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Dalton sighed as he ran his thick hooved fingers down his equine nose, his vision a little blurry from fatigue. The sheet of music hadn't changed in the last 5 minutes, and he still didn't have any inspiration. The melody line was fine, the counterpoint was good, and the chording should sound nice, but this was only the opening. He hadn't gotten to the theme and variations part of his piece yet. It was becoming plainly obvious to the horse that his muse had decided to take the night off without informing him first.

Ding

The message on his chat program distracted him as he glanced at it. It was from his brother, Ken.

Late night or early morning?

He chuckled to himself as he looked at the clock. It was just past 3am. He'd been up all night and hadn't accomplished a single bit of composition since at least 2am. He rubbed his eyes a little shocked at how late it had gotten.

Yes to both. Early AND late

His fingers clicked at the tips tapped the plastic keyboard on his desk. The apartment was deadly quiet. No noise at all came in from the normally bustling street below. Only the faint sounds of an advertisement came from the apartment on the next floor down. His neighbor, Mrs. Jacobson was nocturnal it seemed.

His brother, Ken, was probably just getting up. Dalton had been the adventurous of the two, leaving the farm life to chase his dream, and to study music composition at University. Not Ken. Stolid, dependable, just-like-their-dad Ken had stayed on the farm toiling day in and day out with their dad and mom. The grey draft seemed to be happy in his simple life. Dalton was a little jealous and wished he could be as happy and content. He kept trying to find a true direction. Some meaning to his own existence. Music was supposed to be the answer.

It was his dream right? It was his whole purpose in life right? So then why wasn't he truly happy? The horse sighed. It was too late for this. Or was it early? Either way existential dilemmas were not welcome at this time of night. Or was it day.

Ding

Well, you burn the candle at both ends, and pretty soon you have no candle. Either get up and get going, or go to bed. I'm heading out soon to plow the north field. Hugs

The chat screen went blank shortly after. Even though he was tired, Dalton knew he'd be unable to sleep. He was too tired and two wound up at the same time. He was stuck and needed inspiration, and staring at the blank paper in front of him wasn't going to help. Maybe a walk would do him some good. He lifted his huge equine form out of his desk chair and stretched, nickering slightly out of habit. His hooves clopped heavily on the wooden floor as he found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt near his bed, the comforter and sheets still rumpled from a nap he'd taken yesterday afternoon.

He grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter and wrapped himself in his black wool jacket. It was still brisk in the mornings after all and the last thing he needed was to catch a cold.

The elevator ride to the first floor was a short one. The ancient freight elevator still worked even though it was a bit clunky. He had to be careful to not get his tail caught in the accordion cage door. Once was enough. He absently stroked the base of his tail remembering the one (and only) time that had happened. Once was enough.

The street and sidewalk were empty at this time. Even though he lived in the provincial capital, this was a city that went to bed early and slept late unlike most other urban areas. It was one of its attractions. A large city in the north east, well populated, good university, and vibrant culture yet still had that small town feel.

Dalton inhaled deeply, the chill air hitting his nostrils smelled sweet and clear. Turning to his right he made his way down the sidewalk, his head down, paws shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His mind began to race as he made his way to the city park.

What am I going to do, Emile Lannis is set to premier this piece in 5 days, and I'm not even half done yet. Hell, I'm not even 10 percent done.

The commission for a theme and variations for Piano and Violin was one that would pay well since it was commissioned by one of the premier classical music duos in the world. Dalten could pick and choose his commissions. He wasn't prolific, but he was one of the best. He prided himself on his skill. Graduating college early, winning almost every competition he signed up for, and even landing a few high end commissions for film scored. He had the respect of a lot of people. Enough so that the average fur was at least vaguely familiar with his name.

Talented though he was, every creative artist eventually suffered from the same malady he was suffering from. "Writers block." It was the same the world over. The notes/words/images were there, he just had to arrange them properly. Honest.

*sigh*

The park wasn't overly large, but it was well shaded by trees, and the grass felt good against his hoves. He walked over to an old iron bench and sat down, staring at a statue of one of the city founders, some guy wearing a tricorn hat and let his mind go blank the soft breeze flowing against his chestnut mane.

