Long, sweet notes drifted down from the hillside, riding the breezes as they floated to caress the small animals who could hide from people, but who could not hide from the wind. The beautiful sounds seemed to call, to encourage and to entice the miniature creatures out from their hideouts, and draw them towards a place. None of the mice, birds or other animals knew why they came to the place, only that they did. 

They made their way over in the direction they were pulled as fast as they could, yet what takes a person one minute to walk can take a littler being five. But eventually the animals arrived, and saw what, or rather who had compelled them to come. The girl did not look like much; there wasn't much of her to look at. Dark brown hair streamed out behind a slim child of thirteen who looked far younger, and smouldering hazel eyes were framed by a pale face frowning with concentration. April raised the flute to her lips and played, but most of her attention was focused on the animals who had kept coming to her since she had started playing, playing with an aching heart that had remained so for three months so far. She had always known she was different to others, that was why she had no real friends, but even throughout her first difficult year of high school, she had not felt so lonely as she felt now. Even when she was teased for being so quiet and introverted- friendlily, of course- she had not felt so lonely. When she sat on her own as she ate her lunch, often moving to the library so she could sit in beauteous solitude and silence, she had not felt so loney- but now she did not find her silent solitude comforting. Now it seemed like a great oppressive blanket that threatened to muffle her own sounds, her own life even. The only time when she could escape the heavy weight of grief was when she played her flute. Someone had once said 'No sound without silence' but April would have preferred just a plain 'No silence'. To her, silence was the sound of sorrow and suffering and of loneliness. Her loneliness. I was happy once, she thought glumly, but I don't even know what happy means anymore. Since it happened. Since her world was tipped over, shaken, and dropped into a rubbish dump. Since three months ago.

When her Mum died.

The hole in her heart hadn't healed, hadn't even faded. She would have felt wrong if she had forgotten her Mother this soon, but surely no one deserved to feel this way. All those pretty metaphors people made up to describe death, but the truth was, it hit you like a hammer then whipped you till you fell. And then some. All the kids at school had at some point expressed 'their heartfelt sympathy' then ignored her again, her brief moment of fame extinguished as quickly as the life of her Mum. Late Mum. I can say it as many times as I want, April grimaced bitterly, but I just don't believe it. I expect her to be there when I get home, cooking dinner, working on the computer, doing some other Mum thing, but most importantly there for me. No one ever said death is as hard for those who lose the loved one as it is for the person who dies, but it was true all the same. With a start, April realised she'd stopped playing, so once again she raised the silvery metal instrument, the one her Mum had bought her and engraved her name on, and blew. Blew her song of loneliness and sadness, out across the winds, through the sky. And the animals around her lifted their heads and blew with her, sharing her pain, because a burden shared is a burden divided- or at least that's what they say.

They say a lot of things which aren't always true, too, she thought wryly, but this one might just be a truthful saying. Because she did feel better with all the small creatures around her, blowing with her, blowing a call out across the lands. A call of loneliness and devastation, drifting out across the winds.