I'm still embarrassed by my earlier display as we continue. My friend has done so much for me, and continues to do so, and I'm just making him worry? That's unforgivable. No, no good comes from thinking like that. It just leads to more self loathing and from there self pity, and more people worrying, and the cycle just continues like that. I don't have to be perfect, but I can be better and will be better. For both their sake and mine.

"Huh, I just thought of something..." the large feline says out of nowhere.

"Really? I think about stuff all the time! At least several times a day! It's really not that big a deal." I pause, "Oh, I'm sorry I, don't mean to be discouraging! Congratulations on your thought!"

"Ugh, that's not what I..." he says, shaking his head. "Anyways, it's about that instrument of yours. You said that you originally saw it in a dream?"

"Yup! Sure did! From there copied I the shape and materials to the exact specifications!" I say, stroking a paw along the long neck of the instrument in my paws.

"...but you also said that you don't know what 'seeing' actually is?"

"That's right. I mean you know, I can sort of piece together some details of it, but can't say that I've got a solid handle on the idea." I say, nodding my head. Silence follows, as though he's expecting me to say something.

The silence continues. "Really? Do I honestly have to walk you through this?" he grumbles, that very familiar annoyed tone returning.

It takes me another good several seconds before it finally hits me. "Oh, I get it! I must have seen something, in this case, the instrument, so therefore must know what seeing is like, huh?" I smile, proud of the realization before giving the matter some extra thought. "Hmm, nope, I can't seem to remember. That's how dreams go, I guess. They just drift away like they never happened soon after you wake up. Huh, wonder what other things I've seen in my dreams but have since forgotten? I wonder what it was like... it's funny, even now, without touching the instrument I know the exact size and shape and specifications of it. I imagine that I could make another one really easily, but I don't know why I know."

"It does seem rather unusual... but then most things about you creatures seem pretty unusual to me."

"Huh, I wonder what happens to dreams. What do they want?"

"What? They don't want anything. They're just ideas that pop into your head while you're asleep. The aren't capable of wanting things." the cat says.

"Well, yeah, sure, I'll doubt that they actively think or anything, but everything kind of 'wants' something, doesn't it? A tree wants to grow, and that's why it does. Rain wants to fall and that's why it does. Everything has some sort of purpose, something it seeks to achieve despite all obstacles, even if they lack a real mind to rationalize it." I say, stroking my hands along the rough wooden surface of the instrument. "And then again, who's to say that they don't have minds? Who is to say that we do? We need to use our minds to even consider the idea, but what if they don't exist? What if they're just some sort of odd delusions which, like dreams, vanish when we're gone, and there's no sign that they ever existed in the first place? Who can say that a forgotten dream, or a forgotten thought, for that matter, ever even happened?"

"It sounds like you're over thinking things again." my companion grumbles.

"Huh, it's funny... dreams can both mean the ideas that come you to while you're asleep or goals. I wonder if there's a connection there? What do you think that dreams want? You know, the goal kind. On one hand, maybe they want people to achieve their goals... but doesn't that kill the dream? Maybe it's a good thing for the person, but the dream itself is lost. On the other hand, if you never achieve your goals, well, it gets to stick around forever! But maybe it's unfulfilled? And, of course, eventually the dreamer dies, and the dream along with it. Huh, so no matter what, the dream ends up dying? That seems kind of sad."

"Really? You're seriously in the mood for more death talk?" the cat asks.

"Hey, this is abstract enough to be less depressing! So, what do you think?" I ask him.

"Ugh, do I seriously have to give an opinion on this nonsense? Okay, fine, let me see... well, first off, everything dies eventually. That's not a big deal, and in itself, not such a bad thing. I guess if you want to think in such personified terms, it's a question of what dreams are designed for: are they things meant to be achieved, or are they simply a device to drive you forward? If they aren't so goal oriented, and designed purely to give a sense of purpose, then I guess it would not want you to have those dreams fulfilled, because that would represent a sort of failure. The person would then need to come up with a whole new motivation, a whole new dream."

"Huh... so you don't think that dreams are meant to be fulfilled?" I ask.

"No, not really. I guess maybe the person who accomplishes them might be happy for the rest of their lives, but what does that offer to the dreams themselves? Dreams aren't benevolent. They don't root for you to succeed. They are simply there, and whether you obsess over them and ignore them is up to you." he nods his head. Once more there's a pause. "Ugh, you're a terrible influence... I can't believe I spent this much time thinking about this idiocy!"