**

"Is he dead?"

Dalton snorted and opened one eye, confused.

Ah right - the park. Must have fallen asleep. Again....

Several young canine pups were crowded around him. Their muzzles melted into expressions of disappointment and boredom as the supposed "corpse" only woke up from its nap. One of them chuckled.

"Aww...pony's just sleeping. Come on!!!"

The group scampered off rather quickly, one of them lagging behind and trying to catch up.

"You're going to be late to Mr. Milk's science class!" He shouted after them laughing and sitting up. He was a little sore from the way he'd slept, but this wasn't new. At least twice a month he would wander the streets near his apartment and zone out while trying to think of a new melody or harmony only to fall asleep. The local kids usually took bets on the outcome. Is Dalton Dead? Is Dalton Alive? Usually there were more betting on dead. Kids....so morbid!

The breeze was still a bit brisk, and his muzzle was cold as he finally stood up and stretched. The sun wasn't very high yet. He'd probably only slept for several hours. A quick glance at his watch confirmed it was just after seven. Cars and pedestrians were walking down the sidewalks outside of the small park, and the heavenly aroma of coffee coming from the corner shop across the street teased his nose. Ah. Coffee! The Composer's 'Best Friend!'

The shop bell tingled lightly as he entered the shop. The warm wood caught the morning sun and glowed, giving the place a very relaxed feel. A young Dalmatian leaned on the register as a few furs sipped their morning java. Dalton walked up to the counter while glancing at the menu board. He was hungry, but caffeine was more his, hah, forte this morning. When tired he tended to make bad puns. Even to himself. He sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Let's see....mocha? Late? Hrm...

"Holy Crap!"

Dalton snorted at the yelp, looking at as the canine dropped his phone, looking him over with wide blue eyes.

"Um...what?" Dalton rumbled a little confusedly. It was early and his voice was a little rough yet, but he'd been a bass since he turned 13. It had been embarrassing to be a gangly colt with a deep voice. He was still a little self-conscious about it to this day. Especially in the early mornings before he'd had a chance to warm his vocal chords up.

"You're huge!" The Dalmatian stuttered his mouth working for several seconds. He shook his head and seemed to pull himself together. Fidgeting with the register.

"I, ah, sorry, um...I mean...uh....what can I get you?"

"Regular coffee black, and an apple muffin please."

Dalton pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed the clearly blushing barista the correct change. The dog handed him his cup and muffin shyly then began to bustle behind the counter looking everywhere but at the hulking draft horse.

Laughter bubbled up in the equine throat. He was used to this reaction by now. Horse folk weren't common, especially in the city. Even rarer were the draft lineage equine antrhos. He knew he looked intimidating. When you were as tall as he was and as muscular, you got used to the looks. Dalton was still a little self conscious at times. Growing up a runt, and bass had bruised his ego a bit. Now? Well he wasn't. He was tall, chestnut colored muscular stallion who could have been a model in one of those farm themed fetish magazines.

What really threw people though? His profession. He was a professional musician. Studs weren't supposed to be smart, creative and sensitive. Nothing like bashing stereotypes.

The horse picked a very sturdy looking chair near a window and sat down to drink his coffee while checking the morning news feeds on his phone. The black liquid was only a little bitter across his lips, the muffin moist and sweet. He let his mind wander for a bit.

"Sorry about that, by the way. We just don't get many farm folk here." The tenor voice lilted as the young Dalmatian walked closer. Dalton squinted at the name tag the canine wore on his polo shirt.

He shook his mane in the negative. "Well, Rick, I'm not a farmer actually. I come from farm stock though. My brother is the farm stud, not me. He's the one who's going to inherit the farm. I'm a musician really. Composer."

The spotted ears cocked forward at that. "Really? What instrument?"

"I can play most all, but my main one is pipe organ. No jokes now..." Dal wagged a finger at the young pup. What skin the spotted dog had reddened a little as he blushed and laid his ears back giving away the fact he had probably been poised to make a joke.

"Well I am too really, but I'm just studding performance at the university. Guitar."

Dalton leaned back making the chair groan a little. "Really? Are you studying under Dr. Carson or Dr. Wells?"

