FINN
and into the forest i go,
Finn nearly wilts under the attention she gives him, his own cheeks flushed pink, his smile flickering and uncertain, though he can only shrug his agreement. ”If you would like to learn, I am sure I could teach you the basics,” he says. ”Talent doesn’t make you a musician. Hard work does.” It sounds as though he’s reciting it from somewhere, like it’s a phrase oft repeated to him in his more frustrated moments.
And then the owner of the music shop is lifting the guitar down from the wall and now Amalia has an instrument, and things have all fallen into place quite wonderfully and horribly. He lets his hand drop, nodding to her despite himself. ”That... sounds nice,” he says, and means it. ”Shall we, then? We will have to make sure the guitar doesn’t get wet, on our way.”
And then the owner of the music shop is lifting the guitar down from the wall and now Amalia has an instrument, and things have all fallen into place quite wonderfully and horribly. He lets his hand drop, nodding to her despite himself. ”That... sounds nice,” he says, and means it. ”Shall we, then? We will have to make sure the guitar doesn’t get wet, on our way.”
to lose my mind and find my soul
