6
“Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.”
Each small, stifled cry was another failure on my part. It was a few minutes later, and I was glad that I had separated myself from my new friends in the solitary sanctuary of the garden bench before the fountain. My small cries cut harshly through the gentle gurgle of the water as surely as the sharp whittle knife in my hand cut into my fingers.
“Ouch!” I yelped as the edge cut particularly deep into my finger.
I paused to give the blood time to clot and looked at the harp that stood on the bench before me. The whole of the instrument was roughly carved and a few splinters even peeked out. My efforts to tame the wilderness had left deep and uneven grooves over the top.
My shoulders slumped and I studied the bloodied blade. “Maybe I should have gone with T
