The soft, melancholy notes drifted meekly through the boggy air of London. The strings trembled even as the bow left them, but they seemed to long for the touch of the bow, its gentle caress, to make music, to make harmony. Night was growing quickly; twilight shone teasingly at the dewdrops upon the roses, as if inviting them to remain past dawn. Soft, the roses were, their petals still waltzing to the sounds that lingered, trapped by the persuading fog. Even the fog wanted to withhold the last of the notes that loitered in the night air.

Autumn lay restfully against his chest. She was a pretty and gentle creature; young and beautiful, only seventeen of age. Her gentle breaths tickled him as it trailed with its warmth across his neck, her hair tickling him as well when she shifted against him, the strands skimming over his hands. Seph set the violin gently down. The light had flashed in its familiar and dreaded calling pattern, three times consecutively followed by a short series of five bursts. Carefully setting Autumn on the bed, he bent to give her a longing kiss.

"Don't forget this," She reminded, softly. In her hands she held a locket of sterling silver, intricately carved and designed.

Seph nodded wordlessly as he slid a revolver, chambers loaded, into the inner pocket of his dark gray travel coat. Pulling on his cloth cap, he gazed sadly at the instrument, packed, on the ground. The violin was sealed carefully into the casing, made of the same fine wood as of the instrument itself; tiger maple. He sighed as he patted the wood with finality, the mood of a departing friend. "Now remember what is to be done," his voice calm as usual as he turned again to Autumn. "As soon as the lantern goes dark, take the trail in the woods. Take winding paths; never stay on a straight road for long."

The lantern flickered again outside, much quicker than before; urgency. He held her in another kiss, deeper, sweeter, and somewhat bitterer with sorrow. She slid the locket into his hand and gave one last peck on his cheek. "May God bless us."

Seph nodded again. "May God bless us." Then his tall, thin form disappeared through the darkness of the doorway. The rusty hinge creaked with a hidden mourning as the wooden door closed, shutting away the last glimpse of the silhouette. Murmurs sounded in the darkness as footsteps departed, blending in with the sounds of night. After what seemed ages, the signal lantern was darkened.

His steps echoed through the alleys and resounded from the cold stone pavement. The rhythmic tapping of his cane upon concrete somewhat eased his anxiety as he continued to stroll in darkness. The cane was lengthy, and there was a hidden mystery about it that comforted him besides the musical tapping that it made. It was forged from the most excelling of craftsmanship, and most of all, it brought comfort to him. The comfort of reassurance.

The double gated doors grew as he approached nearer. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the wooden gates aside and struggled to see. Darkness spawned as the doors parted way, revealing a dimly lit pathway that seemed endless. I'm only eighteen, he thought. Forcibly restraining his hand from reaching towards his revolver, he tightened his grip on his cane and peered in. The hallway was devoid of people; the lights flickered, allowing the ruthless shadows to play across the carpet. Hairs began to rise on the back of his neck as the deathly silence compromised all other fears. He thought he heard the cocking of a gun as the doors closed behind him; the clicking of a locking chamber of the revolver was, after all, very familiar to him. The walls seemed to be alive. Sounds emerged from within them; quiet, furtive footsteps and more anxious clicking. A brief hiatus of quietness followed. Bloody hell, his mind called aloud, I'm done. His cursory glances shot towards the window that was mounted near to his left.

A fierce hail of shots splattered threateningly about Seph to drive themselves into the battered walls. Fragments of glass and splinters of wood showered upon him as he rolled awkwardly from the broken window. The essence of sulfur had begun to cling to the thickening fog. Smoke rose from everywhere, and the sharp smell of gunpowder seemed to permeate even the sickly mist. Shots continued to ring around him as he crawled warily away towards the woodlands. The merciful moon blanketed its glow with her surrounding clouds, allowing him the cover of lightlessness. Grass rustled as pounding feet raced this way and that at random; dim lanterns swayed unsteadily near and far, their weakly light unable to battle the power of night.

Seph continued to crawl, growing even more vigilant now as the random popping of shots gradually ceased. Leaves rustled with the pitiless breeze as he sought to hear the footsteps that rang all around him. He gripped tightly on his cane. There were many near; their steps seemed to scream and lash at him as the sounds tumbled through the brush. His fingers again grappled with his stick; he was only eighteen, he thought again. Luckily for the unsuspecting steps, Seph had begun to crawl again, slowly, silently, stealthily among the drying brush. The rapid clattering of horseshoes could be heard now, striking at the stony cemented walks behind him and beyond the wood. With the horses came more lanterns and men; men with rifles and hounds. The bloodhounds. Quickening his pace, Seph crawled behind the cover of shadows and bolted upright, racing into the depths of the forest.

The dogs whined under the glare of the lamps as they scratched impatiently at their leashes. The whining grew to excited whimpering as the leather collars slid soundlessly away. Before the leashes fell they were off; bloodhounds always enjoyed a hunt. They sniffed and raced and paused to sniff again as they made their way into and through the foliage. Following the dogs were the men. The men with the lanterns and rifles. At the head of the pack a long howling rose, a sound of disappointment and desperation. The hounds ran in circles in place by a lake as they continue to whine and bark, pawing anxiously at the graveled dirt as their bloodshot eyes stared helplessly into a lake. The lake that had eluded them of their quarry.

Further down the lake Seph had taken up to running once more. Water slopped heavily as he ran, for his clothes were soaked up to his knees. He had waded into the lake for some distance before turning back to shore. He dared not cross the lake, however, not yet, for there were more men there. Snipers. Seph ran some ways before he turned into the lake again. Dragging his feet through the muddy bottom, combating against the snagging water plants he walked difficultly through the slush. After a distance he set foot on shore again and ran. His breath came in short huffs now, and his legs ached with weariness, but his boots continued to pound furiously away at the ground, putting distance between him and his pursuers.

It relieved him to hear that the barking was trailing away down the opposite end of the shore. The pale glint of moon shimmered upon the lake top as Seph climbed into the boat, well hidden by the grass and vines. Catfish thrashed about in the water as the boat pushed out into the lake, away the snags which held it in secrecy. The boat glided smoothly, slicing through the rippled that its oars had created. After rowing for a while, Seph turned into a small river before running it aground. He cupped his hands around his mouth; a soft shrilly whistle drifted through the pines as he called.

There was silence. Then the familiar faint, musical steps sounded through the rustling of the leaves as he sighed of relief. Autumn emerged from behind the concealing shadows, and her face has never been more beautiful. In her gentle and thoughtful hands she held the maple case; winking knowingly, she wiped away a tear of worry, the drop which glowed like a sapphire. She didn't speak, but her eyes seemed to have words of their own, talking through their pretty, soft shine. You're finally here; they seemed to say, smiling through her tears.

Hours passed before dusk finally rose shyly with its orange glow as she peeked timidly over the outstretched horizon. Allowing the boat to drift slowly down current of the river, Seph undid the latches that held the lid closed. His finger took the bow from its place as he carefully retrieved the violin from its bed. The smooth finish of the wood seemed to send warmth through his fingers as he held it, heating him from the chill of morning. Autumn smiled wearily as she watched, for the night was a restless one. Neither had been able to sleep, for the constant risk of danger has not yet left them. But soon, things will change, she thought. Hopefully.

Resting his chin against the instrument, Seph drew the first notes that broke the fast of silence over the tranquility of the creek. The song was full of optimism; the bow glided smoothly over the tingling strings as the orange glow grew brighter to overshadow the dull of dying night. The dock was in sight as the boat drifted to the end of the river; still he played. The song was more than music. It was optimism, it was happiness. Most of all, it sounded of hope.