But my fingers sure couldn’t.Īll right, then, I would hold the harp and look wistfully out over the water. I could hear the music I wanted to make, hear it so clearly. What a very fine picture I must make, thought I, my silvery hair swirling about my head (I twitched my scalp and my spine hair to really make it fwoosh), my tail spread picturesquely in a silvery cascade over the panels of my cherry-and-green-embroidered peach silk Hrethan drape, my hands upon the strings.įlat! Not only had the strings gone out of tune but I’d fingered wrong. I sat decorously on a rock overlooking the mighty waterfall below the imperial palace of Erev-li-Erval, Thianra’s practice harp on my lap.
