Banish

Banish knew he was different. He knew he didn’t fit in with the rest of the ice clan. His colors clashed with the ice and he glowed at night. Born of Earth and Wind, a child of adoptees, he was wild and strange to them. Despite the runes that glowed on his flank and his wicked long claws he had little interest or talent in fighting for glory. They declared he was too good to exalt but too useless for a permanent role. There was no place in the clan for him.

He also knew the opposite was true - the clan did not fit him. Banish had a rhythm deep in his soul that no one else could hear. Music was his magic; the ability to find a tune in everything around him. Every trilling bird and chirping insect worked together in harmony to him, and he was often distracted listening to their songs.

No one else heard it, of course. He had tried to explain but was met with confused stares or offers of various instruments of his own to play. A piece of reed or beaten drum could never compare to the pulse of the world around him and it was frustrating that no one seemed to share his insight. They told him not everything was music! A half-dead plant rustling in the wind was better as food than as a lullaby.
He did not believe them and refused to have his spirit crushed. He had come here to the Rotrock Rim - one of the vilest places in Sornieth - to prove to himself that even the rotten and unwanted could create a melody all their own.

He found a good ledge inside what looked to be a giant ribcage and settled in. He knew this worked best if he himself was still and did not add more than his own heartbeat and breathe. Closing his eyes he tuned into the world around him, opening his other senses to take everything in. A flap of leather on the rib nearest him being blown about by the breeze, dried hard by the hot and putrid air. The vibrations from the bubbles popping in the nearby caldera. The thick wet sound of the ooze within sloshing around. The skittering of small carnivores collecting scraps from decaying bodies. The tittering of tiny mice in dens beneath him, sorting the various seeds and berries they foraged during the night.
To him, each tiny sound and movement worked together to create the greatest symphony ever heard, incomparable to any sound a dragon-created instrument could attempt to make.
No one understood, but that was alright. This was his alone, and no one could take it from him