THIS is the prologue for the novel I’m writing for Camp NaNoWriMo this month. I’ll be writing the second half of the novel in August.

On the bank of a river, on a large stone, the silhouette of a man sits with a small pipe pressed against his lips. The sounds of the river, flowing past, dampen the pure notes that emanate from the little, wooden pipe, making them little more than a whisper.
The sun is sinking below the high mountains behind the man. He ignores the heartbreaking beauty that seeps out from the sun, through the trees, and is filling the sky. His eyes are closed.
A single sparrow floats down from the branch of a tree near the rock and lands on the ground at the boots of the man. The man’s eyes open. The music stops. The man smiles at the sparrow. He begins to play again, watching as the small bird hops up and down on the pebbly ground.
Out of the bushes behind the rock, a cat leaps silently, startling the sparrow into flight. The man lowers his pipe and tucks it into a cloth case that hangs from his shoulder like a sash. The cat jumps again, this time into the man’s lap. The man strokes the cat’s fur as it turns in circles and lays down.
“Ah, Wolfgang, at last.” The man says, leaning over to put his head nearer to the cat. The cat meows once and then begins licking its paws. The man looks around at the small overgrown path that leads away from the bank of the river. “A visitor?”
Moments later, a shape appears out of the trees and makes its way along the path. The figure, another man, stops in front of the man on the rock, who raises his eyebrows at the new arrival and then turns back to stare out at the river. He continues to stroke the cat’s fur.
“John.” The first man greets. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“There has been another call.” John answers in a low, slightly rough voice.
“Another? So many lately…”
“Yes.”
“And what is so special about this call? Can another not…”
“No.” John interrupts. “This case is… rather advanced.”
“Of course it would be.”
“We need the best.”
“And I am the best.”
“Yes.” The man sitting on the rock sighs and looks back up at John.
“Where am I off to this time?”
“A small town by the name of Hamelin.”

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