And at that he can't help it, no more than he could help himself at Jericho Hill when he'd wrung the most glorious music from Eld's horn, the Horn o'Deschain, in those final minutes before he fell.

(I blow it sweeter than you ever did)

Cuthbert starts laughing, bending forward over the saddle-horn as mirth overcomes him, and his laughter is somehow the shining bell-silver of youth and vibrancy and life and hope unfettered.