The reason to her nickname for him was nothing special really. He was a black dove, one of the few that stood out from the rest — he had his own mind and society couldn’t get to it. Such minds, she liked and admired a lot; adored from her own little stupid head and wished to get to know. In her world, he was a perfect muse; the smartest and most clever human. He could probably take over the world if he wanted to. So much faith did he have in this boy already. This black dove with his own mind and way of being. If Chorong had the slightest clue of what more he was, she would perhaps be a little surprised but not scared. “Tell me the story. I’ll sit with you.”
With her agreeing to sit down with him, a touch of a smile graced his lips as he held out his hand, palm gently upturned as if waiting for hers to touch against it. His hand was cool, but it could be questioned whether it was because his body’s temperature was low, or merely the autumn chill starting to bite into his bones. Perhaps, it was a little bit of both. “The large oak tree”, he told her in words softly spoken. “That is the heart of today’s story, miss. It is very old, you see.” In the middle of the park, not only the heart of the story but the heart of the park, the tree stretched out its branches. Wide, and tall, stretching oh so far. In the autumn it turned golden, as if it might have been on fire to warm the chilling earth. “Just as the story is.”
