There’s a deep peace in the snow-covered forest at early dawn. The sun is trying to show its face, fighting through the clouds to sparkle where it strikes the crisp coating of snow and ice.
The first notes hang in the air, shivery and cold just like everything else. They are tentative, unsure. The sound fades, the artist pausing to adjust the tension of the strings to account for the chill before he draws out another piece of the melody.
Even in the stillness and cold of the early morning, he knows the vulnerability presented by this one act. But it’s more than a desire – it’s almost a calling, a need pressed on him by an outside force stronger than himself. He’s purposely far from home, deep in the trees of the Twelveswood where no one in their right mind would be at an hour such as this. Even so, his bow is strung and ready beside him where he can reach it in an instant.
Basteaux draws a bow of another kind over the strings of his violin, his fingers moving with deceptive ease to coax notes from the instrument. It sings under his touch, a soaring tribute to the brilliance of the shining world around him.
As the final strains ring through the stillness, he opens his eyes. She’s the first thing he sees, and he immediately drops one bow in order to reach for the other. But there’s recognition after that initial jolt, and he bends to retrieve the abandoned object from the crust of the snow at his feet.
Destiney didn’t mind that he was out of practice. He certainly didn’t play like he was. Though the difference in the two pieces was clear. As was the tension in his form. Either way it was still a pleasing piece. This piece was still less… Free then the last. It lacked the same heart and soul. Not that this piece didn’t have a heart of it’s own. It was just less. Too structured.
“I’m sorry, Basteaux.” She hadn’t missed that look on his face when he finished. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked him to play for her specifically. But there was something about it that she couldn’t resist. Now she felt guilty for ruining his mood. Never had it been her intention to disrupt his morning in this way. “I did not mean to ruin your morning.”
The instrument fit into a small, padded case that he slung over his shoulder alongside his quiver. With it taken care of, Basteaux turned the full weight of his attention back to Destiney. “You did not attack me, nor did you request anything I did not choose to give freely. If there is any blight on this morning, it would be one of my own making.”
He looked past her, up to where the sun was beginning to make its climb in earnest. “I must be going. Though I wish you well on this morning, and hope whatever task has brought you out here is one that does not bring you trouble.”
She watched in silence as he carefully took care of his instrument. Somehow his words really did little to soothe the feeling of guilt over the sudden change of his playing. But she kept that opinion to herself. He would probably just blame himself again. That was far from what she wanted.
She stepped up beside him, a soft smile on her lips. Intentions perfectly clear that she meant to follow him for a bit. “Where are you heading? I could walk with you for a bit. If you don’t mind of course. I was mostly out here for a bit of peace. My company can be quite chaotic at times. An the woods are calming.”
Spirit of the Warlock 