The pits of Tinnev sing and hum in the evening winds. The spiraled funnels of the main routes and byways form a giant stone pipe organ, played at by the will and whim of the strong breezes that whistle down off the escarpments to the south. The lower classes – merchants and politicians – have their dwellings and businesses in the smaller pits, accompanied by the flighty trill of an airy whistle. The more revered – stone carvers and cloth weavers – live their lives in the deep pits, accompanied by a throaty baritone hum. It is in the in-between, the to and the fro, that the symphony of Tinnev is born.