It was difficult to wet her lips in this dry, cold air. Over and over, she lowered the flute a little, while her tongue flicked out, and a tiny frown creased between her eyes. The black-and-white dog beside her lifted his head and cocked it to one side, watching her with curious, perked ears.
A few notes sang out into the deepening twilight. A disjointed fraction of a melody that might've been sweet in its entirety. The wind gave another heave, flouncing her wavy, ochre locks about her face, wicking away what little moisture there was on her dark, bow-shaped lips.
Staring ahead into the falling darkness, she dropped her hands to her lap in surrender. Sensing her resignation, the dog laid his head over her knee. She set a hand on his head, stroking the thick, rough fur.
