Reid burst into his old bedroom, Cornett coughing and struggling to sit in the darkness around his bed. Bonette and Trill held his horn in their arms, the dented metal tarnished but straight once again. Reid, frantic and growing hysterical, flung himself to his friend's side, Sal quickly following. "Cornett, it's your trumpet!" Reid said, grabbing the small horn. "They've fixed it!" Cornett slowly looked to his dear companion, the shadow of a ghost in his thin, defeated face. Liggy couldn't bear to see the pain upon his features.
"I'm so happy it's ready," he managed to moan. "I just wish I could play it for the war…"
"The war's over," Sal happily proclaimed. "Reid's performance ended it!" Cornett smiled and reached out to hug the humble Clarinet. Immediately, the strength found him. Before their eyes, a miracle took place. The trumpet began to glow, not dimly, but with a new found light. The gold reflected in Cornett's glazed eyes, and the metal had smoothed to new. His unsteady hands took it, and placing the mouthpiece to his lips, played a note so grand, solid, and pure brass that a sigh ran through the crowded room. They cheered with relief and happiness.
"Thank you, Reid," Cornett gushed. "Thank you for ending this all."
Tomorrow's morning, the Saxophones made stew for all. Jazz was released by plea of the band, and once again all was perfect in the land of Bandopia. They danced and played, rejoicing that all fighting was through. The Shadows would not dare challenge them again…but one did return. Harp appeared during the celebration, shy and unwanted, but she explained she must see that the trumpet was all right. Reid welcomed her graciously, however, and he was first to introduce her to the rest of his friends.
"I never meant for this to escalate so far," she sorrowfully mumbled. "I thought we'd march, earn some respect, and then finally find a place that we could stay."
"It never means to get anyone hurt," Reid replied, glancing over to the place where Cornett sat. He was still weak, but able to walk to the field and watch the fun. His cap was once again upon his head as always, a friendly smile beaming beneath it.
"I hope one day, those who chose to be under a director and those who don't can get along one day."
"Me too." They shared a nervous grin before Reid pulled his Clarinet from the case upon his back. Everyone called out in encouragement as he took the center of the field. Jazz was there with him, and they played like old times, their favorite tunes to Q and Tap on the old trap sets.
Bandopia—a place of music, a place of passion. Every creature under its open skies and melodious wind lives for one purpose only. They walk each day knowing that they have a gift, and always being aware of this talent, they perform to the best of their ability; this is their eternal thanksgiving. Marching is the blood that ran through them, the air they breathed, and in the end, it was the single thread of unity that saved them from turning against one another. They return to harmony because of music, and no matter what obstacles they may face, they always will. They are rare, they are dedicated, they are born to play. It is this world we live in: Bandopia, land of marchers.