Using a story prompt: Their house was filled with oddities that seemed out of place for grandma and grandpa. Looking back now, it suddenly all made sense.

“I hate cleaning up old houses,” Kat said with a shudder. The youngest of our family, we weren't surprised. Anything “old” was anathema to Kat. Jenna and I just smiled. Jenna had always loved my grandparents, ever since we were dating, 20 years ago. They had accepted her as a member of the family immediately and made her feel wanted and included. Holding Jenna's hand, I said, “I've always liked it here. There's always somewhere to go and something weird to discover.”

Jenna nodded and we headed into Grandpa's study. My grandparents hadn't been hoarders, the house was neat and tidy with everything in its place. But they had bookshelves and cabinets full of curios that had fascinated me as a child.

“Your grandpa was a plumber, right?” Jenna asked. “Yes, why?” “How did a plumber come across a set of samurai swords?” I laughed. “oh, my uncle sent those to him when he was in Japan. Pretty sure they're cheap tourist trinkets, plastic horn stand and so forth.” Jenna wasn't so sure. This was a theme for the rest of the day, really. Jenna would see something that she thought was more valuable than I expected, and at the end of the day I agreed to have a professional come evaluate some of our finds.

Kat needed no such help, however. She had gravitated to Grandma's walk-in closet and we heard delighted gasps and squeals from that direction all day long. Kat hated old stuff, but “retro” was a different matter entirely. Around lunchtime Jenna and I went to find her.

“Nick! Nick Nick Nickie Nick! Grandma has such good taste! Look at all these dresses! And they fit!” (Meaning, of course, that they fit Kat.) I looked at what she had laid out on a table in the closet. Styles spanning decades. A flapper dress from the 20's and a very conservative tweed dress from the 40's were the only things I recognized and could put names to. There did seem to be a complete lack of tacky 1970's pantsuits. The sweaters and blazers and dresses that we had known Grandma to wear were presumably still in the closet, unlikely as they were to fit Kat in either form or taste.

“These are some very pretty pieces,” Jenna said. Kat glared daggers at my wife for a split second before remembering tat Jenna was a full head taller than Kat or—presumably—grandma, then smiled and said “Right? I'm sure she would have wanted me to have these.”

“But why did she have these?” Jenna mused. “Your grandma was born in the 1940s, had kids in the 1960s, and I don't seem to remember her going to all that many costume parties.” But Kat seemed unable or unwilling to run with the topic. We pried Kat out of the closet for lunch and then went back to cleaning up the house. By dinnertime we had emptied the living room and kitchen—no real surprises in either room— and Kat had a sizeable pile of heirlooms to remember grandma by built up in the backseat of her Kia. Jenna locked the front door and we drove home,

“You're awfully quiet,” “Just thinking. How much do you know about your grandparents?” “That's a weird question. Grandpa fought in Korea, got injured, came home, married grandma, became a plumber, ran a plumbing company, had three kids, Dad, Aunt Milly and Uncle Ryan, went to college after they left home, got his BA in Linguistics and an MS in information systems... Okay, now that you mention it, that is an interesting career path.” “Did he do anything with those degrees?” “I dunno, he was mostly retired and just liked studying, I think. He told me once that he regretted not getting educated as a young man.” “And your grandmother?” “She did go to college, got her undergrad in finance, married grandpa, had kids, ran the books for the plumbing company all those years, even took on clients at tax season every year, got her MS in finance when her kids were in school.” “And a PhD” Jenna said. “What?” “It's in your 'grandfather's' study. Your grandmother is a Doctor of Accounting.” “What?” “How did you not know that, Nickie?” “She never really talked about it.”

The next few weeks were like seeing a puzzle being built in reverse. We knew—we thought we knew—Grandma and Grandpa. but as we went through their house we found the edges of the pieces that made up the lives we had known. Grandpa had started not one but four companies. Uncle Ryan inherited the plumbing company and was running it as a side business now, having leveraged it to help him start a consulting firm that was his main passion, helping people restructure failing businesses. We went to talk to him about it and he said that Grandma had helped him start that company, and had run the books until he could afford a decent accountant on his own.

One of Grandpa's other companies had been shut down, he sold the other two. We had always thought our grandparents were well enough off but not rich, we came to find out that their money had just never been used for showing off. We knew that they took a lot of vacations, but we had never realized that they weren't just going to Phoenix for the winter, thy were going to Thailand or China or Rome or Cairo. Grandma loved all things Mediterranean and they had even volunteered at a dig site that was later proven to be the most likely site of the City of Troy.

the oddest part was that Dad knew all this.

