It was a pleasant late afternoon. The sun was shining, the air pleasantly cool, birds chirped from the trees overhead, and quiet, soothing music came from the guitar of a brightly dressed man sitting under one of the trees.

The music drifted slightly and then suddenly broke into the loud strong tones of a march. A couple birds chirped loudly in protest overhead and took wing, flapping loudly away. The music stopped, and the man looked up. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he said plaintively. "It's really distracting. Where do you go in such a hurry when I play loudly, anyway?"

He watched the departing birds for a moment. "You know," he said conversationally to the tree, "that's a really good question. Where do they go? Do they have some secret bird fortress they can retreat to, where they make plans of war, and practice precision droppings?" He looked thoughtful for a moment, before adding, "That would be a sight to see." He looked around until he spotted another tree with a bird in a low branch. Smiling cheerfully, he wandered up to the tree, the fingers on his guitar picking out a repeating pattern, steadily increasing in speed. As the pattern became a blur of notes he suddenly struck a single loud chord, feeling his body lighten and fill with vigor. The bird took flight at the noise, and laughing with glee, the man took off in pursuit, running fast enough on a song to keep pace.

Every couple leagues, another chord would be struck, patterns of music and laughter and birdflight repeating, echoing into the north. At one point they passed a farm, a woman drawing her daughter away from the laundry line and back towards the house. A few leagues later and the air had chilled, and there was snow on the ground. Seemingly oblivious to the chill, the bird and man continued their chase. A pair of frost goblins turned in surprise as they passed and let loose a couple shots from their crossbows, but were quickly left behind. Finally, in a forest turned white by a light dusting of snow, the man was brought short. Keen elvish eyes turned wary at the sight of a pair of minotaurs just barely visible in the distance. The bird flew on a short ways, and then as if hardly tired settled down gracefully onto a low branch almost to the minotaurs and chirruped back at the elven man audaciously.

The man stretched, feeling the fatigue and the cold as if for the first time, and then squatted down and watched for a minute. "Oh, alright, you win this one," he muttered quietly. "I don't have enough music left in me to make that run safely, you cheeky little bird. But just you wait. My music will get stronger someday, and I'll chase you all the way back to your secret avian fortress, and learn all your secrets." Grinning cheerfully at the thought, he turned back to the south.