He didn’t lift his hand and Astrid closed her eyes, awaiting the next.“Count.” “O-one,” she stuttered, already having forgotten the rules, w...ich did not bode well.She felt him lift his hand and she squeezed her eyes harder shut.The second hit was worse, but not much.“Two,” she counted out loud, but making no other sound.She felt him move again, lifting his hand and arm, and the sound when he hit her the third time was hard and sharp.She didn’t scream, but a hard pained groan found a way out of. “It was the talk of the sessions for a time. But what can they do? They still let me play, despite it.”“Maybe they realize that they need younger people to carry on the traditions,” I remarked.She looked at me acutely, nodding. “Aye, indeed they do. I don’t know why, but I have a real ... connection with the music of my home. It has everything for me. It is the saddest and most beautiful and most uplifting music you’ll ever hear.”“Hmm, that sounds amazing.”“I think it is,” she said, as she. More

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