A month passed like a calm breeze through the rice fields.
The rainy mornings came and went, and the days grew warmer, filled with the smell of grain and wet soil.
By then, I was no longer just "the baby."
I had a name.
My mother chose it one quiet afternoon as the sun dipped behind the western hills. She held me close, her fingers brushing my hair. My father stood beside her, smiling as if the world itself had paused for this single moment.
"His name will be Erin," my mother said softly.
"Erin of Fernstead."
The words settled in the air like a prayer gentle, certain, full of love.
When the village heard, the people came together once again.
The naming ceremony was held at the open square by the rice paddies, under a great tree whose branches spread wide like an old guardian watching over us all.
Every family brought something
rice cakes, bread, fish, and jars of sweet wine. Children ran barefoot across the grass, laughing and singing while the older villagers prepared the feast.
My father stood tall at the center, proud and bright, his hands resting on his hips as he watched my mother lift me toward the sunlight.
"From this day forth," she said, "he shall be known as Erin!"
The villagers cheered.
The drums began to play again.
And for the second time since my birth, Fernstead celebrated as one heart.
Among the crowd, little Anna was there too the girl with silver hair that caught the sunlight like threads of moonlight.
She was already four months older than me, though still small enough to be carried in the arms of Goru, the brown-haired boy of three.
Goru held her carefully, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
They weren't siblings by blood, but their bond was stronger than most families.
Both were orphans children whose parents had passed long ago from sickness that had once touched the outer farms.
They lived now with Mr. and Mrs. Gareth, the kind-hearted couple whose home stood near ours, close enough that my father often called them our other family.
The Gareths were gentle people simple farmers with kind faces and quiet smiles. Mrs. Gareth often came by to help my mother with washing or cooking, while her husband worked side by side with my father in the fields.
And so, Anna and Goru grew up as part of our lives always near, always smiling.
That day, as the ceremony went on, Paul lifted his cup high.
"To Fernstead," he shouted. "And to the children who will carry our peace forward!"
The villagers echoed him, raising their voices to the sky.
The sound of laughter and drums mixed with the song of cicadas, with the whisper of wind over the rice paddies, and with the warmth of the sun that fell gently over everything.
It was a day I would never remember yet never forget.
Because every time my mother whispered my name,
every time Anna smiled or Goru laughed,
that peace returned to me like the echo of that golden afternoon.
My name was Erin.
Born in Fernstead, where even time itself seemed to bow to peace.