But she was wrong. The people of Afiele were behind Earth in technology. They did not come from a globalized, modernized society. They were reserved.

Yet that didn’t mean they weren’t uncaring. The workers in the fields turned as Violetta lugged her tool towards the center of the fields. They waved at her, stoically calling out or taking the time to eye Cara.

But they began to pick up the pace as she sat down. Because they were waiting for her.

The girl struggled with her burden, as carefully as she lifted it. More carefully than even Idelt handled his tools. Cara looked at it. And it fit together. Idelt working at a bit of curved wood.

Why Violetta had been excited to learn that Cara was a [Singer]. The village girl carried her tool.

Her…instrument.

She sat down in the center of the fields, on a stool that was waiting for her. Amid the gloomy skies, between the tall, dark fields, she raised the bow and set it to the strings.

The large cello rested in her lap. The girl sat back as the wind blew across the dusky Ashwheat, making the growing stalks dance slightly. And the [Cellist] began to play.

Cara O’Sullivan, the [Singer], listened as the first strains of music began to play from the fields. Violetta played alone, without accompaniment. But that didn’t matter. Her cello was old, but beautifully maintained. And amid the silent workers, even the most distant of fields could hear something.

The notes were long and somber. The song without the…vibrancy of a modern song. It was the kind of music you could listen to forever, that helped pass the hours away. Long notes, without accompaniment.

“But that sound.”

Cara closed her eyes. Violetta was far from perfect. But she played well for what had to be…no formal education? The [Farmers] worked to the tune of the music. And Cara felt her morning sleepiness fading away.

“[Harmony of Restfulness]. She learned to play from her mother. The cello’s an heirloom. We’ve had

[Mages] cast [Repair] on it, but we can make a few instruments. Violins. The cello came from Izril, though.”

Cara jumped. Idelt was standing outside. The man wasn’t swinging his hammer; it would have clashed with the music. He looked at her.

“It’s a beautiful instrument. And your daughter is talented.”

“Yes. She is.”

The father watched his daughter as she played. Cara shivered. Yes. The music was needed here. But it was still despondent. Perhaps it came out in her music, but Cara heard longing in every note of Violetta’s music.

She studied him. His face was blank…but she was learning that was only her first perception of him.