Journal entry IV, Crescent moon

             Walking by the cobbled street, Gorlair tucked a hand inside a pocket in his coat and pulled out a golden pocket watch. Under the faint moonlight, the gold had a dull shine which made it look blotted out, pale in color; the leaves styled on the contraption's spherical surface looked like real leaves preserved for millenia, their serrated edges making them become even further a semblance of a clump of leaves from days when no ghan walked the street. 

             No ghan. Is that ever going to come true once again? 

             Air heaved out of his lungs. 

             Hard to breathe. Heavy air. With the morrow comes rain. The girl should be here.

              The stones inside the watch glimmered purple. In the gloom of the street, under the now vacant merchant cots, the walls on which the rags overhead were attached to acquired a purple glaze beside the immobile figure beside it. His dark skirt might as well have been taken for a deep shadow emerging from the base of the wall, swallowing the cobbles and Gorlair's legs, making the man look like a wraith. Thick eyebrows got closer as he frowned; the sixth stone clockwise went out. Gorlair was about to sit down when he heard a distinct diminished chord sound through the air. Metallic timbre. Plucked strings. 
             She's here. 

             The man tucked the watch while striding over the corner; an alley encompassed not just by the wall to his left, but also by tall trees from the square across was just as dark as the street from which he had just come, but for a frail candlelight a some yards ahead. He walked up towards the light and the kuhte player beside it. 
             -- Silune,
             Diminished chord once again. The melody was left hanging, almost palpable.
             Probably palpable.
              -- Gorlair! It's so nice to see you! You better have a good reason for interrupting my music though, old timer. I was having such a nice, mellow time... oh well, it's gone for good now anyway. Spit it!
             The woman looked like a doll, with that stark white countenance as a backdrop for the big eyes staring right at the old figure. For a moment he enjoyed the mesmerizing sensation of being stared at by the seventh Chanter. 
              Heh, not much of a chanter proper, this one.
             -- We need help. A Chant. Harmony is frailing.
             -- I have noticed! I was wondering when would you summon us... Did you take a look at those tress? Watch!
             Under the feeble candlelight, there was not much to be seen. One could hardly discern leaves from branches... but what would be taken for leaves did become exceedingly hazy on random intervals.
             -- Not random. Five by four bars. Off beat of the third one. You count it.
             -- What? You mean it's not smoke nor mist?
             Well, Silune did enjoy her time bursting out a good laugh.
             -- Come on, o elder one! You do not assume I am that stupid, right? By the gods! I would have looked after it even if I did cope with getting lectured by you guys... Oh well, I suppose I won't be getting any more creative for the night, anyway. Let's go.
             Major chord. Major seventh and added ninth. Once again, the notes hung. In one motion, the woman stood and tossed the kuhte in the air ahead of her. It hung in the air, much like the notes. As she walked after the old man, who departed in a brooding mood, the instrument trailed after them. 
             Gorlair stopped once under the cots, silent. The Chanter tapped her left foot merrily while awaiting for... whatever it was the Harmonizer was about this time. She didn't care. She had found out an interesting rhythmic pattern on the trees, regardles of it being disruptive to reality itself. The old timer jerked suddenly, startled.
             Heck. Wrong pocket.
             In a purple flash, the couple and the wooden instrument disappeared, the only trace of their earlier presence a dying chord, merry as the seventh Chanter's attitude.