"Carson, I'm not a fan of Wells's style."

This conversation was getting interesting. The bell jingled as another customer entered the store. The canine tended to the customer quickly before returning, his tail wagging as he walked. The pup seemed a little excited.

"So you study under Carson huh? I studied under Wells for a bit to learn how to play guitar. Honestly I suck at it" Dalton said wiggling his thick equine fingers. "Let's just say not all of us are born in the right bodies. I'm lucky that composition is my strong suit or I'd be a starving artist.

The young Dalmatian chuckled. "Well, we all have our limitations. I can't compose or make up a song to save my life. My improvisational skills are.." here the young man screwed his face up into a perfect imitation of the old hound, Dr. Carson.

"....about the worst I've ever heard young man. If it weren't for your skill in playing, I'd consider kicking you out of this school."

Dalton chuckled deeply in his chest. The pup had the voice, inflection, and slight southern accent down perfectly. This young canine wasn't just cute, he was also funny.

"High praise coming from him for sure. Wells told me I was lucky to be in a compositional study track and wouldn't have to try to be any better than a mere hack." Dalton finished off his coffee and brushed a few crumbs off his shirt.

The young Dalmatian gave him a canine grin. The equine didn't miss the slightly hungry look the pup gave him. He was used to it, but for once he was oddly flattered at the attention. He felt his mane shiver a little as someone who was not only cute but smart and funny took notice of him.

"Well Rick, thank you for the coffee, but I need to get back to composition. If you ever want to talk about music...or...or something, give me a call. I'm Dalton by the way." He passed a small square card into the spotted paw as he stood up to his full height.

The young dalmatian froze as he looked up into the equine face. "Dalton? As in Dalton Taylor? The composer....I mean THE composer Dalton Taylor?" His voice sounded a little strained.

The look on the young dog's face cracked up Dalton. He whickered in merriment. "Now now, don't get all gushy at me. My ego is big enough as it is. I'm just a person. Just like everyone else. Like I said give me a call...ah....if you want to."

His hooves echoed as he made his way out the door, a little flustered, and with a smile on his face. He heard the canine call out to him as he left.

"...sure...I will...um....bye"!

**

Rick stared at the door the muscular equine had just walked out of as it closed gently with a click and then gaped back down at the card.

_____________

Dalton S. Taylor

Composition

4 Main St. Apt 6A

555-1456

[email protected]

_____________

"Shit!"

He quickly looked down at his watch and was startled at how late it had gotten. He'd only have a few minutes to bike to campus and make it history class. He jogged into the back and found his manager apologizing that he had to leave for class. The lapine just shooed him out the door.

The old lock clicked as he fumbled the combination in correctly on the third try, freeing the contraption from the old drain pipe. Rick hefted his backpack on his shoulders and made sure his guitar case was secured to the back rack before he rode off.

I meet THE Dalton Taylor and I make a fool out of myself.

Sure everyone knew the composer lived in town, he was a minor celebrity after all, but few people had met the solitary musician. He was notorious for keeping to himself. But no one had ever mentioned to Rick how BIG he was.

They had also omitted how handsome the horse was. Rick's mind ran in circles as he rode to school, convinced he'd made a total ass of himself.

**

The pencil scribbled furiously as Dalton tried to keep up with his own creative juices. His muse was obviously back from her short hiatus and was making up for lost time. The ideas were just burning in his brain and he had to get them onto paper before they faded. Sure most composers used that new notation software, but Dal found that paper and pencil worked far better for him. He'd send the composition to his publisher and get the grumbled complaint of having to try to read what he'd sent.

Well, they can just deal with it. Ack!

He snorted and sipped at his tea. It'd gotten cold. He set it aside, continuing to scribble out note after note, line after line, melody after melody.

Finally at long last, he set his pencil down and shook his mane vigorously loosening the muscles in his neck. His back popped a little as he stood up, shuffling the sheets of music and placing them on the music rack on his one and only indulgence. The huge 9 foot grand had set him back a small fortune, but had been worth the expense. It wouldn't be broken in during HIS lifetime, but this one sounded much better than other expensive pianos when new.

