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Chapter One.
The Minocca sits on a vine-entangled tree, leather hands fingering his flute. His thumb brushes over the tubes of hollowed cane. His nails scratch gently along the Nightshade wrapped around them. Sighing, he lifts the flute up to his lips and starts to play. Eyes closing, he pours a soft, somber tune, taking his time playing each note. Warblers and Chickadees alike sit together in silence, listening to the lullaby of the creature they’ve come to love. Squirrels hang off of low branches, wishing to stay close to the sweet melody. Fawns and does watch from afar, admiring the gentle giant and his almost sheepish exterior. Even the forest stops swaying in the wind to hear the gentlest of notes play.
Only when a crunching of leaves approaches does the forest run off: birds flit away, while squirrels climb up the branches. Deer run to their homes, nudging their children to trot faster. The Minocca finishes his tune, opening his eyes. He peers down to the little girl below him.
She stares up at him, curiosity pulls her closer. Her chapped lips form an emotionless line across her dirtied face. She clutches a teddy bear with one arm, the other dangling loosely by her side. Her large dark eyes peers into him. The Minocca shakes his head, clearing his throat.
“Who are you, child? Why have you come here?” His low voice rumbles in her ears, making her mouth quiver. He stiffens up when her entire body starts to shake, and she wails, causing the Minocca to jump from his tree. He places his flute in a satchel on the forest floor, and kneels to the sobbing girl frozen in place. His arms reach out towards her frail body.
“Don’t cry. Please.” He takes her shoulders, angling his nails to not cut into her calloused skin. The girl stops crying, staring at the hunched figure before her. Her head tilts, trembling lips pursing. She rocks herself back and forth. The Minocca takes his hands off her, putting them up in the air by his head.
“Are you alright?” he croaks, putting his hand down to sit. She nods, hugging her dingy bear with both arms. He looks down to the bear.
“Does it have a name?” He points his elongated finger.
The girl takes a step back, then inhales, nodding.
“May I know the name?” he asks. She looks down to the leaves, thinking for a moment. She shakes her head.
“What about your name?” He places his hands down on his lap, chipped nails feeling for his knuckles.
The girl stops rocking. After a moment, she whispers,“Don’t have one.” He furrows his eyebrows, before shaking himself back to normal.
“What do you mean?” Tears threatening to fall again.
“I never got one. At least I don’t remember.” She falls down to the ground, pushing leaves away.
“Well. . .” he clears his throat, picking up a leaf and pulling at its stem, “I forgot my name too. A long time ago.”
The little girl gasps.
“Really? No one calls you anything here?”
He chuckles. “Well, people far and wide have named me “The Minocca,” but that’s a story for another day, dear. I’d much rather have a name I like.”
She places her bear on her lap, clutching the arms so tight the paws turn into two lumpy balls of fabric and fluff. They sit for a moment, listening to the soft winds of the forest before he clears his throat.
“Why have you come here?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” the Minocca questions, his head tilting to one side.
“I saw signs pointing to the forest.”
“They say to not enter.” He sneers at the girl. She ignores him, instead focusing on making her little bear dance, its feet pushing the dirt around it.
“Well, I never learned.”
“What?”
“To read. No one ever taught me.” She twirls the bear around like a ballerina.
Silence follows them for a while.
“Why don’t we make names then?”
The little girl looks up.
“Really?”
The Minocca nods, smiling. The girl squints her eyes.
“How do I know I can trust you?”
The Minocca stops for a moment, then sighs, getting up and walking behind a few trees.
“You’re a girl, yes? That means you like flowers?” She nods, hair moving messily around her in clumps.
After a moment the Minocca pops out from a bush, holding a handful of freesias and forget-me-nots. The little girl gasps and the Minocca sits down and hands her the bouquet wrapped with twine.
“Okay. I guess I trust you. These are really pretty.”
“I’m glad you enjoy them.”
“Flowers are always pretty.” A moment later, the girl looks up to him. “Could you teach me how to write my name?”
“Of course.”
The little girl breaks into a smile, giving him a toothy grin. The Minocca and the girl sit on the forest floor. They look up at the clouds and tree heads, searching for a name to suit them.
“I have one,” the little girl whispers. A bird flies to its nest. The Minocca turns his head to her, waiting. She peeks over at him. “Luci-enne. I think I heard it before. It’s really pretty.” He stiffens, looking away from her. She holds her breath. “Never mind, that name is stupid-”
“No!”he booms, making her jump. He closes his eyes, sighing and taking a few deep breaths. “I like the name. I think it’s pretty too.”
The girl grins. “What about you, Mr. Goatman?” He squints his eyes before turning to the forest.
“Dorian,” He whispers, a small smile pouring off his face. “I like the name Dorian.” The girl giggles, hugging his bouquet to her chest.
“I like it!”
He chuckles.
“How old are you, anyway?” He grabs another golden leaf, tearing the stem off.
“Six. I think. At least the last time I had a mom.” He raises his eyebrow.
“What do you mean, child?” She clutches her bear close.
“I never seem to have a mom for long. They go crazy. Then I leave ’cause I get scared.” She looks up to him. “Are people usually scared of you?”
Surprised, Dorian shifts. “I suppose. It depends on the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I’m playing my flute when they find me, sometimes they don’t run. Most of the time they do, though.” His lips purse as he lays on the ground, sighing once more. Lucienne lays next to him, inching closer.
“Well I didn’t think you were that scary, Mr. Dorian. Well, until you said stuff. But that wasn’t your fault I never heard a voice that deep.” He chuckles, peering up at the clouds.
“I suppose. And just Dorian is fine, child.”
She pouts, glaring at him. “Why don’t you call me Luci-enne then?”
He laughs, stretching his limbs out. “Alright then, Lucienne. Just Dorian is fine.” He looks over to a now giggling Lucienne, as she clutches her bear on her chest.
“Okay, Just Dorian.”
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