Eventually, though, it is time to
return to my duties. The smaller songs come to me now, easily, but
with a flatness to their tone I don't remember, a thin feeling
between the notes. None of those I pass seem other than engaged in
their songs, faces serious or beatific, meticulous or lost in it. I
wonder how many of us think of anything but song.
Brek looks up and smiles as I enter.
“I had hoped to see you, soon, Mahd.
If only to tell you what a joy it was to hear your Song of Another.
I dreamed incredible things while you sang, and felt my heart move to
joy or tears more than once. Thank you, Singer.”
It makes me uncomfortable, when Singers
talk to me like this, and I find I cannot hide it well anymore. Brek
looks concerned, but does not press when he sees my face.
“There are few songs that need
singing this day, Mahd. Have you a preference? Building, feeding,
new stone?”
“Is there water that needs to be
called?”
“Yes, the fourth sector is in need.
But that is so simple a thing. Surely we can find something more
fitted to your talents?” The questioning note has more in it than
the question. Brek is concerned, which is pleasing, in some way. It
should not be, should make me further uncomfortable, but it does not.
There is something in me that longs for some Singer to speak with,
not as Singer to Singer, but as Mahd to... whomever might truly want
to hear my words. As if my words were of themselves important. As
if Mahd, as if I, were important.
Brek accepts my silence, and gives me
my singing. I hope that this does not become a difficulty between
us. I should not like to have to get my songs from a Singer other
than Brek.
Why is that?
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