“Why didn't you tell us?” I asked him. “Oh, thats just mom and dad. That's just what they do.” My mom smiled as she walked through the room. “I found out your father's best friend had moved from Seattle to a house ten minutes away a full year after he moved. Which coincidentally was also the first time your father had been to that house. He's always been a bit lax in this regard, Nickie, you know that.” “It runs in the family,” Jenna said, squeezing my hand.

Discuss...

He found the staircase, itself exponentially louder than the first floor, and he headed down, then opened a door into pandemonium.

The basement was a riot of sound and color. There weren't that many people down there, only thirty or so, but all of them were in motion, their actions frenzied, crazed it seemed. Colored powders were being tossed around, momentarily bursting into blues or greens or reds or oranges, but eventually mixing into an ochre that coated everyone and everything equally.

Almost everyone. There, at the back of the hall, Jackson saw him. The red haired demon, his personal nemesis. He walked through the basement, ignoring the colors, the sights, the songs, the acts, the entire gamut of human activity acted out by only thirty actors.

The Imp sat on his throne, lanky, pale, dressed in loose black silk, his red hair so wild as to seem disassociated. And he just watched. He just watched as Jackson approached. A slight smile on his face until Jackson climbed up onto the dais. And then the Imp simply clapped his hands once and said “Internally now, animals.” The volume fell like someone had twisted a knob. The motion was only slightly subdued but the sound dropped from an assault to the level of noise you'd expect in a restaurant.

“Mr. Jackson, welcome to Babylon.” The Imp said, with a florid wave of his arm.

“Babylon was an empire, this is an abandoned basement. And Babylon fell.”

“Oh but it didn't. The shell fell away, the empire died indeed, but the butterfly inside lives on.” the Imp said.

Jackson ignored that. “How did you do it? How have you stayed a step ahead of me this entire time?”

“Ahead of you, beside you, behind you, around you. Why on earth would I want to walk ahead of you the entire time, kiddo?”

“You don't sound like some kind of mastermind,” Jackson said and the Imp laughed.

“Mastermind? Me? Moi? Ako? Perish the thought. What a boring thing to be.”

“And yet you've avoided us this whole time. Your messages were so secretly hidden, your agents so expertly trained — why are you laughing?”

“What messages? What agents? What training?” the Imp said. “There's your problem, Jackie. You thought we thought like you, but we have so much less need of thought than you thought.” Seeing that Jackson wasn't following, the Imp clapped his hands and said, “Sparrow, come here, if you like.”

A young lady, no more then twenty, ascended the dais and sat down on a sofa. Her clothing and hair and skin were all covered in the colored powders that had been tossed around, but her face was washed clean, her startling amber eyes bright, her skin tan and freckled, entirely without makeup and yet, to Jackson's eyes, incomparably beautiful.

“What are you doing, Sparrow?” The Imp asked, looking at Jackson the entire time.

“I was going to apply my Ceremonial Visage” she said, lifting a pink makeup box with a yellow handle and a green clasp, a relic from the 1990s, dusty and cracked.

“Please carry on, Sparrow darling. Would you be offended if Mr. Jackson and I watch as you do so?”

Sparrow shrugged and opened her makeup box. She pulled out a couple of tubes of thick, opaque body paint and adjusted a small mirror so she could see her own face.

Jackson moved closer to the Imp, curious and somehow shy. It felt like he was prying, he felt voyeuristic.

“What ceremony is she preparing for?” He asked the Imp.

“I have no idea.” The Imp said. Sparrow had drawn careful white lines down her face, from her hairline, crossing her eyelids, down her cheeks, and to the collar of her shirt. She then started spreading the white paint back from the lines, covering her ears and neck and cheeks, meticulously painting herself, the middle of her face shockingly human in contrast.

“What do you mean? How many ceremonies are going on down here?”

“Well let's see, we've got thirty, thirty three celebrants this evening, so I would guess fifty at least.” The Imp said.

“How is that possible? Are you even trying to make sense?”

“Mercy no. Why would I do that? I'm telling the truth, Jackie boy. Making sense of it is your department.”

Sparrow was now painting the middle of her face a solid emerald green, from forehead to chin to throat. This done, she outlined her eyes in bright yellow. The look was clearly very intentional but somehow entirely childish.

“Sparrow dear, can you tell Mr. Jackson about your visage?” the Imp said, Sparrow smiled, her teeth bright in the midst of the green on her face.

“I like green and white and yellow. They are powerful colors, and they combine to give me joy and power.” With that she hopped up, half-bowed to the Imp, and walked back off into the ochre mess, spinning and weaving, laughing and chatting, then dancing until she was out of sight.

“I didn't understand any of that,” Jackson admitted.

