Mossy stepped up to the microphone, sweat glistening on his face. His fingers were tired. His legs were sore, but the roar of the crowd gave him new strength.

This was it; this was his moment. The feeling of the frets under his fingers was so familiar. His arms swung wide as the crowd went wild. one long cord wringing out. one perfect moment in front of the crowd. One coffee bean bounced off his forehead.

"Ay lad, you had better be getting back to work." Mossy blinked and looked around. Mr. Beanhammer was standing in front of him, tapping his foot.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Beanhammer." Said Mossy.

"Now, I don't know what you have there, lad, But I don't think it's made for making coffee."

Mossy looked down at the broom strung with strings he was holding. "No, Mr. Beanhammer. I was just... I was... I was just pretending it was a guitar."

"Well, it's a good thing we're slow, lad. Otherwise, your coworkers might get irritated at you for slacking."

Mossy looked over at Bloodwyn on the cash register and at the giant green thing in the kitchen. "I’m sorry, Mr. Beanhammer. I didn't mean to..."

"Don't apologize to me, lad. But you may owe them an apology."

"Yeah, you're right. Mr. Beanhammer," said Mossy. "Sorry Bloodwyn. Sorry Grog."

Two gigantic green shoulders shrugged in the kitchen. Bloodwyn regarded him for a moment, shrugged, and went back to polishing the display jars of coffee beans.

"Very good lad. said Mr. Beanhammer. If you've got time to play, you've got time to clean. Why don't you try and clean out the tray from the pour-over machine?"

Mossy looked over at the drip tray underneath the pourover machine. Black with dried coffee and swirled with who knows what. "Okay, Mr. Beanhammer," Mossy said with a sigh.

A few minutes later, Mossy heard a familiar slither of scales on the floor tiles. "Don't look too glum," said Bloodwyn. "Mr. Beanhammer is a proper Dwarf. He wants everything to be run with efficiency."

"Yeah," said Mossy. "I know how dwarves can be. They're very proper and efficient that way. I just really miss my guitar."

Whatever happened to your guitar anyway?" Asked Bloodwyn. "You told me about how you tried to get a new one, but you never told me what happened to the first one."

"Oh," said Mossy, looking sheepish. "I… I broke it. You know, nothing major. Just, just, I broke it."

"That's terrible." Said Bloodwyn. "How did that happen? Well, you know I was on stage, and I broke it while we were on stage."

"Wow."

"Yeah, it was kind of dumb. Especially since me and the guys had finally gotten good enough to be in the Battle of the Bands."

"The Battle of the Bands," said Bloodwyn, perking up. "I saw it last year. It was one heck of a show. There was this one zombie band. Every time the drummer hit the drums, there was a plume of poisonous green vapor. It was so incredible."

"Corpse kiss? Yeah!" said Mossy. "They're amazing. I practiced the riff from Gravestone for weeks."

"Isn’t Battle of the Bands only like three months away? Shouldn't you be practicing and getting ready?"

"I should be," said Mossy, looking down at the floor. "But without a guitar. I can't practice. Hence," he said, looking over at the broom.

"Yikes," said Bloodwyn.

"Yeah," said Mossy. "I mean, we probably wouldn't have won. We don't really have a real illusionist. And half of Battle of the Bands is just stage presence. But... I don't know. It just feels terrible to be missing out."

"Yeah," said Bloodwyn. Well, I hope you find some way of getting a new guitar because it sounds like a lot of wasted talent and effort to practice."

"Yeah," said Mossy. "wasted effort."

"Now don't look like that." Said Bloodwyn. "Come on. I'll show you how to make designs in the latte foam; maybe you could find a new artistic outlet that way."

"Yeah," said Mossy with a half-hearted smile, not quite ready to give in to getting cheered up. "That would be okay."

Mossy tried to focus on exactly what Bloodwyn did with the steamed milk and espresso to make such elaborate pictures, but his heart wasn't in it. In his mind, he could hear the beat of the drums and the roar of the crowd. He knew where he was supposed to be, and this wasn't it.

Tap Tap, tap, tap. Went Mossy's foot. Jingle jangle went the door, and swooshing swirl came the sound of the steamed milk in his hand.

tap tap, jingle jangle, swirl.

tap tap, tap tap, swirl swirl jingle.

tap tap, tap tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle.

His head began to bob to the rhythm.

Tap Tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle

Tap Tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle.

The Groove hit. A bluesy club stretched out in front of him. The smoke from Halfling pipe weed drifted in the air amongst the velvet draperies.

