The music pulled Lyric Doherty out of her deep sleep, so deep that she chose for a while to ignore it. She groggily waved her hand over the clock and the smiling face lit up and said, “Twelve thirty-five. Good night to you.”
So late. She rubbed her face. The song of the woods had never awoken her before. Usually, whatever called her to the woods seemed to sense when she had not yet gotten ready for bed and when it was the right time to summon her.
The song this night sounded different from that of the past, a different tune played softly, mournfully on a violin. Lyric pulled herself up and made her way to the window, all the while trying to open her eyes fully. She looked out. A figure stood at the open gate, at the beginning of the path that led into the woods. The figure wore a thick coat and a violin rested on his shoulder. He drew the bow string over it slowly, carefully, and played as if he were serenading the woods themselves.
Once she realized who it was, Lyric started to reach for her coat but thought the better of it. The man put down the violin to hang loose at his side, the bow in the other hand also loose and close to the ground.
Something is there in the woods, Lyric told herself. Something calls her father to it, too. Does he hear another song? Are the songs related?
Her father Michael pulled the violin up again, and played it softly, a song in harmony with the wind. His whole being moved with the instrument in a way that Lyric had never seen him play before. He plays for someone, she thought. He plays for someone out there. I wonder who it can be?
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