“Nor did I. But she did. And that, Jackie poo, is the point, the point you're missing. The reason you'll never catch me. Oh, please, you've found me, you haven't captured me. To be honest your desire to capture me and put me into a new environment you call 'prison' is exciting, but it doesn't quite capture my interest just now.”

For a moment Jackson imagined the Imp in a nominally orange jumpsuit, sitting quietly in a cell as the cells around him were a riot of activity and chaos. It was all too easy to imagine.

“You've said, in other settings, to other people, that I'm insane. That is entirely possible. Sanity is simply behaving in a way that makes you tolerable to others. And I don't mind being friendly. But what about living in a way that is tolerable to myself? To yourself? What about Sparrow there living the way that makes her heart beat and her eyes twinkle?”

“Letting people live like hippies is all well and good, but that's not all you've done, and you know it. You've orchestrated bank robberies, government data exfiltration, cyber attacks on several major corporations — “

“Have I? When? And how? I love stories about myself, especially the farfetched ones. Search my chambers, Jack-o-lantern. Look around. Find the stolen money, the data, the contacts with foreign powers.” The Imp was laying on his stomach now, looking at Jackson with merry eyes, his chin on his fist, his feet up and crossed behind him.

“We will. Your motives are still...obscure...but it's your influence that led to these acts, we've figured out your coded messages in those songs.”

“Oh this story gets even better! Which songs? What messages? What did I tell people to do?”

“We can go over all of that in court. Your use of nonsense as a cover is very entertaining, but it doesn't clear you of anything. Every one of those messages came from someone who follows you.”

“No, you are close but not on the mark. I don't tell people what to do. I can't! They would never listen to me. Watch,” the Imp said and yelled “stand on your heads!” and some people laughed, but nobody stood on their heads. “I'm not a leader. I'm not an organizer, Jack-jack. I know your world, you want, no you need someone to be the one who thought all these things out, these robberies and such. But that's not how it works.

“These people do what they want to do. I can no more tell them to do than I can tell you what they are going to do. All I can do is provide some energy, and they will do with it as they will. Like so:” The Imp raised his hands and started clapping out a rhythm, quick and staccato, with some syncopation, but nothing too special.

Clap, clap-clap, Clap Clap, clapclapclapclapclap

For a few seconds nothing much happened. People were doing their own things still, painting, chatting, eating, kissing, dancing, same as before. But slowly, subtly, the motion of the people in the warehouse shifted. They didn't all focus on the Imp, they didn't pick up his rhythm and clap along. Jackson found himself trying to turn the beat into a rhythm he could write down.

Dotted quarter, eighth-eighth, quarter quarter (sixteenth rest) four sixteenths, or was it five?

But the Imp was changing it slightly all the time.

But even with the Imp's changes, the people of the warehouse were picking up on the pattern. It was flowing all through the group. You couldn't tell what someone was going to do when the pattern started its next repetition, but you started to see waves, see everyone doing something when the pattern started over. Their motions didn't come into harmony, didn't join up, but they were moving to the same cadence.

“This is as close as order gets around here, Jackson. I'm providing a way to feel unity without giving up identity. You say I am chaotic, illogical. And so I am, Jackson. But so too is the sun. Consider: the sun's corona, millions of miles out from the surface, is hotter than the surface of the sun. Nothing, no science can account for that, but it's true. The sun is the largest single instance of glorious entropy you will ever see, an explosion so massive and rollicking that it will still be going on long after you and I have been cycled through this planet a thousand times. And from that chaotic explosion comes all life, all we know, all knowing things and all living things. Without it we are not.”

Jackson's eyes were defeated, enticed, trying to find the pattern in the motions of the crowd. “But now for the best part,” The Imp said. Once he was sure he had Jackson's attention, he theatrically dropped his hands to his sides, and sat still again.

“Don't watch me, watch them,” the Imp said.

Jackson did. He could still hear the beat in his mind, still feel it in his body, and...yes, the crowd was still moving to the beat. The way that one person hesitated for just a brief interval before turning, the way that person stepped and nodded...the beat was still going in each of them.

“I told you there were at least fifty ceremonies going on, and the glory of it is that each is deep and meaningful to the individuals involved. They each feel like they're connected, finally, to something bigger than themselves. But 'tis pure pareidolia, they are inventing the meanings in their heads. Thus they are not pure order, as you would hope, nor pure chaos. They are feral, a perfect blend of civilization and nature.”

The Imp moved, Jackson could feel it, but he didn't look up. His eyes were transfixed, watching the hypnotic patterns, seeing continual changes in the movement, the flow of the crowd. The pattern had shifted, but somehow it had shifted for everyone instead of fracturing.

