A young woman in temple robes that do not fit her very well is shuffling through the temple.
When no one is looking, she drops little packages - wrapped in rags and scratch paper, tied with string, shaped oddly - at doorways and in alcoves, meandering from one section of the temple to another, making her way gradually to the section she hopes to be in by the time someone spots one.
He is very happy. He will teach her musical instruments and songs and eventually ask if she'd like to participate in a concert.
"Haven't picked our set list yet, you can help. It's in a month."
She will practice so hard! She sings concert songs to her baby and the other babies too.
His preparing for a concert routine is honestly barely different than his normal routine.
Well, it shrinks the working repertoire. Presumably they will not sing "Baby Be Quiet" to a crowd of hundreds.
"Everyone would still applaud. But probably we should sing concert songs."
"When I'm getting a little more sleep I should write music again."
"Yeah! It's hard to do when I'm sleepy but I think you've heard a couple - the one about the cat's mine - and the lullaby about clouds I wrote for my baby sister and the lullaby about boats I wrote when I was pregnant -"
"Ooooh. You should do more of that. And you should get someone else to take the baby overnight so you can get a proper sleep occasionally. It's good for your singing."
"Okay, I'll tell the others you said so and they'll grumble less!"
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