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“What’s this for?” Xier asked, unable to hide his surprise as he opened the long, narrow case Taravaen had handed him, finding one of the older dark elf’s handmade petrified mushroom flutes lying inside.
“Playing music, of course,” his mentor said simply from where he stood on the other side of the workbench, already having returned to working on the half-finished lute that had been lying there when Xier had come in. “Seems to me like you need something else to occupy your time with when you’re not here, boy, besides lying around in your room.”
“I’ll try not to take that the wrong way,” Xier said dryly, carefully lifting the instrument out of the box and looking it over. “What I mean is that I don’t remember doing anything deserving of a present recently.”
Taravaen looked up upon hearing that, frowning slightly beneath the short white beard that was courtesy of his half-duergar father. “I didn’t realize that a gift needed to be a reward.”
Xier didn’t know how to respond to that, so he said nothing. He set the case on the empty stool beside his and continued to turn the flute about in his hands, taking in Taravaen’s craftsmanship. This was not a simple piece, he was quick to notice as he ran his thumb over the ornate rings that his mentor had carefully etched into the instrument as decoration—something that they generally only provided for wealthy customers who were willing to pay a considerable amount for their work.
“Do you know how to play?” Taravaen asked, and Xier sensed the older elf’s eyes upon him.
“No,” Xier replied honestly. Despite having worked in the instrument shop for the past two years, he’d never actually played anything before, save for quick little strums or toots to make sure that something sounded the way it should.
“Good; I’ll show you how.” Xier turned to look at Taravaen just as his mentor pulled forth a flute of his own, clearly having been expecting this.
Xier blinked. “Right now?”
“Shop’s empty besides us, isn’t it? Move that case so I can sit, would you?”
Wordlessly, Xier did as he was told, placing the box on the workbench, allowing Taravaen to sit on the stool across from him.
“All right, so you hold it like this—move your hands lower,” Taravaen instructed, and Xier did as he was told. “Good.”
And the instruction went on like that until the time came for Xier to return home for the day.