The Imp's voice was behind Jackson now. “And then there's poor logical you, Jackie. You see a group of cultists, painted green and white and gold and think they must be connected to something bigger than themselves, and you seek for that deeper connection, for the organization,” the Imp almost spat the word, “to which they belong. Never realizing that there is none. There is no Illuminati, or rather, say that there are thousands, each believing itself to be the true descendant of the Bavarians, but each a new thing, sprung from the fertile imagination of your modern society.

“But because you seek for order, for logic, you try to connect the dots, and so invent connections where there are none, just as they do. And so when you are presented with this illogical truth, you cannot deal with it as it is, but instead are duped into searching it for what it never will be. Consider this well, Jackson mon ami. Perhaps we shall meet again. Adieu.”

Jackson barely noticed the swish of a curtain or sound of a door closing behind him. He was so close to solving the riddle of this pattern...if he could just see a little more, if he could just interview these people, he would pull back the veil and it would all be clear. Perhaps...yes, perhaps if he joined them, not as a celebrant but as an observer pretending to be a celebrant...

Jackson stood, and found Sparrow's face paints. He carefully drew a yellow line down the middle of his face.

Discuss...

Which brought up the controversial subject of the soul. Some claimed that the existence of an immaterial soul was fictitious anyway and if a being was translocated down to their quantum state they were the same being. Some said that any being who had been transported was now an automaton and was no longer fit to interact in human company.

As with any question of a metaphysical nature this proved itself to be insoluble by standard scientific process for quite some time, and was largely forgotten. Some few people refused to use the transporters, but it was no great loss as the machines were still expensive to build and few in number.

One day a quiet gentleman sought out the inventors of the system and asked a simple favor. “I would like to perform a test of my own, if that is acceptable.” He said. His face was peaceful, inviting, and seemed always to have a small smile.

“I simply ask to be transported from one room to another, under some specific conditions. It would please me to have cameras running at both sites during the test. I require no other equipment, and ask only fifteen minutes of your time. I am willing to pay for the privilege.” The test was set up. Cameras were synchronized between the sending site and the receiving site. At the appointed hour the quiet gentleman entered the sending site. “I thank you for this test,” He said and he approached the apparatus. “I shall seek to compose myself on this platform,” he said. “When you see no evidence of breathing for a full minute, then you may activate the machine.” The technician in charge nodded.

The quiet gentleman settled himself comfortably on the platform.

“Ready to receive,” came the message from Platform Two, but they were shushed. An air of stillness filled the room, deeply uncomfortable for some, transcendent for others.

The technician watched closely and started counting seconds between breaths. Ten....fifteen...thirty-five...sixty. That had been a full minute. She quietly activated the controls.

The transportation matrix started up, humming quietly and scanning the quiet gentleman to his very quanta. The process was fast, mere seconds.

“Subject received. Life signs...slow, but active” came the voice from the receiving platform.

The technician looked concerned. “Platform Two, repeat that message?” She said, clearly so that her voice would be on both videos.

“Subject has been received. Not yet moving, but life signs read positive. He's just...sitting there.”

The technician looked around the room. The scientists were checking videos, checking equipment, doing anything other than looking at the teleportation platform.

Where the quiet gentleman still apparently sat.

The technician leaned closer, if she squinted, if she looked very hard, she thought she could detect the slightest translucency, the barest hint that she could see the wall behind the gentleman as he sat still.

Hushed communications were happening between the scientists, and between the Platforms One and Two. Debates about bringing in additional equipment to scan at Platform One. Every reading showed that the platform was empty, except for actual visuals. Every person, every camera could see the quiet gentleman sitting there, motionless still. Every other sensor indicated no such presence.

After a very hectic ninety seconds the quiet gentleman—on both platforms, simultaneously— breathed deeply. On Platform One he smiled and opened his eyes. “Ah well. It is a form of escape, certainly, but the draw, the bond is still there.” He smiled wistfully. “Ah well, I should not have expected a machine to provide a shortcut,” He said. “Thank you for your time.”

And then he disappeared from Platform One.

At Platform Two, he stood up, thanked the gathered staff and, ignoring all questions, walked out into the bright, sunny day.

Discuss...

Kent was awake and sitting up, groggily and wearily, but seated. He looked up at Kaelyn's approaching footsteps.

“Ava? Wren?” he asked, no verbs required nor given.

“Both fine. Master Colm, Mrs. Marion, and Miss Daisy are all there, taking care of them. Hazel is safe in the house as well.” Kent nodded and his shoulders slumped. For a moment his breathing was slow and heavy and Kaelyn wondered if he had fallen asleep again. She knew that his episodes took a lot out of him, his entire body fighting against itself.

But a moment later it was obvious that he wasn't sleeping, he was crying.

“I've never missed the birth of my child before,” he said under his breath, and his words were a knife of ice in Kaelyn's heart. Rowan looked at his father, grief in his eyes and then looked up at Kaelyn. “Isn't there anything you can do?”

