A masked figure, only about a foot tall, stands at the river, clutching a guitar in his claws. Tentative notes float out over the sound of rushing water; a low, a high, then one higher, the soft sounds inexperienced, yet—searching. As if calling out for purpose.

He shifts his claws. A chord echoes out, uncertain. Asking for an answer that will not come.

The notes are fleeting, fading; ultimately meaningless, in the grand scheme of things. A hundred cycles from now, there will be no imprint on the rock to show that he was here. The fish swimming in the river will be long-dead, caught by some other predator, which in turn would have died from one cause or another. His stone will be kept in the claws of another—or, perhaps, the Collector would have faded too, would have turned his back on these caves or simply perished, just as he is fated to do.

But, perhaps, the notes will linger far longer than he ever will. Not the sound, of course; never the sound, the notes plucked from the strings fading quickly in the air, never to be heard again. But maybe the memory of the sound will linger, in all those who hear.

So he holds a guitar in his claws, and he plays, tentatively, teasing out the notes, discovering what sounds are produced if he holds the strings at the neck of the guitar below his claws like this, and then like this?

The sound, hesitantly curious, tinged with a bittersweet hope like the kind associated with returning to the world after some kind of aching sadness, sings through the cave.

Hey! This was pretty cool! Now that they had found a place to store their stuff, Yellow could travel between caves much more easily. They trusted their three caroller roommates to respect their property while they were gone, although whether the trust was justified or not was rather questionable. Yellow had, after all, barged into the tree hollow without warning. And they were Lesser Gembound. But Yellow believed in equality! There was no reason for them to actually consider Lesser Gembound less than them, so the birds had the sifaka's complete faith.

And what was this? More music! Yellow loved music! Jaunty music, sad music, it was all music to their ears. They had some experience with music themselves, too, and it was always a joy to find others who loved it! "Yoooooooo!" they cried, bounding over to the masked pangolin. "I love your music box-with-a-stem! I've got one too, but it's a rectangle and hasn't got strings and I can't change what it plays, but it does have dancing figures on it! Can I touch yours?"

@Child