I can't help but chuckle. I'm then distracted from the subject at hand by a not-so distant sound. A strangely familiar one, yet different. Music of a very specific and recognizable variety. I nearly fall off of the cat's back as I stand upright on the pleasant yet rather uneven surface. "We have to go over there!"

"What? Where?" he asks.

"Over there!" I say, pointing enthusiastically towards the sound, hoping that there isn't a wall or something in the way. Even as I say it, I realize that I'm in no position to be ordering the cat around, but if he realizes this, he certainly doesn't show it.

I have little sense of my surroundings, beyond them feeling just a little less open than before. There's a little less grass-scent, a little more wood and stone. Not the sort of wood that comes from standing trees, but instead treated and constructed. Dead, now that I think about it, but repurposed into something useful and impressive. My friend was right, in that all things die in time, and that that's not such a tragedy in itself, even it should be avoided. Trees are kind of lucky, in that sense. Even after they die, they can become something new and long-lasting. Not many living creatures can honestly say the same.

The cat stops some distance away, but it's still close enough to hear it clearly: The beautiful guitar playing, loud and strong, clearly from an instrument far larger than my own, but I would like to think of similar design. I'm dazzled by the complexity of it, the way one note weaves into the next, the sheer variety of different tones which can emit from simple strings.

"Can't we get closer?" I ask, already finding myself standing precariously atop the cat's head, leaning forward to take in as much of the beautiful sound as possible.

"No way. They might not notice me, but you're another matter entirely." he replies. I can tell he's a little bit annoyed by my position, yet remains still.

I can't really argue with that. This music can only be coming from one of the Makers, and while they generally don't notice things like cats, they do tend to have a problem with mice. It would be terrible for my friend to get in trouble because of me. Instead, I carefully crawl back down to his back, and just sit and listen as the long and elaborate song plays through. All the while I can sense that the cat beneath me growing antsy and bored, and he hardly waits a moment after the song stops to continue moving.

"Hey, wait, they might start playing again!" I say.

"Who cares? I've got places to be, and have spent enough time waiting around as is." the cat grumbles. I can't really argue with that. He's gone to downright extraordinary measures to help placate me, and I'm in no position at all to demand more. As a result, we simply walk away.

"Wow, wasn't that amazing? It was so beautiful." I sigh, turning back over my shoulder, facing the general direction that the music had come from.

"Eh, I didn't like it."

I'm terribly confused. "Wait, what do you mean you didn't like it? The way they flowed from one note to the other, it was breath-taking! An absolute work of art! I couldn't even dream of playing like that!"

"It was just loud and over-complicated. Your music is much better." the cat nods.

I can't help but smile widely. "So, you're saying that you like my music?"

"I didn't say that!" the large feline blurts out, clearly flustered. "I'm just saying, you know... if I were forced to pick one or the other..."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Would you like me to play something?" I ask, completely incapable of hiding my grin. I'll admit, my current theory is far from an airtight one, but I'm quite eager to test it out.

"You can if you want."

"Alright then. I refuse." I simply say, folding my paws across my chest.

A long pause. "Fine then. If you don't want to, you don't have to."

"Oh, I didn't say that I didn't want to. I do. But I still won't." I say with another smirk.

"What? Why?"

"Because I think that you want me to play, but are afraid to say it, and that won't do at all! So, I'm not going to play anymore until you ask me to." I add, feeling more confident in my hypothesis by the moment.

"This is ridiculous. I don't want you to play. I mean, I don't not want you to play either. Whatever happens, it doesn't matter to me." he says. He makes every effort to sound as convincing as possible, but I've finally found something that my friend is less than talented at. It's clear that he has very little practice when it comes to lying. A strong-hearted, noble and honest creature such as him has little reason to, after all! I dislike the fact that he considers this situation to be a rare exception, however.

"I can tell that you're lying, and that's silly. What are you so afraid of? It's not like I or anyone else will think any less of you, and hey, even if we did, so what?" I ask, my confidence rising. "You're a big strong predator, and I'm just a meal! In fact, with my size, I'll bet I'm little more than a snack! If you want something, anything, you should just ask!" I pause, giving the matter some more though. "No, in fact, you shouldn't even ask! You should demand it! You should be all like 'hey, you, Food! you'd better start playing or i'm totally going to eat you!'."

