Clavott perked up at the question, knowing the perfect answer.
"Well.. It had wheels."
With a bright smile, he explained. "I grew up on a caravan, really. Moving from town to town. My father- he was a merchant. He and his merchant group, they.. they found me on the road when I was young, and, not sure of where I had come from, they took me in as their own. I just played music for them on the long roads."
Looking down at his hand, Esther's tears still glistening upon his index finger, he pressed three fingers down up on the table. A few notes, a chord from a nonexistant piano, played out into the air; and when he lifted his fingers, the sound vanished.
"It's.. natural, for me." He continued to press down upon the table as though it were a piano, his fingers traveling up and down the keys that were not there. A soft, sweeping lullaby.