The Cuckoo comes in April 7

[svetlanacat6]

His partner's hands were fascinating: large, powerful and yet graceful. His fingers were dancing deftly on the guitar. With the blond tendrils fluttering in the breeze, the gray sweater carelessly spread over the shoulders, the black tee shirt, he didn't bear any resemblance to the deadly agent he was.

The Russian peeped at him, smiled faintly and sang. "April come she will, When streams are ripe and swelled with rain...

May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again.

June, she'll change her tune,
In restless walks she'll prowl the night;
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight.

August, die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
September I'll remember
A love once new has now grown old.

 

The breeze had taken away the last notes. Napoleon tilted his head, considering Illya.

“Beautiful song... ”

The Russian rested his arm on the guitar.

“You surely heard about Paul Simon...”

It wasn't a question. Napoleon Solo sat down next to his friend.