The music began as a distant drum beat. Soon there were other instruments. Horns and strings welled up into an orchestral march. A harp fluttered above and faded taking the others down with it till there was just the drum and a single oboe drawing strength from sadness. Her smile appeared in the mist. A piano offered a few tentative notes of encouragement. The oboe continued unchanged and the piano was not heard from again. Her hand reached out cold and damp but her touch electric. The sadness sweetened. The glory of righteous pain. The music ceased. She was home.