He sat next to me, hugging me and asking me why I was crying, and though I couldn't tell him, I could see that he was overwhelmed that his music had produced this effect. There was no sarcasm or bitterness in him now.
I think he carried me home that night.
And the next morning I was standing in the crooked stone street in front of his father's shop, tossing pebbles up at his window.
When he stuck his head out, I said:
"Do you want to come down and go on with our conversation?"
From then on, when I was not hunting, my life was with Nicolas and "our conversation."
Spring was approaching, the mountains were dappled with green, the apple orchard starting back to life. And Nicolas and I were always together.
We took long walks up the rocky slopes, had our bread and wine in the sun on the
