His eyes gleam. "I know of just the one," he says, and reaches for his second pack, carefully stowing the flute inside and drawing out a small stringed instrument.

"I had this song from a streetsinger in Lantares," Azimar confides, settling the instrument across his lap and plucking an experimental chord. His lip twitches at the sound, and he reaches for the tuning pegs. "Minnowmead by name."