It was strangely still by the river except for the footsteps of the young man walking purposefully along its bank. His long cloak flapped behind him in the slight breeze as the dying grass crunched under black boots. Although he clearly knew what he was doing, his eyes still held a slightly distracted look as he walked, kicking aside rusty scraps of metal and broken glass bottles. Suddenly he stopped, sighing deeply, brushing dirty blond hair out of his eyes as he glanced up at the overcast sky.
For the first time he cast a glance at the sluggish river, nose wrinkling in disgust as the pungent scent filled his nostrils. He turned to stand at the very edge of the water, brow furrowed slightly, absorbed in his own thoughts. Sad, really… it's forgotten how to dance… He stretched out a gloved hand, almost hesitantly, a curiously sympathetic expression crossing his face. A single drop of water formed on his fingertip, falling to strike the surface of the water and send tiny ripples shimmering out across the dirty stream. A slight smile formed on his face, and seeming to make up his mind, he sat down by the water's edge, not noticing or caring that his boots were brushing the surface of the water.
With a vague look of concentration, he stretched out his arms, waiting as a long shape materialized in his open hands. Quickly he turned it over in his arms, hands running lightly over the sitar's strings to sound a soft chord. Then, positioning himself and his instrument carefully, he began to play.
At once the music began to fill the silent forest, rippling chords forming under his fingers. He closed his eyes and felt it flow, swelling and echoing around him until it sounded as if there were five sitars, not just one. And as he played, the sound of rushing water began to accompany him, like a deep harmony beneath the liquid melody. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, and he knew he would never again recall the notes he had played there. At last, the last strains of his song faded away and he opened his eyes, watching the sunlight reflecting on the clear, swift river before him. He smiled, setting the sitar down beside him. It faded away.
"Dance, water, dance," Demyx whispered. Nodding slightly as if in approval, he stood, brushing off the front of his cloak, then turned and again continued his path upstream, now feeling content as the purified river raced along beside him.