Menolly Plays (First Tag for Rose)

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Fingers on the strings and struts of her gitar, Menolly played a soft tune. It repeated like a celtic lament, though she'd never have heard the term celtic before in her life. It was her attempt to put to words the strange experience of being in this place, trapped away from the world she knew. At the moment she only had the chorus.

"A moment lost, a liftime gained. And of my home only memory remains. Tossed on a wide and wilding sea. The hands in the water belong to me."

Most of her flair crooned a descant as they nested around her in the little quiet nook she'd found in the tower. With her hair out, tossing down her shoulders in curling shades of red, and her Harper blue standing out against the gray stone, she looked a picture. The warm red-golden shading of the instrument in her hand even focused by a shaft of light from a nearby window.