’Twas a dark and stormy morn sometime betwixt Christmases; witches howled, thunder wailed and lightning sluiced from its heavenly dam. A lone bard wandered the land in search of humanity, lost among the majestic maple of a northeast kingdom. Through a stroke of blind luck he stumbled upon a cabin in the woods, but while he was thanking his deity for such divine intervention a speeding witch crashed into the branch above, ricocheting off the solid shell of the syrup-tree and impaling our hapless hero. “Oh deary me, I’m running late,” moaned the witch, rising from a conveniently placed pile of leaves. Wiping the blood from her newly freed instrument of flight, she resumed her journey into the gloom, ignoring the pleas from below.

We needn’t concern ourselves with the bard’s plight, as the protagonist of our story is in fact a young musician in an alternate reality. At this general moment in time, said musician is navigating the dangerous waters of time management and education, though in the summers she attempts to reconcile her love of music with a village of big and huggable fisherpeople.

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