The equine grunted as he adjusted the stool height and sat down. After a few seconds of playing slowly he began to sing the violin part, just to see how it sounded in real life. Sometimes the orchestra in his mind was far more talented than mere humans. Fingers have limitations, imaginations done.

It wasn't an easy piece, but he wouldn't be the one performing it. Thumping on his floor caused him to chuckle. Everyone was a critic. None more so than Mrs. Jacobson who only considered Mozart worthy of any praise.

Finished for now, and finally feeling tired from his lack of sleep he set the music aside into a folder so he could scan it latter, and finally clopped into his bedroom. He stripped off his shirt, the poor musky garment had clung to his fur. It was more than time to change. His jeans followed along with his boxers. He needed some sleep. He didn't bother to close the blinds, this would only be a nap. He rarely worked as long as he had and intended to get a good night's sleep later, for now he just needed a nap.

He nickered as he laid his head down on the pillow, his mind drifting back to the young Dalmatian, Rick. Those black spots had been absolutely adorable, the smile infectious. And he was a musician. If only he had someone like that as a friend, or, more than a friend. He grunted. The thought causing a good amount of his cock to rise from his ample sheath.

Come on horse, back to reality.

He doubted anything would ever happen. Here he was, a behemoth of a draft, standing a good three feet taller than the young canine. He knew he intimidated. It wasn't his fault. Gentle giant or no, most people looked at him and saw either a big dumb horse, nice too look at, but not much else, or they saw a sexual object. Yay for being an equine!

He huffed. A lot of anthros or even humans wouldn't understand.

Besides...the dog wouldn't be interested. He doubted they were vastly different in age in reality. Dalton had graduated with his bachelors at 18, then finished his masters at age 21. He was only 25 now. He was pondering going back for post graduate studies and a PhD, but was undecided as to where, but most other musicians looked at him with envy. He was no Mozart, but he made a respectable income composing. He knew how rare that was and was grateful.

A PhD though? That would be a lot of work, but worth it. He had a lot more to learn, and who knew. Maybe he could finally teach! He loved teaching, but it was hard to find students who could keep up with him or stand his personality.

Thinking about teaching brought his thoughts back to Rick. He was so enthusiastic, and he pulled off a perfect Dr. Carson. He hopped the cute canine would call. If anything he could use the friendship, and maybe someone he could play some music with. That would be a lot of fun.

**

Two days later Rick was working on his homework for the day in the music library. He could have picked the larger main library, but a lot of folks used it as an impromptu meeting place and wasn't as quiet as it should have been. He could have picked one of the upper floor study rooms, but then he'd be entirely isolated with no windows to gaze at while thinking.

He always chose a seat near a window for that very reason. The slight visual distraction always allowed him to think for some reason. He chuckled to himself as he ruminated over one of his western civ essay questions. He was probably the only person in the entire music library not studying music at this moment. Just like anyone else he still had western literature, history, and biology to finish up. And today was Friday, and if there is one thing Rick hated more than homework, was homework on a weekend.

"Still don't like to do homework at home?" Val sat down, cleaning one of her claws. The feline violinist had been stalking him for a few weeks. Not to snag Rick, no, just about everyone knew Rick was gay, but she had an eye for his roommate. They'd also been friends for years since high school and had come here to study.

Rick barely glanced up at her. "No."

She sighed sounding exasperated, and already knowing how this conversation would go. This was an old 'argument' they had just about every Friday. She'd try to coax Rick into going out, to be more social. Rick would decline, and stay at home. But she still tried.

"Come on Rick, you know Kingsbury is having a party tonight right?"

"Yup." His pen scratched its way across the paper as he continued the sentence on Roman Occupations for his essay.

Val waited tapping one claw on the table in the library. "Well!? Aren't you going?"

The canine sighed. "No Val. I need to practice my improvisation. Talent or not, I need to figure out how to improvise and not just mimic. Dr. Carson is urging it. I have a feeling he's going to follow up on his threats and make it a requirement for my finals now."

Val sighed. "That's a little unfair of him don't you think?" She raised her delicate eyebrow, her soft grey fur contrasting with her green eyes.

