There was just nothing easy in the realm of the musicians. Ballad's Feather was a close friend to the king and often called into the court to entertain with his lute and to sing popular songs but... he couldn't write his own lyrics to save his life. Sad, for one named Ballad, but it was the truth. He had a golden voice, his lute sang out almost as beautifully, and what songs he already knew he performed rather well but when he sat down to compose something of his own, he drew a blank. Only the worst of puns came to mind, the most nonsensical lyrics, and often his instrument over-shone the song. In his mind it was...heartless. There was no conviction behind his songs and frankly, those he'd written had been the source of laughter. Of course- he claimed he did that on purpose and was often praised for his musical humor but it stung privately.
That afternoon, the pony sat in the square of the castle town, strumming the strings of his lute while looking skyward. There had to be inspiration somewhere. A muse. A thought, something that could put a fire in his belly and some how spark actual genius in his words.
Damn it all.
He sighed and put a hoof to his forehead.
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