Tap Tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle.

Click-clack went the register.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The masked man and the mug" Tap Tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle

tap, tap, tap, tap.

Tap Tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle

I got the blues. I got the blues.

I got the swamp of coffee.

Ain't nobody laughing,

No guitar to play my blues.

Tap Tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle

Tap Tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle

I got the deep, dark roast blues.

There ain't no way to latte.

Lost my friends along my way.

Tap Tap, swirl swirl, jingle jangle

Ain’t got no more music.

No more love and no more

I got the, lost all my music.

Now. Just make coffee.

Got the blues for you.

A coffee bean thrown with considerable force struck Mossy’s forehead. He blinked. Mr. Beanhammer was standing at the door to the kitchen. Looking at him.

"What is it?" said Mossy.

"There's a line," said Mr. Beanhammer.

Mossy looked up. He noticed the line at the register and the parchments of drinks waiting to be made. "Yes, sir." Mossy deflated and focused on making drinks.

Some time later, the door opened, and four familiar faces walked through the door. "Hey, Chaz, Devo. What's up!"

"Hey, Moss man," said Chaz. "How you doing, man?"

"I'm doing good!" said Mossy. "You guys coming in for coffee?"

"Yeah!" said Chaz. "We just had, like, an awesome jam session. Really wish you could have made it."

"Yeah," said Mossy. "I wish I could. But you know," Mossy said, looking around.

"Yeah," said Devo. Look, man, when are you coming back to practice? We miss you, man."

"I don't know." Mossy said, "I got... I gotta get a guitar first. I can't just play nothing."

"Yeah, but how long is that gonna be?" Asked Chaz.

"I don't know, man. Soon as I can."

"All right, man. Well, we're gonna go officially register Swamp Rock for the Battle of the Bands. You're going to be ready by the time the Battle of the Bands comes, right, man?"

"Of course," said Mossy. "How can I miss it?"

"Awesome man," said Chaz. "Look, you couldn't, like, sneak us a cup of coffee, could you?"

Mossy looked around at Bloodwyn at the cash register, at Grog in the kitchen, and at Mr. Beanhammer in his office with the door propped open. "I can't, man. Like I'm already messing up a little bit today."

"But come on, Mossy. We’re your boys. We’re your band. We’re swamp rock!"

"Yeah, swamp rock forever!" Said Devo and Steve.

"Swamp rock forever!" said Mossy. "But like Mr. Beanhammer won't let me, man."

"You changed," said Chaz.

"No, I haven’t. I… look I'm going to try and do something. Hey, Bloodwyn! I'm going to try making those like Latte Art things that you've been showing me." Mossy winked at his friends and waved them away.

"Okay," said Bloodwyn. "Let's see how you do."

"Alright, let's see. First I grind the beans, and," clack clack, "I get them into the hopper. Then I put the hopper on the espresso machine."

"That's right," said Bloodwyn.

"Then I hit the button, and start steaming the milk."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, and I put a cup right here. And"

"Uh huh." Bloodwyn nodded with encouragement.

"So it's got a swirl just like this, and then I watch it, little bit by little bit."

"Yes. Let it foam up a little. No, no, not like that," said Bloodwyn.

"Then I just"

"No!" said Bloodwyn. "Not like that."

Mossy poured a large, frothy mess. On top of the shot of espresso. The result looked like a White Mountain, with brown rivers running down the sides, overflowing the cup, and pouring onto the counter.

"Mossy. That's the worst one yet."

"Darn." Said Mossy. Putting it on the counter off to the side. "I’d better make another one."

"Yeah," said Bloodwyn. "Why don't you try with another one?"

Stolen story; please report.

The next one was just as bad. This time, there was not enough foam. It was far too runny, and once again it was overflowing. The third time, Somehow, Mossy managed to set the espresso on fire.

"That shouldn't happen," said Bloodwyn. "That shouldn't be possible."

"Well, let's put it out with the milk," said Mossy. The result was interesting, but not something to be desired. It also found its way onto the counter. Next to the other drinks. The next was passable but didn't have anything resembling the art that Bloodwyn could make on top of a latte.

"Dang it! Why don't you show me again?" Mossy said.

"Okay, but only because there are only a few customers around." Bloodwyn focused deeply on the steaming milk. "You see how it swirls just right? You need to let it swirl to incorporate just enough air. Really focus. Let the world around you disappear. And then, when it's just right, pour it over top. Wiggle just like that, and walla! huh? Why does it look like a bandit's mask and an empty counter?"

