Violinist & Flautist

   The next night Tomek heard the violin playing recommenced.   And this time, he walked around the lake until he reached a point where he could see the violinist.    Tomek was hidden in the brush, and could spy her across a narrow end of the lake, — just a few hundred feet away.   She was sitting by the side of the lake, her feet in the water. Her pale dress shimmering in the moonlight, as she played the violin.
The lake violinist.   It was the same lass he'd seen before, on her horse, and weeping by the pool.    Now playing melancholic, achingly sweet sonatas.
The violin is such a female instrument.   In the pulling of its strings, you hear the crying of the female soul, out over the waters.
And then, she began humming. He'd never seen a violinist hum or sing while playing their instrument, — but there she was.   Slow humming, that became a sort of chanting, — a calm, easy, soulful chanting, that seemed to match and merge with whatever she was playing. The two sounds took on the same sing-song, vibratto chords, floating out across the water.

They became the water, and the moon, and this night.

After some time, she put down her violin, and just sang. Chanted. Chanted ancient tribal chants, like that have been chanted around campfires for millenniums.

Now, she stopped, and took out a flute. Began playing the flute, just as she'd done the previous night. As expert a flautist as she was a violinist.
She held one end of the flute in her lips, — opening and closing her lips around it. And then the long shaft of the flute she held before her with her hands, moving them lightly and agilely up and down its surface. Seeing this, as well as listening to the light feminine music she made with it, made his own 'man-flute' stir. As if he identified with the shaft she held in her hands and played so well. Like the legends say, her flute-playing had made the cobra rise.

She played for an hour or so, and then got up and dissapeared into the brush.