Rick just glared feeling a little jealous. Val had no problems with improvisation. She'd even won a few contests. Not him. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Well, fair or not, it's his decision as department head, and I have to follow his decisions whether or not I like them. Or agree."

The grey cat stood and stretched languidly.

"Oh, well, maybe I'll see you around this weekend then?"

"Maybe." Rick sighed. "Have fun."

**

The spotted canine knocked on Dr. Carson's office door. The upstairs music school hallway was filled with the light of the setting sun. Faint music could be heard throughout the hall as students or teachers taught and practiced various instruments and vocal techniques. There was a soft click as the handle turned and there stood Dr. Carson. The old gruff hound scowled involuntarily at him, his jowls hanging low. "mmm Mr. Wells, what brings you to my office so late? And on a Friday too?"

"May...may I come in? I just thought I'd ask you for some advice sir." Rick cast his eyes down. Even through Dr. Carson was known as a very nice guy, Rick always found his looks a tad intimidating.

"Please come in, and sit, do." Dr. Carson motioned to one of the practice stools, and took his own place in his leather office chair, his older computer screen showing some faculty e-mails. His own guitar and lute hanging on wall stands. They'd be placed in special cases before the night was out, Rick was sure of that. One thing Dr. Carson abhorred above all else was misuse or not caring for an instrument properly.

"Mmm so what can I do for you youngster?"

Rick sat gingerly on the padded stool, habitually setting his paw on the foot rest players used for proper paying form. The simple and familiar playing posture made his fingers positively itch for the touch of a string or fretboard. He clenched them tight to clear the feeling. How to begin?

"Well, it's my improvisational skills sir, I have no idea where to begin. I've read the text books you've given me, I've studied the counterpoint, but I just don't know how to begin."

Rick's tail tucked between his legs involuntarily. It hurt him to admit he didn't know something. All his life music seemed to come naturally, when it came to playing music that had already been written. When it came to composition, or any type of improvisational skills, he was all thumbs.

Dr. Carson narrowed his eyes executively at his fellow canine, his facial features making him look incredibly sad.

"Hrm....so you need guidance."

It was a statement of fact, as if the old hound had just realized this fact and was making a profound observation. Rick held his tongue. He wanted, no, needed this help. Aggravating Dr. Carson would accomplish anything.

Silence descended for a few moments. If there was one thing Rick knew, it was that the old guitar professor never did anything fast. He was known as 'The Stoic.' Unruffled, unmoved. He'd take his time in making a tough decision, but no one doubted his wisdom. Every decision he made was known to be insightful and well thought out. Even if it took the old dog a while to get to the point.

"I could assign you to one of my grad students to tutor you, but I don't think we need to go that far. You're close young man, very close to unlocking you talent. You are good. Any fool can see that."

A few more moments of silence descended as the hound continued with his unintentional scowl.

"Some people believe talent is inherent. It isn't. Not for all, and for some, even creative talent can be cultivated under the right circumstances. Why, I had to work for forty years to get as good as I am, and that's saying something."

The old hound eyed him some more while drumming his fingers on his desk the filed down claws making very slight tics as they made contact with the wood. Finally Dr. Carson seemed to come to a decision and nodded slightly, his posture straightening.

"Tell me, do you have anyone you could practice with?"

Rick cast his eyes down again. "N-no sir. The only musician here at school I know is Val. I ah, did meet Mr. Taylor at the coffee shop while working...but I wouldn't say I know him at all."

The hound burst into a grin and spread his arms wide as if finding the very answer to the meaning of life in front of him.

"Dalten? You have met Dalton? And how did that go?"

Rick quickly outlined the meeting, emphasizing how brief it was, but a few times the hound had him go over every word Dalton had said. The smile the hound gave was infectious.

"Well, based on how he acted I suggest you take him up on the offer and 'talk shop' with him. If there is one thing about Dalton Taylor is that he can't help himself when it comes to music. I've known that colt for years. He was a born teacher if there ever was one. If you get him started about your problem I'm sure he'll put you in the right."

Rick's eyes goggled. "B-but I don't have money for lessons....I..."

The hound waved a dismissive paw irritably.

