"It is called a guitar, my friend," Willy said. He shed his jacket and fluffed his hair, then went to the instrument. "I play music to get money- something one needs to get by in the mortal world. You will have so much to learn here, now that you are free. But there is no rush, Winter."

He took the guitar and sat, then began to strum.

"Do you know a song you would like me to play? Something from when you were wee, perhaps?"