Submission (#5671) Approved

Lanhe doesn’t know how to play the flute. Or any instrument, really. Not for a lack of trying, however, he’s certainly attempted more times than he would ever be keen to admit. Maybe if he was a little buzzed on some of the special Manaberry juice that he was a bit too fond of during his stay in Silveil with Arthes. But no, Lanhe can’t play the flute. His hands fumble around and never really know what holes to close or leave open. The mere thought of having to control how he breathes is to baffling for him to even begin to understand (no, really, how could one be expected to know such a thing?). So then why does he keep a flute safely tucked away in his adventuring gear? Preciously wrapped in some of the finest silks that he was able to afford with his minimal wages, no less. Well…no one really knows. That or they’ve been threatened so profusely by the small green kittom that none would dare to spill such secrets, even if one were to uncover them in the first place. But the fact is simple, Lanhe cannot play the flute, but yet he owes one. Maybe there’s no more truth to it than that. Maybe...

“Chp chp!!!!!” The shrill sounds of Lanhe’s pomu is enough to rouse the kittom from his slumber. He hadn’t gone to bed too late, but was still tired enough when he had set up camp for the night prior. His previous plan of waking up at dawn seems to have changed to early morning and instead of the sun being his alarm clock, instead his pomu, Peng, has been chattering about and rustling at him in a desperate attempt to awaken. Even though they have just recently met, Lanhe was shocked when the familiar had appeared from the shadows one day, he’s become quite fond of his traveling companion and doesn’t mind the extra company on his journey around Eyre. The cause for Peng's alarm, is made apparent quite quickly. A sand storm has begun to rage in the distance, and to the dismay of the kittom, isn’t growing in size. Lanhe is familiar enough with Azha now to know that if the storm doesn’t seem to be moving…then it Is moving straight towards you. 

“Peng, pack the rutsack!” Lanhe barks orders to his pomu, and tasks himself with the larger objects that he know his pomu may have struggled with. He’s furiously stuffing his sleeping back with clothes and other materials and doesn’t notice the wrapped flute sitting idly on the bottom. In normal situations he would have made sure the heavy items would be properly positioned on the bottom and his more delicate items placed on top, but this isn’t a normal situation and time is not something he can afford to waste. Once the bags are strapped on his back he’s quick to scruff his pomu and begin his sprint. Two legs wouldn’t be ideal in this situation, so instead it is a race on four. Lanhe doesn’t have time to check his compass for what direction he’s traveling before he begins his mad dash, he’s just hoping that whatever route he is running won’t lead him into a more dangerous territory. 

His heart is hammering in his ears and his saliva tastes like metal. The only sounds right now come from his paws on the sand, his pomu chittering nervously on his back, and the sound of metal clicking around in his bags. After what feels like hours, he stops, out of breath and panting, Lanhe turns to observe the dust storm in the distance and feels immense relief when he can tell the direction the storm is heading. The bad thing about stopping, however, is that the adrenaline that was keeping much of his exhaustion at bay returns in full force. His last thoughts before slumping and slipping into unconsciousness is that he hopes Peng didn’t hog the water last night. His trip into oblivion means that Lanhe isn’t present to hear his pomu shaking him in distress, or to notice the unfamiliar figure approaching on them in the distance. 

Lanhe wakes up to the sound of a flute. At first he thinks he’s still dreaming. Caught in between the world of waking and not. But the sound persists and the more he listens to it, the more he realizes how…wrong the sound…sounds? He jolts up, causing his pomu to startle and fall off his chest at the motion. Across from him is another Elnin…and they wear a calm expression despite the sudden movements. His eyes are drawn, however, to the flute in the Elnin’s hands. His flute…and how different it looks now.  

”You were in quite a state when I found you…almost on the verge of severe dehydration. Much of your stuff didn’t fare much better. Metal tends to destroy when it’s moved around so frequently.” The mysterious Elnin speaks, his long tail drapes over the edge of the chair. His hair is worn in two twin braids, with color fading near the ends of the strands. Whoever they are…they’re certainly of a much higher rank than Lanhe is accustomed to, and he feels sheepish to interact with such a prolific figure. The other Elnin seems to catch onto this hesitance and shoots a warm smile towards him in an effort to relieve some of the tension. 

“My name is Memoria…I found you about a mile out from Devara and brought you here. I did my best to repair your flute…but you still might need to take it to somebody a bit more professional than I am. I’m more of a string instrument user than a wind one, yknow?” Memoria, as Lanhe now knows, chatters on about the difference between a flute and lyre, but the young kittom is a lot more interested in looking around the new surroundings. The walls appear to be made of some type of stone, the color is light and yet cool to the touch, and he can hear the sound of rushing and falling water in the distance. The streets seem relatively busy, not like Silveil, but there are still plenty of folks out and about despite the scorching sun above them. 

”Hey! Are you paying attention?” Memoria pouts, he definitely wasn’t prepared for such an aloof and stoic kittom to have been passed out in the desert. Or for him to have been carrying such an ornate and precious instrument. His years of musical maestro were quick to alert him to the fact that the flute hasn’t really seen much play…but yet it was kept in such precious material. A memento of sorts then, Memoria figured.

”Sorry. My flute. Can I have it back now?” 

“Sure! Do you play?”

There’s a brief pause during the exchange.

”No…I don’t. Er…can’t.“

”Nobody to teach you?”

”I just can’t.”

”But it’s special?”

Lanhe pauses again. He looks at the flute in his hands. The warm wood is expertly carved into a flurry of ornate and exquisite designs. A phoenix rising along the stem, feathers wrapping elegantly around the curvature of the instrument. Inlaid upon the eye is an emerald jewel of unknown origin. Despite sporting new scratches and marks, chips that were not there and only caused due to his carelessness, the instrument is still a sight to behold. He’d be offered a pretty coin for it during his stay in Silveil, but he was quick to turn the amount down. Much to the annoyance of Arthes. He couldn’t properly explain back then what had prevented him from doing so…but the sounds he heard just now…he remembers a little bit better.

“Very.”