She wasn't going to screw this up, not again. She had a stimulant in her satchel but giving it to Kent would put his already overworked heart under more stress. But she also had the healer's best medicine: suggestion.

She nodded and asked Rowan to fill the small leather cup again. Rowan went down to the river while Kaelyn gathered ingredients from her satchel. When Rowan returned she put a pinch of ground rosemary and some powdered dried dandelion leaf into the water. She stirred it briefly and then added a drop of vinegar, and lastly, of course, a small drop of honey from a hive kept by Master Colm himself.

“Drink this, ” she said, handing it to Kent. he nodded and she continued.

“It won't taste good, but please drink it all. Dandelions grow under almost any conditions, and the honey is local,” she explained, and every word she said was true. “once you've drunk it all, we'll go when you feel up to it,” and that was true as well.

Kent shuddered after his first sip, but bravely drank it all, and in only a couple of minutes Kaelyn could see it taking effect. Which was impressive, really, considering what she had given him were the ingredients for a salad dressing.

“Very well, I am well enough off,” Kent said, and Kaelyn and Rowan helped him to his feet.

the walk back to the Chastain house was agonizing. Kent was unable to move at the speed he wanted, especially given that it was all uphill, but in time they arrived. Before they even entered the front door Kaelyn said “Kent, you cannot wear those muddy clothes in to see your wife,” and before she could continue he began removing his outer clothing, he took his shoes off just inside the front door, and entered the sitting room wearing only his underthings.

“Kent!” Ava cried out as he entered, her voice still agonized, and worryingly weary.

Marion sat in the front room, still holding the sleeping Hazel.

“How is it going in there, Mama?” Kaelyn asked, hanging her wet and muddy cloak on the stand next to the door, and the long yards of now muddied fabric as well.

“It's been rough, but the Master feels that the worst is passed.” Marion said.

“He's come out to talk to you then?” Kaelyn said and Mama laughed. “Why would he need to do that?”

Kaelyn turned to look at Marion, who had a quiet, satisfied smile on her face but didn't elaborate.

A moment later Daisy came out of the sitting room, her face covered in a literal combination of blood, sweat, and tears, the most potent mixture. Her arms and apron were also covered in blood.

“Master Colm sent me out to get cleaned up and to prepare a cradle for the baby,” Daisy said, her voice weak and bordering on a sob.

Daisy nodded, and Kaelyn grabbed her cloak, then led her friend out to the courtyard, where the pump was. Rowan, temporarily forgotten, made a move to follow them but Marion said, “Rowan, dear, please go gather linens for your little sister's cradle and bring them back here.” eh started, nodded, and went to the linen closet.

At the pump Kaelyn started pumping water for Daisy to wash her hands and face in. The puddles around Daisy's feet ran red and Daisy started crying as the blood covered the ground, and cried harder as it kept running red. She stripped off her apron, throwing it far from her in revulsion, scrubbing her arms. She looked down and saw that blood was on her dress as well and with an anguished growl ripped that off as well, standing only in a shift. Kaelyn stood between Daisy and the door, then handed Daisy the long and much abused new dress fabric, letting Daisy scrape herself clean. Then Kaelyn removed her own dress and handed it to Daisy. they weren't quite the same size, but close enough.

Daisy looked up in surprise at the proffered dress and made a motion to refuse, but Kaelyn nodded and handed the dress over. No words spoken or needed. Daisy nodded and put it on. Kaelyn wrapped herself in her cloak, then helped Daisy wash her face. then the two novice healers sat on the bench and Kaelyn put an arm around her friend as Daisy settled.

Finally Daisy said, “I am never having kids. EVER!” and Kaelyn nodded, unsure of what to say. Daisy laughed an unsteady laugh and sighed. “Well, probably.”

Daisy stood and said, “Okay, let's go do our job.”

Kaelyn said, “Go ahead, I'll clean up out here first.” Daisy went back inside and Kaelyn filled the washtub leaning against the side of the house. Methodically and quietly she scrubbed out Daisy's apron and dress, then hung them to dry. Then she emptied the tub and leaned it where it went, and this was part of being a healer. When the courtyard looked as it should, no signs of blood and Daisy's clothes clean and drying, Kaelyn wrapped herself in her cloak, and, holding it closed with one hand, opened the door.

When Kaelyn entered the house the front room was empty, but there were quiet and peaceful voices coming from the sitting room. Walking softly Kaelyn approached the open door.

In the sitting room Master Colm was seated on the floor, leaning back against the wall, his head leaned back, eyes closed. He was still bloody but seemed content.

