Music.

And good it was too. I sat up, straight, my ears straining, though they were just holes beneath the mess of my light grey feathers. My eyes grew large with intrigue as the music continued, scanning the wild fields for the source. At that moment I wanted a working heart - one to beat in time with the song. For the music, it was perfect. It was just the melody I needed to pull me from my uncertain, lost state.

East. It was coming from the east, I deduced.

Swiftly I stood, and I grabbed my naginata. The rest of my weapons - the iron katana, wakizashi and tanto - fell into place at my side. My bare chest, covered in plumage, I bared to the sound as I stared in the direction I would soon head. For a moment longer, however, I stood and faced the music, letting it fill me with utter wonder.

Who was it? What was it? How was it so … soothing?

It was not like the drums of the demon's temple. Nor was it like the sound of steel meeting steel - the music of war. Instead this was real, pure creation, and it made me suddenly feel … something.

I rolled back my shoulders and began to run again, my back claws leading deep scores in the flesh of the earth. My eyes dancing with rare intrigue I rushed towards the distraction that I so needed, desperately thirsty for its goodness.

It got louder as I went. And I could discern that it was strings. In the distance I saw a town - I think I had passed it earlier in the day - with the purple dusk setting behind it. But the music did not come from there, no. It was ... outside it. Closer. Strings. I kept running as the image before me formed and I began to see the source.

The source. A person. Sitting in the grass, wildflowers around her as a fairy garden. In her hands she held an instrument of some kind that I did not know the name of, and she was playing something sad, but enchanting. Beautiful.

I skidded to a halt in front of her, my vivid black eyes staring. My beak was parted, eager as I stopped five feet from her, my naginata to the side, blade definitely away and not threatening.

I blinked as she met eye contact with me. Her hands paused on the neck of the instrument, her pink plush lips fell open slightly. The music stopped, something I definitely did not like.

Shaking my head I gestured with my free hand at what she had been playing. In my throat I made a wordless grunt, indicating that I wanted her to go on. Her gaze never left my own but her fingers started to dance again, the other hand slid the bow across the strings. The melody was slow with short staccato notes.

Pleased at that I gave a nod to her as the music filled my ears again. If I could, I would have smiled the way humanoids with lips do. Instead I could only relate my emotions through the gleam in my eye. As she went on I decided to sit, an awkward peace settling. But I was not the sort who cared much for awkwardness. I just wanted to listen to her song. And so I took to slouching on the ground again, laying my spear down.

Saying nothing, but listening.