The zebra slowly folded his arms across his chest, watching Caleb like a child would watch an anthill. "You're a funny one," he finally said as a smirk grew on his muzzle. "No one's asked me that before." After a moment's pause, he added, "I don't have a name. None of us do."
That sounded peculiar to Caleb. "None of you do?"
"You pass the hearing test. Good for you."
Caleb ignored the sarcasm, trying to focus on the zebra's eyes and not those wonderfully sculpted biceps. "Don't you think that's odd, not having a name?"
"Not really," the zebra replied with a shrug. "We know who we are, but if it means that much to you, you can grant me a name."
Caleb blinked. "You want me to give you a name?"
"Grant. You can grant me a name." The zebra's eyes, which were of a color blacker than his stripes, narrowed slightly. "And it had better be good."
Caleb swallowed nervously to wet his still-dry throat. Why him? Why did he have to decide what to name this zebra? Naming was a process of going through a list and finally coming to a decision. Something he wasn't good at, not at all. And what was the big deal between give and grant? What difference did it make?
"It's not like I asked you to do something impossible," the zebra said after a minute of watching Caleb's indecisiveness. "You act like I asked you to figure out why people watch American Idol."
"Well, I watch it because--"
"I also didn't ask about your TV habits. Unless you've already forgotten, you're supposed to be granting me a name. Or are you all looks and no brains?"
Caleb was ready to give up and risk the zebra's continued scorn when the answer came to him like a thunderbolt. "Grant!"