The fire danced and swayed, pulsating to the sounds of the private concert played for only two souls. Each strum of the harp’s cords brought the fire to life, making it shine brighter and brighter as it rolled in harmony with the melodies maestro who laid back relaxing against a felled tree stump. She’d already played for quite a while now and was expecting to have to stop any second now. Sure enough, the stings of pain began to reach her, signaling the blockage of power in the strings.


    She ceased playing at once, not wanting to push herself further than necessary. The stinging pain died away almost immediately as the blocked power struggled to vibrate along what few paths had been repaired within her body. As she sat, panting slightly from the sensations in her arm the fire died back down, and the air grew quiet and still.


    “You’re getting pretty good with that thing,” Jake said across from her, leaning forward across his knees a bored expression on his face.


    “Thanks…” Alice said, a slight strain to her voice as she felt her body sag down even further somehow as if melting into the uncomfortable lump of wood she used as a pillow.


    She’d been repeating this routine for hours. Since they’d arrived in the middle of the forest, surrounded by trees with barbed leaves a blood-red color and tough, unyielding, bark. They had chosen to simply relax and set up camp. They’d found a few bulbous fruits, a suspiciously vibrant shade of crimson tucked within the barbed leaves of the trees surrounding them, and so they had little reason to wander.


    This suited Alice perfectly fine. It gave her ample amounts of time to practice, perform for the fire, and feel the vibrations of the strings within as they hastened to try and rebind themselves. The sooner they finished their task the sooner she’d be free of this horrid pain and allowed free use of her arm again. But even though she’d spent the last few hours performing all manner of melodies for the flame, racking her brain to come up with new exciting songs she could play with the limited notes available to her, the progress of the strings had slowed to less than a snail’s crawl.


    Where at first the progress of rebinding had been explosive, her severed strings reaching out and grasping hold eagerly and allowing her control of her fingers and hand again without the ever-present pain, now the more she played the less the strings seemed to react. It was hard to describe, it didn’t feel as if the power reverberating through her was lessening. Rather, it felt as if her body was quickly growing acclimated to the string’s vibrations, used to the pulse and pull of the power.


    Before the strings had rapidly reached out to repair one another amongst the sudden tirade of power flowing in her body. Now though, as the strings grew more and more used to the melodies she played they seemed to more easily distribute the power. Less desperate was the blocked power in her hand to escape. Less eagerly did the severed strings try to repair themselves. They had no reason to anymore, now her body had learned to accommodate the amount of power produced by the songs played using the three-stringed harp.


    Before it had taken her only a few moments to be overwhelmed by the power as the blockage in her arm continually reverberated upon itself. This last time though, she’d comfortably been able to play a variety of tunes for what felt like half an hour with no problems. Even the pain she had felt had been less severe, tiny pinpricks running along her arm warning her continuing could be problematic.


    At first, she thought her ability to continuously play was a good sign of her recovery, a sign the strings in her arm had healed and could now properly handle the blockage. Still, though, she could feel most of the strings in her arms left in a frayed disheveled state, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Still, she couldn’t move her arm without pain, forced to leave it limp in her sling. Her body had simply grown used to the harp and could comfortably handle it even if her strings lay crippled.


    It was an odd feeling understanding that. It frustrated her, having the clearest chance of recovery stolen from her. Yet at the same time, an odd sense of pride shone within. To have concrete proof she was in some way improving the strings, making progress even if she couldn’t fully understand it. It felt good. Even if that progress now stood at as roadblock to her health.


    “…If only I had a few more strings…” She said aloud, holding the battered harp aloft. It was old and frayed, and she could see where one might thread new chords into the harp. Yet all that remained were the three notes she played on a loop, with no clear way to add more.


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    “Well let me see that thing. We have plenty of spare fabric. Wouldn’t hurt to try looping it through.” Jake said, holding his hand out for the harp. His offer made some sense, though she doubted bits of torn cloth would play right. Still, she hesitated, reluctant to hand the harp over. She couldn’t explain why, it was simply a primal urge within her. It screamed in her brain, telling her not to part with the harp. Not to give it away.