"Nonsense pup. Mr. Taylor was a born teacher. He's just never had a student who could put up with him. He's a little demanding, and in his own way is still coming into his own. I'll let you in on a little secret kid. Dalton is a very talented composer, and a fine musician, but he can't play guitar to save his life. He's also a little solitary. You'll present him with a challenge. Something he needs. You're bright son, very talented in fact. When it comes to playing guitar and actual musical performance you'd run him in circles in point of fact."

The old hound stood and pulled Rick to his feet. The meeting was obviously over. "Just ask him son, I think you'll be surprised." The door clicked shut behind Rick as he let out an exasperated sigh.

**

An hour later, completely drained from his homework Rick's stomach growled at him, reminding him that lunch had been a long time ago. He packed his books away into his backpack, finally hefting his guitar case by it's strap. His mind thought back to Dalton. Maybe he should call the horse. He was a little scared at the prospect, but being alone on a Friday afternoon, and needing a little professional help made up his mind for him. He typed in the numbers into his cell. It only rang twice.

"Hello?" The bass voice boomed in the earpiece.

"Um - Hi. It's, ah, Rick." He hoped the equine remembered. He didn't have to wait long to get his answer.

"Rick!? Hey! How are you? I'm glad you called!"

Rick rubbed a paw over the back of his neck feeling a little nervous. "Listen, I'm starving, feel like joining me for a bit to eat and maybe a beer?"

"Sure, where should we meet?" Dalton sounded a little eager to the canine.

"Bastions ok?" Rick picked it at random. It was a college area restaurant that wasn't too rowdy.

"Sure, meet you there in half an hour." The line went suddenly dead. He found his lips curling in a smile as he padded out of the building and headed for his bike.

**

Dalton panicked. He'd gone to the gym today, but hadn't showed after, and there was no time now. He frantically began digging through his dresser looking for clothes that weren't dirty, or too casual. He finally settled on a white shirt, and black slacks. He hefted his legs into them a little too quickly falling to the floor with a deep thud. Mrs. Jacobson letting him know her displeasure, a few sharp raps of her cane on the ceiling below his feet.

"Yeah yeah...." Dalton muttered getting his pants and shirt on, his stout hands fumbling with the button fly a little.

He rushed to the bathroom and quickly curried his mane and applied a little cologne. He hoped it'd cover his horse sweat smell. It seemed to do the trick. For the most part. He sighed wrinkling his nose, it was the best he could do. This wasn't a first impression that had already happened. He hoped the cute Dalmatian could forgive him his slightly rumpled appearance.

**

Rick eyed the menu. There were burgers, pizza, sandwiches and various other pub fare, but one thing all furs know is to not offend a fellow fur. He had no idea if Dalten was omnivorous. It was highly unlikely he was carnivorous, but the thought of burgers brought a slight bit of drool to his fangs. He finally decided on a burger, well done and a stout beer.

The composer didn't even bat an eye and ordered a pizza with peperoni and a beer. That had intrigued Rick to no end, but he didn't ask any impertinent questions, instead glancing around at the restaurant.

It was not yet packed, and the customer load would remain so until well after 9 pm, and it was only 7 or so now. College kids (and the faculty of said college) rarely went out early, preferring to eat later before heading out to parties after all. Rick could never understand that mindset.

The restaurant was nice though, quiet, and only a few folks eating. The canine was surprised to see a human couple. They were rare, and he should know since his dad was human.

"So, ah, how have been the last few days?" Dalton rumbled, his deep bass startling the young otter couple behind him. "Sorry." He offered quietly.

"Oh, not bad. Classes and such. I've been trying to work on improvisation but I've gotten nowhere. That's, ah, why I called. Dr. Carson has made it part of my studies now and suggested that since I knew you, even a little, that I approach you about what I should do. Right now the best I can do is a simple melodic line." His neck fur bristled at having to admit he wasn't as good as he liked. He always wanted to be perfect in everything he did, and it was annoying that he fell short in something that should have been basic, even instinctual.

The huge horse leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands clasped together, his chestnut eyes gleaming next to the white blaze of his muzzle.

"So? What is a melody but the partner of counterpoint? Once you have a melodic line, you work on a counter melody to match. If you can write one line, the rest is just academic leg work." Dalton took a deep drought of his huge beer.

