They'd once danced to his will and produced music to make proud men weep. No longer, though they looked no different than they had a few days earlier. Nails kept short and well-filed. He'd used to chew them to the quick - until he bled - before he realized their ragged unevenness drove him to distraction. Basic hygiene training had done for that. Blunt tips padded thickly with callus enabled him to handle the hottest of dishes with little ill-comfort. More importantly, he'd been able to play for hours. Long enough that muscle fatigue forced him to stop. He hadn't had a practice blister in years. Long fingers sprang from broad palms. He'd been chastised often enough by his instructors over them. Not for merely possessing them. No, he'd been able to wrap his hands so far around the neck of his violin that he'd become lazy. Certain tough fingerings lost any difficulty. Vincent's lips quirked at the old, familiar thought that perhaps some of his teachers had been more jealous than anything else.
What do You think about Tales Of The Unquiet Gods?
