There was great beauty in the music that followed his request. Skill, yes, but more than mere technical precision. There was the feeling of sincerity in it, of emotion turned into sound and of a heart playing true to itself as the notes were drawn with grace from the body of the instrument by the bard's breath. Her magic was a subtle thing, taking the natural music of the fountain and elevating it higher still as the notes shimmered through the air, illusion no more tangible than the reality of their original sound. That would have been wondrous enough, but Hadama's eyes were drawn to the fire-flowers that drifted from the sparks of the fountain's central blaze. Fire and water, flute and harp, grief and hope...
The demigod bowed his head, listening to the song and letting it wash through him to buoy his heart above its wave. His body was still in the flickering shadows cast by the fountain's crowning basin of flame, but his fingers rested lightly on the tops of his lanterns and his shoulders did not seem to brace quite so firmly against a weight that only he could sense there.
When the last note faded into the night and the water returned to its usual tenor he exhaled almost in unison with the flutist, a soft release of breath and a slow, steadying inhalation before he lifted his head to look directly at her once more. Her gratitudes met with a blink and then an inclination of his head, almost bemused at the courtesy. "You are welcome. And have my thanks, as well...Lysandra."
The inclination became a bow of thanks for the gift she had given, and when he rose again his gaze was clearer. "If you find yourself in Torchline, send word to the Underwater City. I would be honored to meet you again."
The demigod bowed his head, listening to the song and letting it wash through him to buoy his heart above its wave. His body was still in the flickering shadows cast by the fountain's crowning basin of flame, but his fingers rested lightly on the tops of his lanterns and his shoulders did not seem to brace quite so firmly against a weight that only he could sense there.
When the last note faded into the night and the water returned to its usual tenor he exhaled almost in unison with the flutist, a soft release of breath and a slow, steadying inhalation before he lifted his head to look directly at her once more. Her gratitudes met with a blink and then an inclination of his head, almost bemused at the courtesy. "You are welcome. And have my thanks, as well...Lysandra."
The inclination became a bow of thanks for the gift she had given, and when he rose again his gaze was clearer. "If you find yourself in Torchline, send word to the Underwater City. I would be honored to meet you again."
