It was already nightfall in the Crested, and the rain was coming down lightly, sprinkling over the land in a light mist, much like the crying of a goddess. Kinaga took this chance to go out onto the hill overlooking the Crested. From years ago, many of the older folk of the Crested still remembered his playing from the distant parts of their dreams, which his songs had so covertly invaded. The white violin case sat open on the hill next to his feet, as he played something of a more peaceful tune than normal. He was in a surprisingly good mood in comparison to many of the other times he played his violin. Perhaps it was knowing that Shisu's spirit was now at rest that put him in such a good mood, or perhaps something else. All he knew was that by the time he was finished, he was aware that someone was watching him. Over the past week he'd been playing his violin in the silent of night, letting his melodies drift over the sleeping town, but this was the first night out of them that someone had approached him. Kinaga lowered his violin and looked down to see whom it was.

(Yes, I was in a poetic mood. And here's the song: Kyoudai)