"I don't sound like that..." he grumbles.

"Well, you get the idea! You're big and powerful, and the whole point of being powerful is that you can make things that you want to happen, happen! Powerful people aren't scared to say what they want! They aren't embarrassed or ashamed. They know they are right, after all, and if someone else, anyone else questions it, well, that's just a sign that they're weak and ignorant, right?" I lean a little closer, towards the furred ear, speaking softly directly into it, still smiling. "Now, tell me that you want me to play."

The cat fidgets a little under my seat. "I... suppose I wouldn't mind if you played."

I fall back into my seat, paws folded across my chest and shake my head. "Nope! Not good enough! You have to say it like you mean it!"

"Ugh, fine, I want you to play some more of your music..." he grumbles.

"Oh," I chuckle. "You 'want' it? Sorry, that's not good enough. A powerful, superior being doesn't ask or desire things, they demand and it happens! They say jump, and creatures like me say 'how high'?" I pause. "Oh, but I'd really appreciate if you didn't ask me to jump. I'm not very stable on my feet due to one leg being a little longer than the other. The funny thing is that which leg is longer switches every-"

"Just play your damn guitar!" the creature snarls, catching me off guard, almost forcing me to actually jump, which could very well have proved disastrous for the aforementioned reason.

I take a moment for my heartbeat to steady, and smile. "Well, if you insist", I say before settling back against the soft, thick fur, positioning my instrument and beginning to play. It feels a little bit easier, somehow, perhaps because I'm not thinking about it too hard, motivated more by my partner than on the specific strings. Perhaps it's the soothing sound of the distant waves which still flows through my mind, imagining the way that those great Maker machines effortlessly drift through them. The strings don't feel quite so rigid, quite so sharp. It's as though my own fingers similarly flow along and through them, the music invariably following in their wake.

The song, of course, has no name and no clear ending, instead it simply stops at some point. It might have been one minute later, it might have been twenty, I honestly couldn't say. Still, I can't help but frown. "No... it's still not quite right."

"I don't know what you're talking about. That sounded way better than the music the human played." the cat replies.

For the briefest of moments, I want to accuse my friend of lying again, but that's silly. My feelings are not the sort of thing important enough for him to wish to protect, and I don't sense any sort of deception. "No, I'm just doing it wrong, I can tell. Even if I'm getting better, I'm not getting closer. If anything, I'm getting further away from how it's meant to be played."

"Even if that is true, who is to say that the 'proper' way is a good one? It could easily sound worse." he says. "In fact, it probably will. It's a thing, after all, and like dreams, things aren't benevolent. They don't exist to please us or anyone else."

"But-but it needs me! It's the only thing in this world that does. I made it, and if I can't give it what it wants, well then, what's the point of any of this?" I ask, lovingly stroking along the worn and lumpy wooden surface.

"You're ridiculous. Now you're personifying a piece of wood? I've heard of people giving objects and lesser creatures personal attributes, but you're the first time I've heard of someone doing it purely to make themselves feel bad."

"Hey, it's more than a piece of wood! And I'm not just trying to make myself feel bad!" I growl at him.

"Heh, of course you are. Do you really think you're convincing anyone? I've seen plenty of mice before. Do you honestly think I believe that you're that much weaker, that much dumber, and that much less useful than all of those other idiot rodents? No. You just want to think that you're a failure, that you can't do anything because that means that nobody expects anything from you, that you don't expect anything from yourself, and you can just nestle into that comfy little bed of self pity you've made."

"That's not true!" I stand up, paws balled into fists.

"Sure it is. You're scared to admit that maybe you really are good at playing that music of yours, because the second you accept that, then you'll have to accept that maybe there's other things you're good at, too. Rather than just accepting that everything is useless and hopeless, you'll have to actually try, to actually care, and that? That's the scariest thing in the world, isn't it? Scarier than death. Why? Because if you try, really try and fail, well, that's not like your little pretend failure. It's something real and tangible. It means you have to try something else, maybe a whole new life. You have to grow. You have to change. You need to keep trying, harder and harder and it never stops."

"You don't know me at all." I grit my teeth, but tense as I feel the hot breath of his turned head on my face and chest.

