"My, and already forming full sentences; you're one to watch." A flick of his eyes matches the laugh, a mimicry of intent, a flit and rustle of myna feathers.

Not that he wouldn't take the look, and to be aptly named is as much reason as a decent set of shoulders under his shawl. "You might be the first I didn't have to tell," he says, voice broadening with sincerity. "They're an odd group; sometimes I can't tell if they're so far ahead, they've forgotten everything I know, or if they've never known it in the first place."

They at least know what music is, even if he couldn't find anyone else playing it before his instruments arrived. "As for the shawl, we'll see how good it looks on you dry, and I'll weigh it against the hole it might leave in my heart."