I haven't uttered a word in three days since I communed with Sona. It's sometimes painful yet liberating at the same time. Conversations are such treasures-the exchange of ideas between two bodies is a ritual I exercised frequently on and off the fields of justice. Communication between your teammates is vital to success in any team endeavor (especially League matches). However, my first real exchange with Sona made me reevaluate the importance of speech in our civilized Valoran.

Being audience to Sona in the Institute of War is a big deal. As a musician first and foremost her visits to the Institute of War are sporadic and infrequent. There was much fanfare on her arrival, and rumors of a performance were spread around the building. I watched among a large crowd as she glided through the main entrance in a distinctively festive red cloak. The champions Karma and Swain were present for a small welcoming celebration (riding the wave of Snowdown festivities still in full swing). Among the whirring noise of conversation and reverie, the alienating effect of muteness was most uncomfortable. Especially with such personalities like the champions and celebrity summoners dominating the scene I felt passed over like furniture. Perhaps if I ran around flinging tables over my head I could have started a pleasant conversation with someone while holding back fits of maniacal laughter. Trade one set of shackles for another.

When Sona got on the stage at the end of the entrance hall, everything slowed to a stop. The rumors were true! I was so elated my heart skipped a beat (followed by an aching chest pain-don't eat too much during the holidays!) We recognized the song as a familiar Wintersday tune. 'The glitter of snow" is a Freljordian love song known by most of Valoran. It goes something like this:

In the night is a chill that cuts deep through my skin as I call for a sign of love that burns within.

Now the earth spins a death that no lover should know, time goes on, and my love is lost to the storm.

Climbing high on a mountaintop, in time to see the sun. Left behind is a world where my words failed to show my heart.

This voice will cry in pain as I stand grasping for your hand. But no sound will heal my hidden wounds deep inside.

And now, while I gaze at the snow, I see your eyes twinkling brighter than stars. I'm yearning for warmth.

Where, where on this callous earth is your embrace? How can I tell you I love you?

About halfway through the audience began to sing along. I can't remember if I did so as well. What I do remember distinctly, if anything was to become ingrained into my memory of that evening, was a single tear on Sona's smiling face. In a sort of irony, have we provided her with a voice with which she could speak to us? And did I fall right in with the rest? Or is it just me getting used to singing again?

Later in the week I got some of my answers straight from Sona herself.

The chamber is dimly lit in a familiar purple-bluish shade. In the center of the room are two seats sitting back to back. Miscelaneous plaques and notices can be read for reference if one were to switch on a few more lamps. They are purposely left dark to increase concentration. Summoners and champions use these rooms for practicing summoning magic in a safe environment. That is a relative tern, for particularly volatile champions must be restrained in some way or another. We were fairly sure Sona wouldn't mean any danger. And to a slight hint of disheartenment from me, we were right. Outside the room Sona and I exchanged smiles. I felt no need to explain the procedure again-she had her time with another summoner some days before and the process is straightforward enough. Caught off guard by my silence, the musician raised an eyebrow offering a queue for me to start talking peasantries. I coughed nervously and remembered why I was there. Trying to be prompt, I stuttered something like "If you're ready, Ms. Buvelle." Sounded like an absolute tool there. Still, Sona was human after all and to my relief she nodded her head in confirmation. Fog is the stuff clouds are made of. Up close, the sun shines through better.

We both sat on the two stone seats facing back to back. Looking over my shoulder I noticed that same perfect posture from the concert. I straightened my back and shoulders. It felt good, empowering. Try working on your posture sometime, reader. With this, I concentrated on my magic. While incantations are part of the manual, verbalizing them only serve to help one focus. It never worked for me-I always had trouble articulating them. In no time I had a C-Ball formed between my palms (C is jargon for 'Client') swirling with blue energy. And then with a great deal of mental effort I sent out a wave of magic across the room. With that, I sent out a part of my own being. When a summoner does this, they are briefly at the mercy of any mind in the general area as they can 'catch the wave' for themselves. Sona grasped it with a surprising eagerness. This business I assumed was so mundane to her, as I supposed was with any champion of the League. At this point I precariously started to lose my physical self. Talk to any summoner about out-of-body experiences because they can describe it better than I can. As I entered Sona's mind I expected pain. After summoning Singed so many times the sensation of scarred flesh is familiar. However, this experience was something very, very alien.

I was assaulted with an enveloping awareness of sound. What came at me first was Sona's heartbeat. Rhythmically her body acted as a metronome to a softer beat, washing in and out like waves on a beach. The walls reverberated everything, and it seems that Sona can see it happening! As heat distorts light, so does sound distort the still air. I tried to identify that beat which ticked so harmoniously with hers. It was water, a thick liquid, passing through something muffled and coarse. And then I heard a voice-her voice! Strong, airy, powerful yet gentle it was. What she said comforted me overall, yet unsettled my nerves with a haunting familiarity.

"I hear you."

Thumping now was the sound that played alongside Sona's heartbeat. I sensed she was grasping something warm and coarse. It was my own limp hand, pulsing with assurance.