Wren can't help but feel good at the whistle. He loves instruments, the differences present even between two guitars, much less a sitar, a lute. The personality of the wood and wire under his hands. It's not usually hard for him to tackle the differences - most of the string family is relatively alike - but he enjoys a challenge, anyway.

And he enjoys leaving an impression.

Alex watches, intent, and Wren falls easily into the story of the song and the pull of his listener's attention. It's a little intoxicating, a feeling like no other to be able to transport someone else for a little while. He has to admit he's especially enjoying the current company.

"...and killed the son and the great silkie."

He finishes the mournful chord. After a moment's silence he tilts his head. "And that's the end." He takes a sip of wine. "I'd be interested in finding out more about it. I've heard a variant on it, once, where the selkie gives his son a necklace and when the hunter brings it home the mother knows he's been killed. I can't decide which is sadder, knowing or not knowing."

He pauses. "Cheery tale, I know," he smiles, wryly.