Lifting the bigger instrument out of your rucksack, you sit down beside the cliff-face, and examine the two together. They are intricate, even the smaller one, right down to the matching fleur de lys inked in silver below the bridges. You search for a special marking, as well as any imperfections, that may show that the two are more than just tools. On finding nothing in the daylight, you put the instruments, one by one, upon the ground.
You place them together, flat on the rocky ground, scrolls together and chin-pads pointing opposite directions. They form a pretty arc.
Suddenly, a beam of golden electricity seems to sparkle from the end of one violin to the end of the other. You run your hand through the beam; it feels as though there is nothing there.
You are amazed. The beam vanishes, but both violins still seem to have their glow, the same golden light seeming to robe both instruments as they lie.
You pull the pieces apart, as the beam breaks, pushing one back into your rucksack. The other, newer one doesn’t fit, so, hoisting your backpack onto your back, you lift the small instrument in your hands, and start walking back with it carefully outstretched, like a present, or a trophy.
There’s a small, winding path taking you out of the way down another, flatter part of the cliff and into the central north area of town. It’s not direct, which is why you chose to head straight up the face before in your haste. Now, walking down this dreary route (although exposed to the elements and the eyes of any possible prying neighbours), you gaze at the smaller instrument, rather in wonder, especially at the meaningful connection that has occurred…
Now what to do with the two instruments? Do you…