"You make it sound easy!" Rick laughed a little nervously. When it was put like that, he felt a little bad and dubious. It couldn't be that simple. It never was for him.

Their meals arrived. The rich aroma of the beef made Rick's mouth water around his canines and he couldn't help licking his chops a little before he forgot his dinner companion.

"Sorry about the meat...I....didn't know if...." Rick blushed.

Dalton smirked. "It's ok. Believe it or not my brother enjoys rare steak." Dalton shuddered. "To each their own I guess. I don't mind meat if it's cooked well, and in small portions.

They ate in silence for a while. Before starting in with light conversation. A few comments about some of the professors at the university lead to questions about his own lessening from Rick. Finally Dalton was asking about Dalton's own skills.

"I'm not a good performer at all, except on organ. My piano is fair, but I'm heavy handed. That doesn't matter on an organ, though I have special hoofed shoes to make up for a lack of toes. I'm atrocious on strings. I'm not bad at brass or winds though, and if I wanted I could probably make a career as a bassoonist." The horse leaned back and stretched before draining the beer, the shirt was taught across his broad chest and shoulders.

Rick canine grinned as he finished his beer. "Well I'm awesome on guitar, and that's it. No composition, only basic skills on keyboards, and very little on anything else. And Carson said I have to learn improvisation....or..." Rick shrugged while staring intently at the equine face in front of him, grinning a little. Was that beer getting to him?

Dalton chuckled. "Well I think I may have a solution for you. You have your guitar right? Want a lesson?"

Rick's jaw dropped. "A - uh - lesson?"

Dalton smiled. "Yes. A lesson. From me. Gratis. Free of charge. You are a struggling musician right? It would be my honor to 'pay it forward' as it were."

Rick nodded a little absently, his ears back and tail tucked between his legs. "A lesson. Sure."

What was he getting into?

**

Dalton grinned as he paid the bill. The young Dalmatian was infatuated with him, he was sure of it. He'd caught the sly stares the spotty pup was giving him when he was certain Dalton wasn't looking. The equine was flattered but shy.

Huh. Probably a little hero worship is all. What better way to dissuade him of his infatuation by showing the young pup how bad I am as a teacher.

As the waiter left, Dalton caught himself eyeing the young pup appreciatively. Cute muzzle, dreamy blue eyes, sonorous voice, and an athletic build. He sighed. This would not be easy.

They walked back to his apartment building, Rick wheeling his bike and other affects with him. They chatted about the weather. Trite, but still, it's what they did. Dalton was pretty sure it was from nerves on both their parts. There was a definite attraction there and it took every ounce of control Dalton had to not act on it, or let his hopes get up too much.

After a few minutes they finally reached Dalton's building. They locked Rick's bike to the rack in front of the door, and eventually made it to Dalton's apartment.

"So, ah, Dal, you live alone?" The young pup asked looking around curiously. Dal knew his apartment was spare. A desk with a com unit, a small table with three chairs, and a couch. The only thing in the bedroom was the bed, dresser and nightstand. The only thing that caught anyone's eye in the entire apartment was the huge grand piano that took up most of the room.

"Wow." Rick stared at the piano. The golden oak of the instrument gleamed in the soft recessed lights in the ceiling. Dal had picked the instrument out not just for the sound, but for its aesthetic appeal.

Why not? Its pretty. I like pretty.

Dalton blushed and nodded. "I needed something to practice my craft on, and let's just say I take things like that very seriously. Now....about that lesson...."

Rick quickly began pulled his guitar from it's case, the blond and dark two toned acoustic instrument contrasting nicely with the golden wood of the piano. His clawed gingerly plucked a few strings as he began to tune it.

"Perfect pitch?" Dalton inquired as he headed to the kitchen.

"No, but perfect relative pitch anyway...." Rick responded striking an "A" on the piano asa reference. Perfect pitch was incredibly rare. Perfect relative pitch, the ability to determine all subsequent notes based off a single tone was almost rarer. Someone with perfect pitch was stuck to specific frequencies. Relative, not so much.