    “What’s wrong?” Jake asked, tilting his head slightly as he stared at her frozen form, “Do you want me to try adding more strings or not.” She did. It could be a game-changer. Hand trembling slightly, she reluctantly released the harp into his care. She couldn’t quite explain why she felt so uneasy. Why did she find it so hard to trust someone else with the instrument? It was like she’d been forced to give away a limb she’d just recently received. She hated the feeling.


    “How do you plan to thread a new string through it?” She asked, trying to distract herself from the hateful feeling inside her with talk.


    “Not sure yet. Could use the sewing spool, but that’s all we have to fix our clothes. Don’t want to waste it…”


    “Thanks,” Alice said flatly, staring at him with a deadpan expression.


    “You know what I mean. Where not even sure this will work. Not sure if we need special strings or what. I mean, what’s on here doesn’t look out of the ordinary but still…” Examining it closer, Jake took his first good look at the harp since first handing it over to Alice. He could see its metallic exterior hadn’t improved with time, as its bronze finish looked smudged and possibly held a few new dents. The strings though were his main concern.


    Threading them through wouldn’t be hard, he could see the channels they were meant to rest in so if he could just find the right type of thread there’d be no problem. But what thread to use? Examining the strings already latched to the harp gave no real answers. They were frayed and splitting, close to falling apart. He was amazed Alice could play a single note on this thing, let alone strum out full songs. The threaded strings did look rather thick though…


    Grabbing hold of some spare bits of cloth from his bag he began to truly shred them apart, pulling the threads free and laying them in front of him in a small pile. Alice watched this with a confused expression on her face but said nothing, figuring he’d either come up with a plan or gone mad. Either would be entertaining enough to watch and she could figure out which in time.


    Once he’d accrued a large enough pile of thread he began to try and bind them together, twisting the bits of cloth tight end over end as he threaded a thin bit of rope together. His technique was rather rough, as he’d never tried this before outside of screwing around with bits of grass. Still, he steadily made progress and figured out the optimal ways to braid the threads together. A bit of pressure there, a pull there, secure the whole thing, and yank it taut…


    He worked long and hard, his hands growing more and more uncomfortable the longer he went on. He wished he could take a break or simply tell Alice she was out of luck and would have to deal with the harp as it was for the time being. But he could feel her watching him intently now, a gleam in her eyes. He understood if he stopped now, took a break, or paused for the night, he’d never find this rhythm again. Never complete the rope.


    So, he pressed on, braiding and braiding the rope over and over till it was done. Long enough the stretch across the length of the harp and nearly the exact same thickness as the other dilapidated strings still pulled over the harp''s metallic frame. It took some effort to wiggle the rope into its preordained slot in the harp, nearly the same thickness as the other strings didn’t mean perfect so he struggled with fitting the rope a bit. Finally, though, he was able to sit back, and by the embers of the pair''s dying fire, he admired his handiwork. He heard a slight whistle, and glancing up saw Alice looking at him an impressed look on her face.


    “Not bad greenie!” She said, excitement clear in her voice. “Ever do something like that before?”


    “Never…” He said, fatigue hanging from his words as he slouched backward. “Harder than I expected it to be. Should work alright though… I think. If not, give me the rope back. I’ll keep it.”  She let out a slight chuckle as she gripped hold of the harp, the hateful feeling fading as the instrument returned to her.


    “Pretty good with your hands, huh?” She asked, remembering the sling she now wore was also something he’d cobbled together on his own.


    “I guess? Never gave it much thought.”


    She smirked at that response, a finger trailing down the newly added cord as she laid the harp down across herself. Unable to contain her excitement any longer, she strummed the newly added string. The sound that escaped was clearer than either of them expected. Instantly, as soon as the chord hung in the air, the embers of the fire sprang to life. Sparks danced across the remains of the once roaring flame and all at once new life was breathed into the duo''s extinguished campfire.


    Along with this, a sudden gasp escaped Alice. She could feel shudders travel down her spine as a new rhythm roared across the strings. Totally unfamiliar to them they struggled to contain the power, not knowing where to properly send it. In response to this sudden and new vibration she could feel the frayed strings in her arm hurry to latch together, braiding tight together end over end. Smirking a bit at the sensation she glanced toward the rope still quivering in the harps frame. This would do nicely.