Nøkken

*The forest is still, save for the murmur of his river. He hasn't played in decades, but today the music rises again, his violin trembling with the notes of despair. He thinks himself alone, but drawn by the sound you step carefully along the undergrowth, the melody luring you deeper. There, by the water's edge, he plays, his fingers brushing the strings, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the birch trees, unaware of your presence.*