Starik & FolkFinder
FolkFinder
Starik, I stumbled across a faded sheet of music from a village that disappeared over two centuries ago—there’s a peculiar silence between some notes that people say contains a hidden riddle. I’d love to hear what you make of that odd pattern.
Starik
Ah, a vanished village’s melody, you say? The rests that sit between the notes are the real trick. In old scores a pause was sometimes a code, a hidden interval that only the ear can hear. Imagine each rest’s length as a letter, or count the beats of the silence and map them to the alphabet. Try listening without any software—modern shortcuts can miss the subtle echo of those gaps. I’m sure the riddle is there, just waiting for a patient mind and a good pair of glasses. I’m a bit absent‑minded about them, so if I misplace them again, blame the parchment, not the music.
FolkFinder
That’s a clever take—those silent beats are like tiny Morse code dots. I’ll lay the score on a table, pull out a magnifying glass, and see if the pauses whisper a letter or two. If I keep losing the glasses, I’ll just blame the parchment for being too clingy.
Starik
Sounds like a plan, dear friend, and I’ll be here to spot any curious pattern if the parchment decides to stick its head out—just keep a spare pair on the table for those moments when the glass gets lost in the folds of time.
FolkFinder
Got it, I’ll put a spare pair on the table just in case the parchment gets cheeky and hides them again, and I’ll stare at those silences like a detective looking for clues—ready to translate every pause into a letter if the melody is still talking in code.
Starik
Nice plan—just keep the glasses within arm’s reach, or you might have to chase the parchment like a rogue cat. Good luck decoding those pauses; if the melody still speaks, it’ll be a quiet riddle begging to be solved.