Ava Aviana was sitting, covered in a blanket, and looked radiant. Exhausted, still sweaty, pale and worn, but radiant. Daisy was standing to one side of Ava, Kent on the other. Marion was making up a small cradle, assisted by Hazel. Rowan stood next to his father.

Ava looked up first, and smiled warmly as Kaelyn entered, and motioned for her to come closer. As Kaelyn approached, Ava said,

“Miss Kaelyn, I have the honor to introduce you to Wren Daisy Chastain.”

And Daisy's eyes went wide, and filled with tears again.

“What a beautiful name,” Kaelyn said.

Discuss...

“What if Rowan and Papa are in trouble? Oh, but what if Mama is going faster, with just Miss Daisy there? But Miss Daisy was there, shouldn't you stay with Papa? But...no, you said you can care for Mama and Papa is okay...” Hazel's never ending monologue had taken on a repetitive quality, a litany of fear that Kaelyn found hard to cope with. Worse, nothing Kaelyn said was of much use to either assuage or stem Hazel's fear, and it only added to Kaelyn's own fear to try.

And then they got to the house. As Kaelyn and Hazel entered the small clearing around the Chastain home They heard a low, anguished scream from inside. “MAMA!” Hazel cried, running toward the door, sobbing. Kaelyn caught up with her as she made the door and held the younger girl's shoulders. “Hazel, your mama is being well looked after, and I'll go in and help, she will be fine, and so will your little sister,” Kaelyn said, and opened the door.

Hazel nodded, still crying and stepped over the threshold. Just then Ava screamed again and Hazel fell to the ground, collapsing straight down into a sobbing ball.

“Hazel? Oh, And Kaelyn!” Marion said, coming into the front room from the kitchen, carrying a flat pan full of boiled cloths, still steaming.

“Mama! Then is the Master here as well?”

“Yes, Kaelyn, but where is—” Marion began but Kaelyn took the rags from her and rushed into the sitting room.

Marion looked after her, doubt in her eyes, but only for a moment. When Kaelyn disappeared into the other room Marion crossed the floor quickly to the crying Hazel and scooped her up easily. Holding Hazel soothingly in her arms, she settled into a large chair.

“Now now Hazel, you've done quite well, and you should be proud of yourself. This is an emotional day, and there's a lot going on. But the Master is tending to your mother and sister, and you are safe now in my arms. So you just let it all out and soon you'll see it's all going to be fine.”

Hazel sobbed hard against Marion's shoulder for a few minutes, but gradually her sobs subsided into shuddering, shaking breaths, and a few minutes later her breathing evened and deepened into sleep. Marion wasn't known far and wide as “Mama” for nothing.

Meanwhile Kaelyn was walking in on a scene of...her first thought was horror, but she stopped herself from thinking that. This was the miracle of birth. There was blood and fluid and...other stuff everywhere, and Ava was sitting in the same chair where Kaelyn had last seen her. Daisy was kneeling in front of Ava, wearing a Healer's surgical apron of un-dyed wool. Master Colm—similarly dressed, blood on his apron as well—was mixing a poultice using a mortar and pestle, the scent of the herbs sharp and clean amidst all the other odors in the room.

When Kaelyn entered Daisy turned to look, her face pale and white, sweat running freely down her cheeks and neck, blood up to her elbows. Master Colm looked up and...didn't smile.

Oh no.

“Kaelyn there you are at last. Where did you go?” he asked, his voice entirely mild, his eyes returning to his work and hands moving surely and steadily.

“I went to run some errands in Strand. Rowan found me at the dry goods store and we came back here.”

“Rowan and Hazel were sent out an hour hence, but perhaps we will discuss that later.” Master Colm said quietly. He motioned for Kaelyn to step closer. “The birth is not going easily. The baby is turned in the womb and Daisy is doing her best to coax the child into the proper position. Hopefully this mixture will help Ava's body relax so that we can move the child. I know it's not normal, but she's been calling for her husband and if it would comfort her for Kent to be in here I'm not opposed to it. Will you call him in, please?”

“Ah, Master Colm, When Kent found me and Rowan, we were headed back here, you see, and, well, Kent had one of his episodes” Kaelyn said quietly. Master Colm stopped mixing. But didn't look up.

“Rowan and I kept him from biting his tongue, and dragged him off the trail. I put him on my cloak, and waterproofed some cloth to put over him, and he's under a tree...Then Hazel found us and told us that only Daisy was here...and then I headed back here with Hazel, and...and Rowan is with his father. I...I felt that I should be here to attend to Ava, since Kent was stable.”

Kaelyn could feel her Master's disapproval without him saying a word. She shrunk back.

“Kennnnnt!” Ava screamed out.

Daisy said “Master Colm...I can feel the baby's...foot, I think,” her voice near tears.

