Writing 2014-03-05



Larrikan’s song is a slow, hauntine melody, which linger slowly rising and falling in an usual, off normal cadence.  What he is singing isn’t words anyone but he and the dryad understand, but the haunting melody soon has everyone listening.  The song conveys the passing of seasons, and the joy of life, but the sadness of loss and an aching lonliness.

When the Shy Folk finishes singing, the whole common room has gone quiet, listening.  Larrikan, still on one knee before the dryad, still holding her hand, waits a moment in the hush, and then says, “Thank you for letting me share this with you.”
Aykuh is amazed.  As the room slowly returns to normal conversations, she finally says, “That was beautiful.  I don’t think I have ever heard a dryad ballad before.”  She finally reclaims her hand from the smiling fox, and looks around.  “Let me get your drinks,” she says, “And then I want to know more.”

Larrikan sits and thanks Aykuh, as she steps back into the wall.  When he looks at Haoys, she is staring, almost agape.  Larrikan smiles winningly at her, and says, “Yes, I can sing.  It goes with the fiddle, drum, and recorder.  I’ve trained all my life as a bard.”

Haoys looks impressed and asks, “Can you do anything else?”

Larrikan shrugs, “I can dance and juggle.  I know a few bits of sleight-of-hand.  I can usually get people to smile.  The melancholy song is both harder and less common.”

Aykuh comes back with an ale for each of them, and asks, “Will it bother you if I stay and ask your boy a few questions?  I don’t want to interfere.”

Haoys looks surprised, and says, “It’s not like that!  We’re just studying!”

Aykuh smiles at Haoys, then turns to Larrikan and asks, “Where did you find a song like that?  I’ve never heard a dryad sing before, much less write so beautiful and poignant a song.”

Larrikan gratefully takes a long drink of his ale.  Singing – especially like that – is dry work.  “It is a rare treasure from both of our people,” Larrikan tells Aykuh, “written by a Shy Folk bard who gave his heart to a dryad, and never left her once he had found her.  He learned her language, and turned her feelings into song.”

“How did you learn it?” asks Aykuh, curious.

“We met the lovestruck bard at the local Gathers, and he taught us,” tells Larrikan.  “We have kept the songs alive for generations, knowing how special that kind of devotion truly is.  We share it only with those we know will understand.  I have never sung it to a dryad before, but I knew I should.”


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