"Three." Kaelen looked at the pig, then at the goat. "I get to name you."
Silas's ears twitched. His snout wrinkled. "We have names. We have had names for longer than your bloodline has existed. Our names are carved into the bones of the world."
"Your names are demon names. They are hard to pronounce, they attract attention. They sound like you are summoning eldritch horrors, which you technically are." Kaelen leaned back against the table, felt the wood press against his spine. "If you are going to live in my house and follow me around, you need names that do not make people reach for their swords."
The goat made a sound that might have been scoffing. It came out as a bleat.
"What names?" Silas asked.
Kaelen looked at the pig first. Round. Pink. Horned. He thought of the myths from his old world, of boars and warriors and heroes who had worn pig-skins into battle. He thought of iron, strong and unyielding, the metal that had killed more demons than any other.