"I don't know," said Mossy, wiping down the counter next to him. "You really are good with that. Latte Art."

"Well, you know I try."

Mossy looked back at Chaz and the gang, who were all sipping coffee and giving him a thumbs up. Mossy turned around to find yet another coffee beam bouncing off his forehead.

"Oh, Mr. Beanhammer."

"That was really something, lad. I saw what you did there. And you trick young Bloodwyn into helping you out."

"What?" said Bloodwyn.

"Yes, lad. He let his friends sneak in and steal the drinks he had made while you were making one."

"Oh?!" said Bloodwyn. "I’m so sorry, sir."

"Keep a closer eye next time. Lad."

"I will, sir. so sorry, sir."

"See that you do." With that, Mr. Beanhammer wandered back to his office.

Bloodwyn turned on Mossy with a glare. "Now listen you. I get that you want to look cool in front of your friends, but you've got me in hot water with Mr. Beanhammer."

"I'm sorry," said Mossy. "I didn't mean to upset you. Just because you know they're my band, I had to."

"Band or not. You only get one free drink per shift."

"But we just, like, make those drinks and throw them out."

"That's different. That's training"

"Yeah, but"

"No buts. Focus!"

"Dang. Wait, why did Mr. Beanhammer call you lad?"

"What do you mean?" Said Bloodwyn.

"I mean, you're like a girl. Shouldn't he call you like lass or girly or something?"

"Why would he do that?" Said Bloodwyn.

"Well, like? Because you're a girl, right? You are a girl, right?"

"Of course I am." Said Bloodwyn. "How old do you think I am?"

"I thought you were around my age. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, right," said Bloodwyn. "Elves don't change gender."

"What?" Said Mossy. "I keep forgetting. Most races don't change gender when they get old."

What?" said Mossy, knitting his brows together.

"Yeah. Nagas change gender when we get older. I mean, most people stay female their whole lives, but some people become male if there aren't enough males around to fertilize the eggs. I'm at one person who had the same person as mother and father because the timing worked out that way."

"What?" said Mossy.

"Yeah. Like, when did you become male?" asked Bloodwyn.

"I’ve always been a guy," said Mossy, confused.

"Oh, so Elves don't become male at some point?"

"No, you're born that way."

"Oh, that's so weird," said Bloodwyn.

"So wait. If you're not a guy yet, Why does Mr. Beanhammer treat you like a guy, come to think of it? I think he's called Tawney Lad a few times too."

"Oh, Mr. Beanhammer's a dwarf. Of course he calls everyone lad."

"What do you mean?" Said Mossy.

"Well, think about it. Dwarfs only have one gender."

"Wait, really?" Said Mossy. "I’ve known a few dwarves, and I never really noticed that before. I had a teacher at school who was a dwarf, and he recognized both genders."

"Well, some progressive dwarves will recognize other genders in other species, but they only have one. For the conservatives. Like Mr. Beanhammer."

"Wait, Mr. Beanhammer is conservative. I thought he was eccentric."

"I mean, he's that too. For traditionalists like Mr. Beanhammer, there's only one gender. I mean, from what I understand, technically, he was born female, I think, but regardless, all dwarves are guys. So he calls everyone lad."

"You're making my head hurt." Said Mossy. "Yeah, well, you know, gender is just more complicated for some races than it is for elves."

"Apparently," said Mossy.

"Look, if you're going to last in this job, you're going to have to learn to be nice and respectful to everyone and do your best to treat everyone the way they want to be treated. And, well, sometimes you're going to have to learn to correct yourself when you get things wrong, even if you don't understand why you're wrong. It's just part of the job."

"I guess that makes sense, but I think I'm still confused."

"It's okay." Bloodwyn said. "You can be confused. Just don't think too much about it and assume that everyone's a good person underneath."

"I could do that," said Mossy. "Bloodwyn?

"Yeah, Mossy?"

"I really am sorry. I got you into trouble with Mr. Beanhammer. Like I just wanted my friends to think this job is cool and I’m still part of the band."

"Yeah, I got it, Mossy. Oh, look, here comes another customer looking alive. I'll take the register; you keep making drinks."

"I can do that!" said Mossy.

The next group to come in was a group of adventurers. Luckily, there were only three of them, and none of them ordered more than 30 Drinks each. So between the two of them, they were able to handle things without too much difficulty. That was until Mr. Radacast, the famous bard and wizard of sound, strode through the door. His saxum-azusa-fiddle-phone was strapped over his shoulder. He wandered up to the counter.