Colm nodded and said “I am nearly prepared, Daisy.” then in a quieter voice he said “you left Riverside when you were meant to be sitting vigil in this home. You then left a patient on the ground, knowing another Novice was here, and that I was on my way. Do you trust us so very little, Kaelyn?”

Kaelyn had started crying when he started speaking. His words were gentle, quiet, even and measured, but she had disappointed him. Colm waited a moment for an answer, but Kaelyn just sobbed. He scooped the mixture he had made and spread it on one of the clean rags Kaelyn was still holding. “Here I come Daisy” he said.

Then he looked Kaelyn in the eyes, holding her gaze with his, speaking quietly and intentionally.

“I don't know why you left to go to Strand, and I don't know why you came back without Kent. Fix this, Novice. Go back to Kent Chastain, see that he is well, and return him safe to this house. This is your charge as a healer, and see that you do nothing else until it is fulfilled.”

Kaelyn started to say “Couldn't Daisy go—” but the merest glance from Colm stopped her short. She simply nodded, crying, and ran back out the front door.

Discuss...

“Now then, shall we go see how your mother is doing?” She said, and started walking up the path out of town.

They were just passing the last houses of North Strand when They spotted Kent Chastain running down the path towards them.

“Rowan! There you are, lad, and you found the healer, excellent. What took you so long?” Ken said, sweating and breathing hard.

“Has the situation gotten more serious?” Kaelyn asked and Rowan's face went entirely still.

“Didn't you tell her?” Kent said, turning and heading back towards his house. “Miss Kaelyn, Ava's waters broke not long after you left, she's been laboring hard and feels that Wren is in distress, we must make haste!”

“Yes, indeed we must,” Kaelyn agreed, and broke into a gentle jog to match Kent's harried pace. He nodded and the three of them ran back towards Riverside. The path was at a steady uphill climb the entire way, of course, and soon even Kent wearied of running. So they walked as fast as they could, all sweating and thankful for the breeze whipping around them.

Clouds were racing in now, from over the sea, and they were just passing through a small copse of aspens when Rowan cried out “Miss Kaelyn!”

Kaelyn had been ahead of the Chastain men, going through her satchel and mentally preparing for a delivery. She turned to see what had distressed rowan and gasped. Kent had fallen to the dusty road, and was shuddering, his eyes rolled back in his head, limbs thrashing. Kaelyn gasped and headed back down the path to where Rowan knelt, holding his father's head in his arms. Quickly Kaelyn reached into her satchel, pulled out her new dress fabric, and cut a roughly shaped patch off, rolling it into a tight tube.

“tip his head back, please, Rowan” she said and pulled Kent's jaw down, then slide the fabric into Ketn's mouth, sideways, so that his teeth couldn't fully close.

“Shouldn't we use a stick?” Rowan asked.

Kaelyn shook her head. “Aspen branches are too brittle. He could bite through the wood, and then we would have suffocation on top of his condition. Do you have his medicine?”

“No, don't you have it, healer?” Rowan replied. Kaelyn looked up at him with wide eyes. “He's stressed,” she told herself. “A healer's job includes letting people be stressed”. But a numb feeling started spreading from her heart to her fingertips. Dread, and guilt. If she had done her job, if she had stayed in Riverside and had been at the Chastain home, none of this would be happening.

“We'll check his pockets when he settles,” is all she said out loud. Rowan just nodded.

Kent was a strong man, and there was no way that Kaelyn or Rowan could keep him perfectly still, but that wasn't the goal. For what seemed like an eternity they both did their best simply to keep him from hurting himself in his seizures. Kaelyn held his head in her lap so that he wouldn't injure his skull. Rowan sat at his father's side and kept his limbs mostly straight and away from anything that might cut him. They didn't speak during this time; what on earth would they say?

Only after Kent's thrashing had stilled did Kaelyn notice that rain had started falling. Kent was unconscious at this point, eyes still rolled back in his head. The Riverside Road was the path of least resistance, and soon would be a small stream in its own right.

“How long does he usually stay unconscious after an episode?” Kaelyn asked.

Rowan shrugged, not making eye contact. “Shouldn't a healer know that?”

“Three deep breaths,” Kaelyn told herself, but it didn't help, not this time. He was right. She should know, she was assigned to this family, she knew that Kent had this issue. But she did avoid answering back. Instead she said, “Let's move him gently into those trees, so he's not laying where the water will run,” and Rowan nodded his agreement.

Between them they were able to get Kent into a copse of aspens that provided some slight shelter from the rain. If she had had any plans to move Kent back to his home this brief scramble in the mud dispelled that.

