Lyric sat on his stump before the cave, playing his Acor contentedly. The song he played was a dirge of his home world, both sad and sweet. It was deep like a bass thrum but light like a flute at the same time, floating and trilling through the air at one moment, echoing and resonating through the very ground at the next, each note speaking of a strange and inhuman--unearthly, even--emotion that could not be named or truly described.