He looks up, at the sound of the voice. At the sight of the voice's owner, a smile splits his face--almost as if he knows her, though of course he does not. His fingers still do not stammer or stumble, but plucks out a curious melody on the strings as he observes her approach.

Antivan, though.

"Only one?" A long strum, inquisitive, disbelieving. "When there are so many? We Antivans love melodies of love."