A Song for the Time (Otherwise Untitled)
#222 of Short Stories
A coyote passes some time and leaves something behind.
~ The coyote held his violin by the neck with one hand while using the other to tap his comms device awake and lean it up against the violin's case on the table. Having confirmed that it was still connected and active, he settled back down into a seat to lift the instrument up to his shoulder. While his fingers danced across the length of the violin's neck, his off hand slid the bow from and across.
~ Eyes closed to consider the echoes through the otherwise unoccupied house, the coyote kept most of his focus on the recollection of notes to follow. The cascade of movements halted abruptly with the tone and flash from the comms device, to be replaced with a mutter, "It's my turn, I suppose. Evacuation beckons."
~ With an immediate sense of urgency, the coyote rose to his feet to stride across the room with comms device in one hand and the neck of his violin in the other. As he navigated the short hall he pocketed the one and deposited the later on the old worktable where sack lunches and keys typically accumulated, before striding out past the door and towards the nearest lift-jump landing pad.