Herbalists' Cache Al I want to do is be with you

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Someone’s voice rose behind him and Turmeric sighed, dreamlike in his lovestruck stupor. Oh, my voice is nothing, really, not next to the one he was singing of. It didn’t matter he didn’t recognize the speaker from a hole in the ground. He was too lost in the bright heights of one spring day by the seaside to really think much about that.

It’s the subject of a song that makes the singing pretty, he continued on, and he turned to face the stranger now, whose warm brown eyes were framed by a similar shadow as the ones that graced Inkeri’s, without something -  or someone - lovely to sing about, music isn’t much else but noise, isn’t it?