(27 Eorgaen 5114: The Landing)
Snow piled up outside. She moved from one favorite haunt to another that night, looking for the inspiration she needed to finish the transformation of the legend into a song. There was none. So home she went.
It was against the backdrop of lonely winds and blowing snow outside that she built up the fire in her room, and sat with her back to the hearth. She pulled out the harp and tuned each string, testing them carefully against each other until her ear was satisfied.
She leaned her head against her new harp. She was still not quite sure it was real, but as the vibrations of it began to fill her dreams, it became more so every morning as she awoke. She waited for the time the harp would reveal its name. (More accurately, the harp waited patiently for her to learn the nuances that would stir its soul; and hers.)
Placing her fingers to the strings, she began a pensive, questioning, and lyrical exploration in a minor key. The voice of the melody rang clearly and urgently against soft arpeggios. As she became familiar with the heart-felt melody, she joined the harp, humming softly in unison.
But the real power of this song was in the harmony that she could hear in her mind. Softly, she repeated the motif again, and giving herself wholly to the piece, she began to delve into the harmony. Letting the harp set the pace, she began vocalising the harmony in her upper range. Wordless tones soared, each pitch precise, each harmonic purposeful. Emotion poured out of her until tears rolled on her cheeks, but her voice did not break control.
There, as the song peaked, she let her voice fade out, and her hands coaxed the best of the harp to finish the poignant nocturne. As the last note still rang in the air, she leaned against the harp and wept.