So they both worked at a place called the Rearing Stallion. It had to be a tavern or restaurant, a place where music would provide background noise. Gwin committed the name to memory, together with a vague plan to drop by sometime. Syliran taverns had to be different from the scholarly cafes and dock taverns, but she also couldn’t imagine them carrying that artistic and proud feeling that Rivarian taverns exuded.
Then Kayuqtuq began to perform and Gwin listened in awe. Her voice had fragile beauty, her wails there and gone like melting snow. The lute accompanied her melodious words with perfect clarity and precision. When she ended, the Akvatari mirrored Autumn and clapped her hands together awkwardly. In her opinion, clapping was loud and swallowed the faint echo lingering in the air after the performance had ended. “That was beautiful. The words were in your language, right? Could you translate them? I’m curious.”
Eager to hear more about the kind of music the Vantha produced, Gwin was also curious about Zeltivan songs. When Autumn unpacked her instrument, watery turquoise eyes all but swallowed the beautiful designs on its corpus, awed by the craftsmanship. The music, of course, impressed her more. She found herself tapping her finger on the violin in tune with the rhythm. It was a true sailor’s song, a shanty, yet its message flashed like a white pearl between the words.
To soldier on, to never give up hope. Laviku had been mentioned – the only part of the song that Gwin didn’t quite understand. Of course, she knew about the God of the Sea, but despite her seal’s tail and fins the Akvatari had never felt connected with Him. Where did that feeling come from? “They must like the sea a lot, those sailors. Sometimes they sing as if she was a woman, no? And Laviku. It makes for beautiful songs, at least.”
Humming a little to herself, weaving in bits and pieces of the melodies she’d just heard, Gwin picked up her violin and contributed another piece of her own. If they kept playing in turns, picking up on the themes and tunes of the others, they’d produce an endless string of music.
Then Kayuqtuq began to perform and Gwin listened in awe. Her voice had fragile beauty, her wails there and gone like melting snow. The lute accompanied her melodious words with perfect clarity and precision. When she ended, the Akvatari mirrored Autumn and clapped her hands together awkwardly. In her opinion, clapping was loud and swallowed the faint echo lingering in the air after the performance had ended. “That was beautiful. The words were in your language, right? Could you translate them? I’m curious.”
Eager to hear more about the kind of music the Vantha produced, Gwin was also curious about Zeltivan songs. When Autumn unpacked her instrument, watery turquoise eyes all but swallowed the beautiful designs on its corpus, awed by the craftsmanship. The music, of course, impressed her more. She found herself tapping her finger on the violin in tune with the rhythm. It was a true sailor’s song, a shanty, yet its message flashed like a white pearl between the words.
To soldier on, to never give up hope. Laviku had been mentioned – the only part of the song that Gwin didn’t quite understand. Of course, she knew about the God of the Sea, but despite her seal’s tail and fins the Akvatari had never felt connected with Him. Where did that feeling come from? “They must like the sea a lot, those sailors. Sometimes they sing as if she was a woman, no? And Laviku. It makes for beautiful songs, at least.”
Humming a little to herself, weaving in bits and pieces of the melodies she’d just heard, Gwin picked up her violin and contributed another piece of her own. If they kept playing in turns, picking up on the themes and tunes of the others, they’d produce an endless string of music.
Secret :