"Are you talking back to me, Food?" he asks, his voice taking on a stern tone. The flash of anger I had previously felt fades immediately.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" I stammer, but to my surprise he chuckles in response.

"Nice to see you standing up for yourself for once." as he turns back, continuing on his way.

I sit quietly for a good few moments, thinking. "Is all of that true?" I finally ask.

"Who can say? I told you before, I've never cared much for the 'whys' of matters." he says without turning to face me. "But, I do know there are an awful, awful lot of mice in the world, and while one of them out there has to be the very worst, law of averages says that it's almost certainly not you."

We continue on in silence for what seems like a long time before I finally speak up.

"Would it be alright if I played another song?" I ask.

"I insist upon it."

And so I played. I wish I could say that the words of my friend were a grand epiphany, that a mental hurdle had broken in my mind, and that all at once the tool in my paws felt natural, that I had truly unleashed what I saw as its full potential, but unfortunately, that's not the case. Every note still feels just a little off, each missed opportunity to follow through with perfect sound lingered and accumulated in my mind as it always has, as I was certain that it always would. Still, though, I didn't stop. My friend didn't want me to stop, so how could I? Much like before, that does make things a little easier. It's still not right, of course, but there's less pressure to actually try to get it right. My own assessment of what 'right' even is hardly matters, after all. That really does make things a little easier. For the moment, at least.

This continues for some time, before a thought comes to me, tangentially related to our earlier discussions. "What is it that you want?" I ask, continuing to gently strum as I do so.

The cat beneath me sighs, "Look, I already told you that I wanted to you to play..."

I shake my head, but still can't help feeling just a little bit happy to hear him say those words once again, "Oh, I don't mean right at this moment, I mean in the grander sense. What are your dreams? What do you want from the world?"

To my surprise, he gives the matter no thought at all, instead immediately answering. "I've already told you: Food and naps."

I head-tilt, and ask, "That's it?"

"Yup." he replies. "Pretty much."

"Huh," I say, giving the matter some more thought, as I feel like someone has to, "I guess you can have those things pretty much whenever you want, right? You must be pretty happy then!"

He stops dead in his tracks and his body tenses. For hardly the first time, I worry that I might have offended my new friend, although I can't really figure out what I might have said that could be construed as offensive.

I find myself about to reflexively apologize when he finally replies, "I... suppose that I am." he says. I'm glad that he's not upset, but I still detect a sign of unusual trepidation in his voice.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" I asked. I'm not really sure that 'surprised' is the right word for it, but then I can't think of a better one. Maybe more concerned than surprised? But then, that's not quite right, either. The feeling behind those words was unclear, perhaps even to himself.

"I... don't know." he finally says, "I guess I just thought that actual happiness would feel a lot more significant."

I can't help but chuckle in response, "Nope. It's similar to sadness in that way. Sometimes it can be grand and overwhelming, but more often than not? It just kind of sneaks up on you, if you let it."

"I... see." he replies, but he sounds no less content. "I'm not sure that I like it.'

"Huh? How can you not like being happy?"

"Heh. You're one to talk." I feel his mood lighten, and his body ease up, but there's still a little bit of discomfort there. "I don't know. Maybe it just doesn't really feel earned. Like I don't really deserve it."

I nod my head, fully understanding. There's something that I want to say in return, but I worry that it will come off as empty and hypocritical, given the source. So I instead remain silent. Well, verbally silent, at least. I had continued to play all this time, and still do so.

After a long, long pause, I finally work up the nerve. "You do deserve it." I say in a soft voice.

"Hmm? What's that?"

"You do deserve it. To be happy, I mean." I say, still more than a little bit worried that I'm in no way qualified to say this, "And don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

I want to add the last part, 'especially not yourself', but I figure, in the end, I have no right to. I can only hope that the implication carries through. Just a hint of that earlier tension which had since faded away returns, leaving me worried that I might have done a bad thing, making him uncomfortable. Hardly a foreign sensation to me, as I often feel that way whenever I interact with anyone. I sense that he's tempted to argue the fact. I can kind of feel it in the muscles of my seat, but that little extra tension, thankfully, melts away.

"Right." he simply says. I'm not entirely sure that he believes it, but the fact that he doesn't outright disagree qualifies as a victory in my book.