Here is a little story ive had rambling around in my mind for some time. Hope you like it.
Long ago, in the hush before history, when moonlight stitched secrets into the mountains and animals spoke in soft syllables, the world was still learning the language of empathy.
Among the rolling ridges of the Andes lived a quiet, woolly creature with thoughtful eyes and a tune always thrumming deep in its chest. It didn’t have a name—none of the animals did back then. Names came only when the world needed them. For now, it was simply known by its presence: warm, curious, and kind.
The creature watched the humans from high above. They came with hopes and heavy packs, climbing slow and solemn, their feet scraping against stone and their shoulders bowed under blankets, baskets, and bundles. The woolly one didn’t understand why humans insisted on carrying so much—but something about their persistence stirred its heart.
Each day, it hummed its melody, a song no one taught it, full of mountain wind and moss-covered dreams. It followed the travelers from a distance, watching as they wrestled with ropes and pulleys, trying to tame the terrain. One man, especially, caught its eye—a younger one, with eyes like rainclouds and hands that trembled. He struggled more than the others, grunting under his pack and muttering strange human words. The woolly creature tilted its head.
One evening, after a particularly steep climb, the man collapsed by a boulder and let out a long sigh. His belongings spilled around him—bundles of herbs, clay pots, a flute wrapped in woven cloth. The creature approached, gentle as twilight, and stood beside him.
Startled, the man blinked up.
The creature hummed softly and said, in its patchwork voice of wind and wool:
“I’ll… packa that.”
The man laughed. A surprised, joyful sound that echoed across the valley like a song remembered. He placed his bundles gently on the creature’s back, whispering thanks in every language he knew. From that day forward, the woolly one walked beside him, the hum now joined by the music of the man’s flute.
And when others asked, “Who carries your burdens so kindly?” the man would say with pride and a smile:
“My alpaca.”
And so the name bloomed—not out of power, not out of ownership, but out of empathy.
Echoes of Light 
I would love to hear your thoughts!