Song of the Piper

::8:: Flames Amidst the Storm (Part 1)

Music is Aen Seidhe from The Witcher 3 OST. Play it!

Lovely blend above is by detrition!

******

I was curled up on a bench, watching calloused, steady hands flying over the block of wood. There was a carving knife, and it slowly formed two long ears, followed by twin beady eyes, a small snout, a round body, four paws, and a spherical tail.

He couldn't have taken more than ten minutes to finish the entire project. Papa Gunter set the carving knife onto his worktable, dusted a few stray wood shavings from the piece and lifted it up, inspecting it under the lamp. The hare looked so lifelike, I thought it would blink, twitched its nose and hop about any moment.

"Well, what do you think, mäuschen? Not too bad for an old man, eh?" Papa Gunter grinned at me, dark brown eyes sparkling with happiness. His brown hair, streaked with grey, was messy and coated in a light layer of dust. This was one of the moments when I loved him best, when he was carefree and fun and unburdened by the hard, cruel world.

"It's beautiful, Papa," I replied, "but I don't see why you keep making these things for me. I'm ten now, hardly the age for this."

With a weary sigh, he placed the carving onto the table and clapped his hands together, plumes of wood-dust rising into the air. I inhaled some and coughed. He flashed me a wicked smile, putting his hands before my face and beginning to clap them vigorously.

"Papa, enough!" I half-shrieked, half-sputtered. I batted the wood-dust out of my eyes, and saw him guffawing at my comical state. Despite the fact that my dress and my curls were now stained with a dirty, earthy colour, I laughed too.

"Still, I don't understand why you keep making them," I resumed once I regained control over myself. "Wouldn't it be better if you just sold them as firewood?"

"I like to keep my hand in, mäuschen. Can't let my skill slip into decay. Besides, you're the only one around here who's young enough to appreciate them." I winced. Although he stated it as a matter of fact, it didn't erase the sting of being the only child left behind in Hamelin. And it was only because I was crippled, unable to follow the Pied Piper.

Noticing the slight shift in my mood, Papa Gunter nudged my shoulder playfully. Not for the first time, I was aware of how small I was compared to him. Even when standing beside regular townsmen, he was still considered a giant. I playfully shoved him back.

"I'm not that young, Papa," I protested, folding my arms across my chest.

"You are, and you should appreciate it. Only too true when they say that youth is wasted on the young."

"Not true, Papa. I still do play with the carvings you give me."

"Ah, so you admit you're not as mature as you'd like to be!"

I gave an indignant huff, refusing to answer. He grinned in response. I reached over and took the hare carving in my hands, gently stroking it, testing out its every fall and curve and indent. So lifelike. "It's wonderful, Papa. This might be your best work yet."

"Ah, this is nothing like what the Tinkers could do. I remember that they could literally breathe life into their creations, bring so much joy in such simple ways. If only you could see them..."

He trailed off, the way he did whenever he talked about the past. He always told me stories about sorcerers, of Magi, and of magic long gone. They served in place of the usual faerie stories that would send even full-grown adults shuddering in their blankets. I suspected that he had once been a Tinker himself, from the way his eyes would gleam after he finished a project, or from the way his fingers moved so deftly and professionally with wood. But I didn't have much to confirm my suspicions. So I never pressed him on the matter. It would be painful for him anyway, to revisit his life before the plague.