Poor Liir is a sucker for music. He doesn't understand the words, but the lilting melody tugs him up from his infirmary bed towards the source. There he can see a beautiful (girl? boy?) fellow teenager singing while they sweep, covered in a fine dust of silver that dances in the late afternoon light.

So, like an idiot, he's staring there, still wearing his infirmary gown (though over his regular clothes, as he'd stubbornly insisted). And when he's noticed, he'll blush a bright green.