He paid no more attention to the slave girl as he negotiated with her golden owner. He had made her uncomfortable which in turn had left him with the same feeling. She couldn’t have been much older than six months, still a pup, and probably afraid after being taken away from her home by this stranger. A song would do well to lighten the air.
Though he knew many songs, he did not know the kind that the woman asked for. He flicked his ears back as he tried to remember if any of the songs he had learned had been called a ballad. Coming up dry, he relented to asking her. “A ballad? I’m not sure that I do. What do they usually sound like?” He frowned at his lack of knowledge; he was supposed to be the expert on all forms of entertainment. What good was he if he couldn’t even fill a simple request?
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