, waiting, fighting, surviving, loving, losing, burning, bleeding, dying…

…It felt like a good while before he opened his eyes, partially jarred out of the strange, blurred recall by a nudge at his shoulder-blade by a familiar, soft nose. The short, but attention-grabbing whinny just the icing on the cake in getting the Horseman to quietly drop from his own thoughts to his seat on the rock, twisting around somewhat to reassure the somewhat antsy horse. He barely needed to form words, only a few more nonsense sounds easing from the cut mouth in his gourd. The great beast gave a quiet whicker at the attention before settling down, giving the Horseman’s shoulder a nudge for good measure. Cannonade quietly waited for the display to be finished before trying to get the pumpkin-headed rider’s attention, windy fingers trailing through the air in a wave.

“…Yes?” The Horseman croaked out, wincing at the sound and feel of his own voice. Seemed like he might be hitting his limit, though part of him couldn’t help a slight ripple of frustration at the thought. While the conversation was certainly strange, it was by far the most, enjoyable, perhaps human thing to have happened to him in days. Cannonade paused for a moment, either at the wear in his conversation partner’s voice or in thought over what was trying to be conveyed before beginning to gesture again. It took the Horseman a little longer to puzzle out the meaning, and a few tries on the wind-being’s part, but eventually something managed to become clear.

 “I…no, n-not…hh-have…to…call…me…”

Oh.

 “I…d-do not have…to call…myself John?” He tried, to which Cannonade nodded quietly. The Horseman found himself a little befuddled at the odd shift, the wind-being had seemed so insistent on the name before. Also, his body language was more subdued all of a sudden; had he perhaps said or done something to offend?

“…is everything…alright?” Cannonade did nod at the question, though the Horseman hardly felt pacified by the response. Why would the wind-being suddenly change his mind? He seemed perfectly alright with the name before…

…was it because the Horseman had…stopped, like he did? The idea caused a small flood of thought to rattle about the pumpkin-covered head, as the rider knew that Cannonade’s intentions at the very least seemed innocent enough.

Blazes, the wind-being appeared to feel downright guilty regarding the inadvertent reverie…

Drinking in the sound of the wind almost mournfully whistling around them, the Horseman briefly glanced to the still-despondent Cannonade before he looked down, hands clenching over the fabric of his breeches. He could feel the bones of his legs under the cloth, the sunken, unnatural way in which his frame clung to some vestige of life, or rather some mockery of it, through nothing more than will and perhaps some innate ability to just not die.

 It almost matched the patchwork, brittleness of his own mind, the manner in which mere words and sounds would make his thoughts misfire like they were not of his own, but at the mercy of some time before. He hated it, hated all of it, though instead of a despairing tone, the heady, somewhat intoxicating feeling began to buoy him up, pushing him to, if not action, at least some mode of independent thought, a decision.

For what else could he do with a name, a name that clung to the ghosts of the past, but reinvent it and make it truly his?

“I..th-think I like it. Th’…name.” He started, glancing up just to be sure that Cannonade was listening. “I wuh-would n’t mind…if you were to, th-think of me as, John.”

The wind-being jerked a little at the declaration, looking up at the Horseman with surprised befuddlement before gesturing towards his gourd-covered head with a series of questioning chimes. Somehow, the general gist of it managed to get across to the Horseman, who quietly sat for a moment as he thought of how to explain the small epiphany.

 “It seems, right.” He eventually settled, giving the thought some afterthought before looking back to Cannonade. The wind-being still looked a little unsure, giving another gesture to his own head with a questioning chime.

 “M’head’s fine for th’ momen’, but…” The Horseman paused. “I…cannot let that, decide things for me. I n-need to live, as much as I can.”

The last was said with both determined stubbornness, and with the edge of a sort of rueful joke. Though, when he looked up at Cannonade again, the Horseman blinked at the happy look on the wind-being’s face, though this one was, softer, somehow.

If he had to name the expression on the swirling, alien face, it would have been, satisfaction at his answer, maybe?

Well, it rather satisfied him too, so John he was.

A faint, far off rumble of thunder made the pair glance up, the Horseman with a bit more trepidation while Cannonade seemed almost curious by the noise. Not that either needed to have worried much, as it seemed that the worst of the thunderstorm had passed them by. Rain still pattered lightly on the trees overhead, but the noise was more soothing, much less hostile compared to the crashing downpour from earlier.

The feeling of things easing seemed to seep into the Horseman’s, John’s bones, and he settled back on his rock. His head felt, strangely clear, though he wasn’t sure if that was more the tapering down of the day’s events or some of the innate exhaustion things seemed to leave imprinted in his bones. Things did seem clearer the more the mind wound and unwound over the course of the day, whether the cause be something ordinary, or stressful.

John bade Cannonade a good night, settling down a mere few feet away from his steed and as close to the fire as he could be without risking igniting at some point during the night. The last thing he did before falling into a drained torpor was petting the nose of his horse, who had nudged at the Horseman by way of saying goodnight.

***

The rain had tapered off at some point, the ground spongy and wet with the residue. Cannonade’s uncovered limbs moved in languid circles, seeming to take time in order to regain waking momentum. John, meanwhile, busied himself with getting ready for the day ahead, redoing his pack and securing it for the ride. Just as he was tightening one of the last straps, Cannonade pushed to stand up, transparent arms stretching overhead.

“Sleep well?” The pumpkin-headed rider couldn’t help but ask, a faint note of amusement in his gravely tone. The wind-being’s head bobbed up and down in a nod, arms slowly lowering down to metal-coated sides. Though the moment certainly felt nice, there was one niggling thought that scraped at the insides of the dusty pumpkin. Surely, a being like Cannonade had other places to be…