Perception and Hearing
23/02/26
'Who are you?' There came the creak of a stranger adjusting their weight on the barrel, slowly and well-controlled. Then a sigh -- something that came from the depths of the chest, but was passed off as a wisp on the breath. 'Who indeed?', said the stranger, whose voice was like summer breeze through buckwheat meadows. 'You have a name, don't you?' 'I've had several over the course of my life. Which one would you like?' 'Whichever one you like best' And the stranger smiled at that -- I heard the slight lift in the pitch of their quick exhale. 'Nohra,' they said, simply. 'Light', I said. 'In the Paxhtai tongue.' 'You speak it?' 'A little. I learned some, in my younger years. The man who taught me was a fruitseller with a heavy accent, I'm told I speak like an old Saxteni man.' 'Oh, now I must hear it' And I paused, embarrassed. The words coming slowly to my mind, rusty and unexercised. And then I said, '_What should I say?_' Nohra did not respond for a while. And then, '_Whatever you like._' Their accent had turned from meadow breeze to intricate music, something easy and casual to something old, well-loved, that they could dance on like they'd been doing it their whole life. 'You sound beautiful' 'Hmph,' they said. 'Voices can be deceiving.' ''