The fields of northern Leithanien are shrouded in a thin blue mist come evening time. The wind blows gently, sending the white flowers scattered across the meadows tumbling as they please. Tonia has come to gather flowers in place of the town pharmacist, imbuing their petals with pleasant music. They were exceedingly simple Arts, requiring only the marking of miniature symbols into the petals' vasculature. As they sway in the wind, the flowers will play a lingering melody. She crouches down, placing the imbued flowers into her basket one after the other. An aged burdenbeast strolls by the pasture fence, approaching the basket for a sniff before immediately munching on one of the imbued flowers. There is no time for Tonia to stop it. All she can do is listen to the notes spilling out of its throat. After a few steps forward, it too seems to realize that the sound is emanating from its own body. It stops and swivels its ears, constantly letting out brays of its own as it tries to respond to this miraculous melody. The notes warble as the tune is pushed out of its mouth by its breathing, thrumming to the beat of its slow steps under the darkening sky. It is not long before the stockbeasts in the pasture lift their heads in agitation. They soon calm down, gathering by the one musical burdenbeast, but rather than seeming like they are following a leader, it is more like they have recognized a sensation they have not felt in a very long time: the calm before the snowstorm, the crackling of melting streams, and the touch of a refreshingly warm breeze under the afternoon sun. The ranch owner pushes open the door, intending to disperse the gathering, but upon seeing the odd serenity, he stops. The wind, the stamping of hooves, and the distant cries of fowlbeasts are all mellowed by the gentle melody. Tonia stands by the field. She had meant to return to the pharmacist already, to hand in the flowers and complete her task. But now, she watches the aged burdenbeast as if it were some clumsy musician, slowly performing in the twilight. There is no grand opera at play here, only scattered, isolated voices that have found each other once more. Here and now, they have become the language of the land thanks to this chance reunion. The flowers' melody was only meant to have played for a moment in the wind, but within the burdenbeast's body, the notes seem to have found a new path to follow. As the curtain of night falls, they deepen and soften. Tonia suddenly realizes she has forgotten to record this new melody. But she also feels that, even if the petals have melted away within the burdenbeast, the notes shall not fade. They will remain in the memory of the herd, like a seed hidden within the flowing of the wind, the stillness of the snow, and between the breaths of the fields.