Morning mist covered Mount Rigi like a soft blanket. The Swiss Alps looked like a magical dreamland. Polly, a green parrot, ruffled her feathers in the cold mountain air. The cogwheel train stopped at Rigi Kulm station with a loud groan.
"Verdammt!" someone cursed in Swiss German. Through the fog, Polly saw a man bent over a huge brass instrument. It was an alphorn, nearly four meters long.
The man had gray hair and wore a traditional embroidered vest. His hands shook as he tried to play, but only a weak sound came out.
"Thirty-seven years I've been playing," he said to himself. "And now, when it matters most..."
Polly flew to a fence post nearby. "What matters most?" she asked in perfect Swiss German.
The man almost dropped his alphorn. "A talking parrot? I'm Kaspar Brunner, but my name won't help me after Saturday."
"I'm Polly," she replied. "What happens Saturday?"
Kaspar's shoulders dropped. "The Federal Alphorn Festival. Musicians from three countries will come here. I should premiere a piece I've been writing for five years, but..." He touched his throat. "The doctors call it musician's dystonia. My vocal cords freeze up when I'm nervous. Without proper breathing, I can't play the alphorn."
The mist lifted, showing thirteen beautiful lakes below. But Kaspar couldn't see the beauty because of his sadness.
Polly thought carefully. The alphorn wasn't just an instrument to Kaspar—it was part of his soul.
"Show me your composition," Polly said.
Kaspar pulled out an old leather journal. The pages had musical notes mixed with strange symbols: spirals, mountain shapes, and tiny cloud drawings.
"It's my own system," he explained proudly. "Each symbol shows not just a note, but an emotion or memory from the mountains."
As Polly studied the music, she began forming a clever plan.
