A crowd had gathered around the boy and his mother, who frantically shook the boy, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Syril! Wake up! Please wake up…” She clutched him tight to her breast and sobbed. “Please don’t go…”

A man approached, silently, and took in the scene. After a moment, he gently inquired about the circumstances of this woman’s grief and her son’s condition. A fellow observer explained that the child had been struck by a passing coach, and was now feared to be dead. The coach hadn’t stopped, instead fleeing the scene heading east.

“I see,” said the man. He then opened a long pouch which hung from his belt and withdrew from it a thin, black flute which glittered in the sunlight. He placed it tenderly to his lips, drew in a breath, and began to play.

A single, crisp note came forth from the instrument, followed shortly by more notes, weaving into a beautifully enchanting song which stole the attention of the entire crowd. Even the sobbing mother stopped a moment, confused and afraid.