(15 Lormesta 5115: The Landing)
“Every note is a knife”, he said.
I think any semblance of composure left me in the flash of time it took for those words to be born. What could I do? My mind spun like the wheels of a cart, stuck in the sand and going nowhere. I sensed my eyes about to betray me and I blinked back the tears quickly.
“No crying now, please”, I thought to myself. How would I explain that I was not feeling sorry for myself, but reeling from the realization that I was doing the hurting?
In the absolute eternity of sudden silence that followed, he took back his words. I am not sure I replied. I do not think I even moved.
But as every bard is taught early on, words have a life, and a price, of their own once spoken. They cannot be unmade, at least easily.
As my instincts took over and I began to function once more, I realized everything had just changed. I do not know exactly what it will bring, what it means, or what I will or can do. But changed, I am.
I will not write that song. Of that, at least, I am sure. And I will play another instrument when he tarries.
