“You put your fingers here,” Lindir explained, carefully helping young Estel to set his hand correctly over the strings of the small lap harp the child held. “Now you strum, like this.” He demonstrated with a glorious fall of musical tones.
Estel’s attempt to copy the master harpist’s movements resulted in a traumatic discord that sent his white cat scuttling out of the room, crying its discomfort.
Seeing Gilraen’s wince, Glorfindel quipped, “When it comes to the harp, I fear your son has five thumbs upon his hand!”
“I have to agree!” she replied, wincing again.
Thwank! went the strings.