Every significant moment in her past was linked to a song. Her earliest memory was her mother humming a lullaby while Orica sat in her lap, drowsy in the warmth of a fire. She remembered the tumbling drums of Llach Na Thuun playing nearby as she and her first love lost themselves in a twist of blankets beneath an ash tree. The delicate arpeggios of a Trinish lament healed her heart after the same boy rejected her, for nobody told tales of heroic sorrow like the bards of Trine. Then there was the song that was played when her mother remarried; and the one that so impressed her master he said he
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Orica the bard
