I am a refugee, along with another person—my brother or a friend.  We are trying to get away, to a haven where we can at least rest for a little, hide until it’s time to move on again.  It is risky.  If anyone should see us, ask for our papers, we are going to be arrested, possibly killed.  We must not be seen as we make our way into the forest.  I remember I have forgotten something and begin to turn back, causing him to trip and fall.  He refuses to go back and I urge him to go on without me.  I think it is worth risking my life and leave to return to the city.  I manage to retrieve the item and leave the city without anyone seeing me.  I catch up with my brother/friend quickly and we finish the journey to a refugee camp deep within the woods.  There is a small boy there and he immediately comes up to me, jumps into my arms.  “What’s your name?” I ask him.  Fearful, he remains silent, looking over at a woman who looks enough like him that I presume she is his mother.  She explains that the children are taught to never speak their names, lest they give reveal who and what they really are to someone not belonging to the refugee camp, someone who might seek them all out and kill them.  Better to remain anonymous, silent, than to be killed.