"May I take your, Oof?" said Bloodwyn as Mossy shoved her out of the way.

"Mr. Radacast, sir, what can I make for you?"

"Oh, well, I would like three mando melody mochas and two loud lunar lattes. To go, please."

"Of course, Mr. Radacast, it’s coming right up," said Mossy as he hopped towards the latte machine. Behind him, he heard Bloodwyn groggily tapping on the cash register and telling Mr. Radacast the price.

Mossy skated on the floor tiles in front of the latte machine. Running in place for a moment before falling on his buttocks.

"Oh," he said, hopping up and onto the stool in front of the latte machine he used to get to the right height. "Okay. Tap, tap, tap the amount of grounds, put it in the machine, push the button, and swirl the milk. Focus. How does Bloodwyn do this? She likes to focus in, really intensely. focus perfectly now."

He glared into the swirling liquid and heard a loud and unpleasant screech as he pulled in too much air. "This is a latte. You're going to need to pull in some air, but then swirl it in deeper. You got this Moss Man, you got this."

He didn't have it. When he tried pouring, it didn't pour as fluidly, and the foam came out as a blob on top. It wasn't the worst latte he had made. But it probably wasn't good enough for Mr. Radacast. He put it aside and started on the second one and the third. By the time he had gotten to the fifth one, he realized he still hadn't put one out for Mr. Radacast.

"It'll just be a minute."

"This has got to be perfect," he said to himself. "He wanted a loud lunar latte. So adding the moon dust at just the right moment Okay, and now crank up the sound and pour it in, and there we go." Better. This one was good. Four drinks later, he had only managed to make another two for Mr. Radacast. He realized that he was getting behind and that he was making more duds than good drinks.

"Do you need a little help over there?" Asked Bloodwyn.

No," said Mossy. "I got it. I got it. There was a squeal, and a spurt of milk foam covered his face. "I don't get it."

"Okay, Let me take over. You get register."

It seemed he had not even gotten to the register before Bloodwyn somehow clinked the cups of coffee on the counter for Mr. Radacast. He took one sip of the drink that Bloodwyn had made, closed his eyes, and seemed transported to another realm. He began tapping his foot and playing with his instrument.

"This latte gives me an idea." He said.

A beat started to form, and he started huffing the bellows on his instrument. After clicking some keys, a melody started to develop. Mossy's friends started tapping the beat out on their own table. Mr. Beanhammer started to sing.

Before Mossy knew it, half the store was swept up in the moment that the sound mage was creating. He knew this was his moment. He reached behind himself, grabbed the broom, and started to strum.

"Twang!!!" The string broke.

"What was that?" said the wizard.

"I’m sorry. I spoiled the moment," said Mossy.

"Is that a broom? Asked Radacast.

"I mean, technically yeah, but,"

"You're really playing a broom. When we're getting in the groove."

"I’m sorry, Mr. Radacast. It's the only instrument I have."

"Let me guess. You work in a coffee shop down the block from my establishment. And so you think you're in a band?"

"No, I am in a band."

"You're in a band, and you play the broom?"

"No, I'm in a band, and I play the guitar. I just don't have a guitar."

"Young lad. You're confusing me?" Said Mr. Radacast.

"Well, you see, I had a guitar, and I broke the guitar, and I was going to be in Battle of the Bands, but now I work in a coffee shop."

"I feel like there may be more to the story than that."

"Oh, there is. Do you want to hear it?"

"No!" said the wizard. "Next time, don't play the broom and ruin the mood."

"But Mr. Radacast, you're my hero and..."

Mr. Radacast walked out the front door.

"Darn," said Mossy. He looked over to his friends, who wouldn't meet his eye. A few minutes later. The bell on the door rang again, and his friends were gone. "Darn," said Mossy alone again.

"I’ve never seen Mr. Radacast leave so quickly," said Bloodwyn.

"Don't make me feel any worse."

"Sorry."

"What am I going to do?" said Mossy. "I can't just go on without, you know. Music."

"Well, have you tried going to the pawn shop?"

"The pawn shop?" Said Mossy, stroking his chin fuzz.

"Yeah, the pawn shop. You know, down Squid Row. I bet they have plenty of instruments. I'm sure they've got something you could afford."

"Yeah, Maybe. I hope I can get something as nice as my fiddlehead guitar."

