A Proper Name

The very picky parrot refused to speak. His family was known for their wise words, and each one took their name from the first word they spoke.
He wanted a great name. Something majestic, powerful, that perfectly described him.
He would not get stuck with a name like Oopsla, as his sister had. Nor would he settle for something like his Uncle Spectaculore's name, though it was closer to what he desired.
The parrot knew his silence unnerved many of their flock, for all the others from his hatch-year had already spoken and received their names.
Many had taken to calling him Voiceless, which he would not accept as a his name.
For he had a voice, though he had never tried to use it. The first word was too important a thing to just thoughtlessly toss out into the world.
He had to get it right, for there was only one chance.
At that night's roosting, he settled in beside his family on their branch of the great tree, and settled his chosen word into his throat.
This was the moment.
He opened his beak.
But nothing came out.
Closing it, he took a deeper breath, then opened his beak again.
Nothing but air, whooshing silently into the night.
Again and again the parrot tried to get his chosen word to come out. But it seemed to be lodged in his throat, blocking off even those chirps and clacks that gave many foolish birds their names.
By now, his family had noticed something off about his behavior, and were watching him.
Somewhat frantic now, the parrot gave up on his chosen word, and tried another, lesser choice instead.
But it too refused to be voiced.
Fine then, he would try another.
And another.
And a hundred more after that.
All night, the parrot tried to speak out a word, any word.
But when the dawn came, it's harsh light only illuminated his failure.
"Huh," a parrot with the unimaginative name of Buggy chirped, "guess he really is Voiceless after all."
No, the parrot shook his head even as the protest failed to leave his throat. He couldn't be. What about all of his plans? They depended on him amazing all with his great name, with the silken words he'd carefully compiled becoming his stepping stones to leading the flock.
But none of that would be possible without a proper name.
And a proper name could never come to a parrot called Voiceless.
Rising from the branch as quickly as his wings would allow the Nameless (not Voiceless, never that) parrot flew away, determined not to return until he'd found his voice.
No matter how long that took.