McKinley could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears, it almost drowning out the sound of her music as she continued to play. The bird-man seemed pleased with the music and she didn’t want to anger him. Her hands visibly shook as they moved up and down the wooden neck of the viola.

She swallowed around the lump that was slowly forming in her throat. Her fingers started to burn under their bandages from the extensive workout they were getting. McKinley pushed herself to work past the pain, instead she used her pain in the melody as the short staccato one ended. Flowing into a high almost shrilling notes, she poured her pain from her fingers into the the frets of the instrument.

She squeezed her eyes close, the sting of tears formed behind her lids. She could feel the blisters tear open. The viola dropped to her lap as she gasped softly, a slightly red stain bled onto the white bandages. Her gaze shot down to her hands then to the bird-man.

“I-I’m sorry my hands, they are still recovering from severe frostbite.” Her voice was much more timid than the music she played.

There was a silence before a low, gnarled voice answered. “It's fine.” That was all. He sat still, staring.

McKinley looked back down at her hands as she slowly unwrapped the bandages. Her hands shook, she winced as the air hit her now open wounds. The large blisters were now torn open, raw-red flesh exposed as she cursed under her breath. She caught her lower lip in between her teeth as she whimpered softly.

“I’m McKinley,” she gasped.

She tried to find something else to put all her attention on. Her gaze bore into the bird-man as she gulped in breaths of air. The sensation of her hands felt as if she had dipped them into acid then water.

He was quiet for a moment. “Avin,” he grunted. “Your … music. It's good.” His black eyes dropped down to look at the viola.

“Thanks,” she followed his gaze to her instrument, “it’s a viola, kind of like a violin but bigger.” She was hoping he knew what a violin was, didn’t everyone?

“Right,” he said, in a clueless tone. It sounded like he had no idea.

McKinley tried her best to use her hands as she pointed at the small opening in the instrument called an f-hole but resembled more of a S shape. “They vibrations that come from the cords,” she quickly moved her hands to the metal strings that ran the length of the instrument. “They bounce around inside the wooden body of the viola to expand the sound.” She knocked on the wooden instrument and winced instantly from the pain it caused her hands.