Jakab
It was much, much too cold to be outside. Jakab’s soft deerskin boots crunched on clumps of snow in the shadow of the castle walls. He sighed and leaned against a boulder, pulled his trumpet out from his sack.
“If they want me to play on the royal wedding, they might as well let me practice indoors,” he grumbled to no one in particular, and a startled bird took flight, black against the snowclouds looming overhead. Jakab wondered briefly if he would damage his trumpet, playing outdoors, but this only made him feel defiant. They threw him out in the first place! He rubbed his gloved fingers at the mouthpiece in a futile attempt to warm it up, then he raised the trumpet to his mouth.
Footsteps, rushing. He quickly threw the trumpet in the sack and hoisted it on his shoulder, wonderi
