Jenny: Harper's Hands

Caleb quirked a smile at her odd, awkward use of his language. Like a cat or a stray cur she leaned in, anxious, curious, to look at the thing in his hands, poised to dart away at any gesture. He had seen her like before, the big eyes, the tense figure, but more often among young children that one her age. She must have been ill-used at one point, which prompted him to shift forward a little, rocking the harp off his shoulder, and ask, "Would you like to have a try? She will not mind your hands, I think. You have a harper's hands."

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