Dalton nodded. For a composer it was a good talent to have, and one he himself had. He poured himself a large glass of wine. He hadn't taught much at all, and being close to the young man would tax his self-control. He knew wine would dull that. Most dreyman or farm studs got drunk and frisky on wine. He just calmed down and went to sleep.

"Would you like some wine?" The drink might dull the pups lust a little too.

"Sure!" Rick answered continuing to tune the guitar.

Dalton clopped into the room and sat on the piano stool, setting the glasses down on a small table set up for drinks. He wouldn't even think of risking spilled water, much less wine on his baby.

Rick sat on a similar stool near the piano, his light pink tongue sticking out in concentration as he finished tuned his guitar. Dalton chuckled throatily as he sipped his wine.

"What?" Rick asked, not looking up, continuing his tuning.

"You just look cute, concentrating on your tuning." It came out before he knew what he was saying. Rick didn't even seem to notice. Dal took a big gulp of wine.

This is not going to be easy.

"Ready?" He asked as it seemed that the guitar was tuned to the canine's specifications.

Rick's head shot up and he took a casual playing position. "Yes."

The horse took a deep breath, opening the cover to the keys and removing the protective cloth. "Ok, so what have you improvised so far?"

Rick frowned. "Not much."

"Show me" Dalton asked, crossing his legs, closing his eyes and leaning forward to listen.

Rick gently took the guitar into his arms and quietly played an 8 bar passage.

"Ok....."Dalton huffed. He pulled a piece of blank sheet music over and jotted down the tune. "This look right?" He asked as he took another long drought of wine. Dalton tried to remain calm.

That tune is perfect! Simple, melodic, perfectly formed! How can this kid not know his own talents!?"

Rick nodded a little warily.

"So what would you compose against it?" Dalton asked cocking his head to one side.

**

The huge horse loomed over him as Rick thought quickly. The melody was simple. How could he counter it? He quickly thought about chords and arpeggios but dismissed all of that.

"I-I don't know really." His voice sounded lame to him. Childlike almost.

Dalton smiled at him, he equine teeth shining in the light.

"How about this?"

The horses thick fingers played a simple line on the piano, the hard hoof nail clicking a little on the keys. As soon as he heard it, Rick sat bolt upright. It fit his melody perfectly. The chording was there, but only in passing tones. The soft line he'd created was strengthened by the counter melody. Quickly he joined in on his guitar, ending the phrase and continuing by playing the counter melody that Dal had improvised, and weaving another to match that tune.

The piano continued, one line after another the two played adding melody after melody. Soon the piano took up the main simple melody and a few others. Rick closed his eyes and concentrated and continued to follow with his guitar He could see the counter melody in his mind in the shapes of colors. Blues, yellows, and greens. He lost himself until with a final sigh the piece came to a satisfying end.

"Well." Dalten snorted. "I don't think you have to worry about your skills. They're there. They're burred deep and instinctual. You'll be able to tap into them more naturally though. I insist you join me every other day for practice!"

**

Dalen glanced down at Rick smiling a huge equine smile. The youngster had almost outshone him in talent. Their musicality inter-meshed, and they both complimented each other. He'd bring in a counter melody and Rick would match it with ease. If only the pup had experience on keyboards. Well, there would be time for that.

"Uh, I ah....can't ah....pay" the dalmatian blushed deeply. Dalton chuckled. "No need. I could use the company. Besides, having a handsome young canine like you in my apartment on a regular basis will keep my mother from throwing eligible fillies at me."

Rick paused, his face was a study as emotions flicked around until he grinned toothily seeming to make up his mind on the spot.

The horse staggered a little as the spotted dog spontaneously threw his arms around his thick equine neck. "Thank you Dalton, I think...I hope you're going to make a great friend!" Rick licked his nose twice.

Oh God. I'm such an idiot. Dalton closed his eyes.

What am I doing?

Then he watched as Rick quickly packed up his guitar. The canine was blushing, and his ear set gave him away. He was nervous.

He...he wants to be a friend? Maybe....

Dalton swallowed.

Maybe more?

"And you...." Dalton rumbled standing swiftly and throwing all caution to the wind, catching the smaller canine a tight hug, "will make a great student."