Mewling floated through the tunnels of the mountain, not going anywhere in 
particular. Accordingly, it was no real surprise when she ended up at the music 
caves. She sat for a while, listening to the tones as water droplets fell. A flat 
note drew her attention to one particular ice formation; somehow, an icicle had 
formed with a bend, letting the drops fall out of place. Watching carefully, she 
guided the next droplet to fall from that icicle to the point straight beneath 
the base. She listened to the tone, sweet and pure, then shook her head and 
relaxed, letting the imperfection exist and highlight the rest of the tones.