The lone bag piper walked down the hill, his mournful dirge haunting the open spaces around him. She watched him, as if he'd come for her alone, staring into his eyes. The rest of the party fell away as the music ached inside her. Not much touched her, she'd numbed herself to feelings so she didn't get hurt. Only death touched her. But the bag pipes called her soul, pulled at the roots of a past she didn't know but longed to and wrung from her heart tears of sorrow that she couldn't stop. By the time he played Amazing Grace, she was a statue, hoping that no one could see her molded to the column, tears dripping from her chin. She wished he would go, yet longed for him to play on. She wished she could follow him. No matter what they looked like or how old they were or even if they were married, she was always in love with the bag piper. But only when he played.