"I don't necessarily think of nice when I think of a pawn shop," said Bloodwyn. "But who knows?"

Mossy's heart raced with excitement as he glanced around the music shop.

"Welcome to the lute crate. Pawn shop and purveyor of used, hoarded, and nearly new instruments Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" said the shopkeeper.

"Of course, I need a new guitar."

"Well, you've come to the right place, said the shopkeeper. We've got guitars, lutes, liars, harps, accordions, ukuleles, and buckets with strings—I'm sure we can find the perfect instrument for you."

"Awesome!" said Mossy, hopping up and down.

"Now this is a real adventurer's loot," said the shopkeeper, gesturing to a finely carved dark oak instrument with Opal buttons. "Now this one has everything a young performer like you might need. It's got a muffle, an amplifier, and an auto-tune spell, so you'll always be in tune. Not only that, but," the shopkeeper said, pressing a button on the side, and a dagger shot out of the end of the head of the loot. "It doubles as a weapon. Perfect for your combat Bard. Only 1872 gold."

"That might be a little more than I want to spend today."

"All right, all right. Well, let's go with one of your basic models. no enchantment This one here I like to call the basic plus guitar. With the gnarly headpiece and the masterwork inlay, there are no enchantments, but we can do an in-house tuning for new customers; this one's only 600 Gold."

Mossy unconsciously fidgeted with his coin purse. "That still might be more than I have."

"All right. How about this fine elven Hartwood guitar with good quality and excellent sound for only 250 gold? Okay, that one doesn't work for you. How about this human-made harp? It's a little high strung but it'll get the job done. 100 Gold? Nope. Okay. Orchestra accordion No. Second hand salamander, sixth string...

No, no, no. Mossy was starting to despair; this was the most money he had ever had. It just wasn't fair. It seemed a tragedy that even now that he had a job, granted a job he had for a week, he still couldn't afford any of them. The guitar of his dreams had never seemed so far away.

"Don't you have anything just a little bit cheaper?" He said.

"Well, I suppose you could try this," said the shop owner, passing over an old, battered case. "The case doesn’t come with it, but I don't know; maybe it'll work for you."

Mossy held his breath and clicked the catches. He lifted out a slightly misshapen guitar with a few inexpertly repaired cracks and spots where it had been worn so thin that the wood vibrated with the movement of the air.

"It's not the best we ever had, in truth; it's actually the worst. But uh"

"I can give it to you for, say, five gold." Mossy looked down at his pouch.

"done"

"Great," he said. "I’ve even got enough left to take in a couple of shows. Oh, I could go try that new barbecue place. It smells like a barbecue Pit. Smauk’s Misty mountain of meat Hey, out of curiosity, how much is the case?"

"Oh, I can toss it in for four gold."

"Great. All right. Well, I should be getting tips like this all the time. So no biggie if I spend too much. Yeah. So nine golds total?"

"That's right."

"I'll still have five silvers left after that and some coppers. Yeah, I'm good. Let's do it!" With evident Glee, Mossy bounced from the shop, ready to show his bandmates what he had got.

"We will be back on track for the battle of the bands in no time," he told himself.

Mossy slid open the door to Chaz’s garage. "Hey guys. Look what I..." The band was all there. Not just the band.

"Oh, hey, Mossy."

"Mossy. We weren't expecting you today. We,"

"And who is this?" Said Mossy.

"Well, we weren't expecting you. Like we said, with one thing and another, You know, we thought we might demo a new guitarist." Chaz seemed to deflate with the admission.

"A new guitarist?" said Mossy. "You guys aren't replacing me, Are you?"

"Woh, woh, woh, Mossy, man. Don't get so upset over it, you know? No hard feelings. We love playing with you and everything, but you don't have a guitar," said Devo.

"I do so have a guitar. What do you call this?" Mossy said, taking out his guitar case.

"Wow, man, you got a new one," said Chaz. "

"That's awesome. Your parents finally came through?"

"No, not exactly. This one I kind of got on my own."

"Nice. The case looks a little old, though. Is it? Used?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It is kind of used, but don’t worry, it'll sound great."

"Go ahead," said Chaz. "Let's hear it."

Mossy flipped open the case. "Oh, this doesn't look too promising," said Hoyt, the new guitarist.

Mossy gently stroked the side of the guitar. "My girl here will sound great." Oh, he said he was coming away with a splinter. He smiled nervously. "It happens all the time."

