The medicine man had always talked about the circle of life that continues unbroken like the circling stars in the heavens, but Mousaf had never been very religious. His village was small, but he was happy with what he had - the woven cloak on his back given to him by his long dead mother, the cello his brother had given him before the accident, and the breath in his lungs. What more could he possibly want?

So Mousaf made his living as the ancient bards had, traveling from village to village. His voice may not have captured hearts, but his words and the movement of his fingers did. So when the lioness came upon him on the lonely road between villages, he did the only thing he could. He played for her.

And then he lost the breath in his lungs to the lioness's hungry jaws. She was not a music lover, but Mousaf was not saddened. His mother and brother awaited him, and he played for them instead.