The day began like any other for Pomni: wake up with the dawn, set up in the town square by the fountain, set her hat upside down on the cobblestone, and begin strumming her lute. The music she routinely played on quiet mornings was gentle, like the songbirds whistling in the rooftops. By noon, she was full on singing and dancing around the fountain. Crowds did not show all the time, but gold, silver and copper coins came nonetheless. It was a simple living, for the bard. She would stay in a town for a few days, sing and tell stories while collecting some from townsfolk, and then move onto the next destination. This had been the way she had done work for years now. Yet, as the cheers of the crowd that had gathered filled her ears, coins filled her empty hat, and she bowed as low as she could, legs crossed, Pomni wondered if she was truly happy. Satisfied, sure; she never went hungry, and always had company in one shape or form. She made people smile, and she did what she loved: music. It was more than enough for any one person. Happiness, though, was harder for her to decide whether she had or not. While she did have company in towns, her travels were done alone most of the time. She made acquaintances, but they were only faces she knew she could return to on her travels. She wrote music and sang songs, telling stories of the memories of people she met, but she never told anyone her own stories.