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"Of course, my lady; you shall be among the first to know. And what sort of song should this be?"
"A happy song."
"Oooh," he nodded, looking past Lčođern and into Lin's wide eyes. He wished he could read her thoughts. He wished he knew what emotions, if any, had been stirred by his song; if she had even understood its significance past the sleepiness of dawn. He wanted to go to her, to hold her close, and whisper into her ear what he had said in song, but now could not be the time. "A happy song. That I can do."
He looked back down at Lčođern and tapped out a beat on his knees, one hand twice as quick as the other, and smiled to see the little girl before him mimicking the motions with limited success. He let Lčođern take up the beat when she had mastered it and chanted softly and slowly, rather than singing, playing a few notes with one hand as he spoke the light rhyme and snapped his fingers lazily on the downbeat.
She flaps her wings
And lands on things
With painted gown
And blackened crown.
The flowers of fall,
The grass so tall,
They call her name;
She plays her game.
Dancing swift,
Her feet she'll lift
In thoughtful care
Into the air.
When winter's here,
Sleep 'til next year
And wait to see
What new there'll be.
In spring she wakes;
First flight she takes
To greet the sun
And everyone.
Wings whisper song;
She floats along
Up in the sky...
Look, she goes by.
By lucky chance, a beautiful butterfly chose that moment to flutter through the courtyard, and Lčođern's delighted laughter danced through the air. Farahil came to stand behind Linduial, and she did not see him. He watched Degas as he pointed to the butterfly, seeing the child follow his finger and watch the delicate creature cast a magical spell over the girl. Degas wondered at what luck had made the butterfly come just then, as if planned, to punctuate his words so beautifully.
He smiled and looked at pretty Lčođern, laughing with her. She would have a story later, that he could be sure. He set his instrument carefully upon the ground, leaning back against the great stone Falco, and wondered if Lin was still watching. Hesitantly, he stole a look, and Lčođern followed his gaze.
She jumped to her feet and ran to Linduial, speaking excitedly.
"Did you hear 'egas talk about the pretty butterfly and then it came! Did you see it come? It flew by! And he sang about a harper that promises to wait for a lady but he says he does not know the rest of the story. Did you hear him sing about the harper? And the butterfly came!"
As Lčođern spoke, Farahil silently went back to his work, and Degas saw him. He wondered at the man's thoughts, and knew that he would never ask him what they were. But now Lčođern asked Lin if she had heard... perhaps she would speak and Degas could hear what she would say.
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