He started to tune the guitar. It wasn't bad. Okay, it was bad. But it wasn't that bad. Was it? The way his bandmates cringed made him think it was that bad, and a pit opened up in his stomach. Don't focus on them. He told himself to focus on the music. Strumming one long note, he started into a song. He got about three chords in before, "twing," one of the strings broke.

"That's just a minor setback," said Mossy. trying his best to continue with a broken swing string. He started playing louder and faster to compensate. "Twain! crunch!"

A crack opened up in the neck of the guitar.

"Well, that's unusual," said Mossy. "Well, you know, it's just."

"It's a piece of crap. It is what it is," said Devo.

The pit in Mossy's stomach opened wider, as if he had fallen through. All he was aware of was a vague floating sensation, as if he were far away from his body and things were being said to a very different elf.

"Look, man, see, we’re your friends, but." Said Steve

"Look, what he's trying to say is well..." Shrugged Devo.

"Okay, so see, man. This isn’t. Hell, I'll just say it. We can't go on stage with that guitar. Mossy, you can't be in the band. If you don't have an instrument," finished Chaz.

"But I was here when we founded the band; remember, Devo, you and me. We came up with the name." Devo didn't catch his eye. "And Chaz, we wrote our first song together, or did you forget The Ballad of Chaz and Mossy, the Rockstar gods?’"

Chaz seemed to find something very interesting on the tip of his shoe. "Look, Mossy, man. We've got to do what's right for us right now. You can't even make it through a practice. So we're going to play a while with Hoyt here, and maybe I'll catch up with you later."

"Yeah," said Mossy, "deflating later."

"Later," well, what the heck was he supposed to do later? It's not like he had anything better to do than hang out with his friends.

Even though his shift was over, he found himself wandering back to the Magic Mug . "Hi, Tawney."

"Hi, Mossy. What's that you have there?" She said this, pointing to the shabby guitar case he was holding.

"It's nothing, Tawney."

"I didn't know you were in a band!" said Tawney. "I mean, I knew you were in a band. I didn't know you were STILL in a band. Did you get a new guitar?"

"I did." Said Mossy. "I just broke it. I spent all my money on it. And it broke".

"Oh no!" said Tawney. "What's wrong with it? Can I see?"

"I suppose. Do you know anything about guitars?"

"No," said Tawney. "Oh, I see the problem. This bit here is cracked, and you've got this bit over here. Yeah, no wonder it couldn't handle you playing it. It has a few cracks, but it can be fixed."

"It can?" Mossy was starting to find a glimmer of hope.

"Yeah."

"I thought you said you didn't know anything about guitars."

"Oh, I don't," said Tawney. "But you know, my uncle was a woodworker, and I used to spend all kinds of time in his shop. He even had me play some of the harps that he made. beautiful instruments."

"Wait, he's a woodworker, and he makes harps."

"He was a woodworker most of the time, but his first love was always the harp, which he taught me a little bit. Here."

Somehow, with the rudimentary tools available to her, Tawney was piecing together his guitar. She straightened the neck and somehow sealed it using raspberry jam and honey. She pieced the body back together and tapped it into place. She re-strung the strings, winding in a bit of her own hair, and gently struck out one pure tone.

She handed it back to him. "This won't hold up to much. So you're going to have to be gentle with it. You're going to have to learn to be patient. I could do a little bit better job piecing it together if I had proper tools. But you know." She looked around. "It's a coffee shop."

"Wow. I didn't know that you knew anything about this."

"Like I said, my uncle's shop."

"Do you know how to play?"

"A little bit," said Tawney. "I would mostly sing along with my uncle while he played."

"Okay, let's sing a few bars."

Tawney started with an old folk melody from her people. A Song of the Farm, the Home, and the Hearth Mossy tried to follow along slowly, gently plucking chords on his guitar. The two fell into a rhythm, and just for a moment, the coffee shop stood still with their song.

"Ay, lads," said Mr. Beanhammer. "That was a beautiful song."

Mossy looked up and cringed away, expecting another beam to be thrown at his forehead.

A few customers applauded. And a few coins clicked into the tip jar. "Wait, you're not mad?" asked Mossy.

"Well, I'm a little annoyed. You're distracting your coworker when she's on shift. But it was a lovely piece."

"It was," said Mossy. "Hey Tawny, this guitar probably won't handle swamp rock, But do you think you and I might be able to play sometime?"

"Sure. Mossy. I would like that."

"I would like that too." And with that, Mossy nodded to his friend, slung the guitar case over his shoulder, and walked out into the night.