"The strings stretched taut from head to bridge. The hands caressed. The fingers plucked. The music played.

There was something magical, mystical in the music. A magic that swept away the misery of the day. A magic that carried him to another land..., a land of peace, of cool breezes 'neath a shady oak where the searing sun could not reach. A land where he belonged to no man, a land of freedom.

The magic was his music, the music was his heart.

The strings stretched taut from head to bridge. His hands caressed. His fingers plucked. His music played."

khandu