Kaelyn spread her cloak on the ground and they laid Kent on it, then she took her new fabric from her satchel and put it over him, sprinkling it with crushed, dried lily pads and weaving a waterproofing spell into the fabric to keep Kent dry.

They sat, not talking, watching over Kent as his breathing slowed to a regular rate again. Suddenly from up the path they heard a voice calling.

“Rowan? Rooooow-aaaaaann!”

Rowan looked up and called back “Hazel?”

“Rowan!” and the sound of quick footsteps.

Hazel appeared from around a bend and took in the whole scene all at once. She was already scared, soaked, extended beyond her emotional limits and seeing her father like this didn't help.

“Papa! Oh no! Is he okay?” She asked, running over to kneel by her father.

“He's fine, Hazel, he just had an episode. Why are you here? Couldn't you find the Master healer?”

“What?” Hazel asked, wiping the water from her father's face.

“Did you find Master Colm?” Rowan repeated.

“Oh, no, but I found Miss Daisy, she's with Mama.”

“Daisy?” Kaelyn asked. “But not Master Colm?”

Hazel looked up, seemingly seeing Kaelyn for the first time. “Oh, Miss Kaelyn. No, Miss Daisy was on the path back to your cottage with Mrs. Marion, so Daisy came to our house and Mrs. Marion went to find Master Colm.”

Kaelyn looked upset. “Daisy doesn't know your mother's condition.”

“At least she's there” Rowan said, quietly enough to pretend he didn't say it, but loud enough that Kaelyn heard it.

“I should be there,”

“But our father—” Rowan began, panic creeping into his eyes.

“Will be fine, he's safe and dry, he'll wake up soon. There's nothing more I can do for him here, but Daisy isn't prepared to take care of your mother herself.”

“Miss Kaelyn, Marion said the Master would be there soon,” Hazel said softly, not wanting to gainsay a healer.

But Kaelyn wasn't to be deterred. “Daisy isn't the right person to see to Ava Aviana, I am,” she told herself internally.

“Nevertheless I should be there. Rowan, stay with your father.” She dug a leather cup out of her satchel. “Hazel, go fill this from the river and bring it back.”

Hazel nodded and went down to the river while Kaelyn found some salts and some willowfine—at least she had that on hand— and mixed them in the palm of one hand. When Hazel returned she poured the mixture into the water.

“His head will no doubt hurt when he awakes, this will help, and will help his blood return to normal operation as well.” Kaelyn said, and handed the cup to Rowan. “See that he drinks this when he awakes, and try to keep him calm. One of us will be back here soon.” She said.

“So you're abandoning both my parents in one day?” Rowan asked, tears in the corners of his eyes.

Kaelyn laid a hand on his shoulder and he took a shuddering breath, and didn't shrug it off. “Rowan, your father is coming out of his episode, he's stable, and he's dry, I've done all I can for him now. But your mother—and your baby sister—are just starting into their troubles.” She said, her voice as calm and reasonable as she could make it. She hoped she was hiding her own fears. Rowan looked away from her eyes and just nodded. Kaelyn squeezed his shoulder once and then said “okay, Hazel, let's go back to your house.”

Discuss...

[the shop owner's wife] greeted Kaelyn and smiled. “welcome Miss! What can I do for you today?”

Kaelyn smiled and said “I heard you have a new shipment of fabrics in, and I would like to look at them, please.”

“Of course! Are you shopping for Marion?”

“No, this is for me,” Kaelyn said, bristling a little. “I've been saving up, and I want to make myself a dress.” “Well that's nice dear, what kind of dress are you making?”

“Well, I want something that I can wear while doing my work, something nice... but sturdy, and that I can let out as I grow...and pretty.”

The kindly older lady smiled at the requirements but started arranging bolts of fabric. Kaelyn sighed a little as a pretty bolt of iridescent silk went onto a shelf, and reminded herself that this was a healer's dress, not a ballgown. In a moment six or so bolts of fabric were laid out on a table in front of Kaelyn. “I think these are probably all decent choices dear,”

“Ah, these are lovely, but, this one...perhaps not any with...flowers on them.” Honestly, a daisy print. The shop keep was a professional and the floral fabric went back onto the rack, replaced with a sky blue one that matched Kaelyn's cloak.

While Kaelyn looked over the fabrics, comparing weave and texture and color, the shop bell rang again and Kaelyn heard Brant, the new shop boy, greet the newcomer.

“Hello, sir, who can I help you?”

“I heard that Miss Kaelyn, the healer, might be here?” said a familiar voice and Kaelyn turned to look through the doorway into the main room. Rowan stood, his face radiating concern, until he saw Kaelyn looking at him.

“Rowan, is everything okay?” Kaelyn said.

There is an old saying in Strand:

One boy's a boy Two boys are half a boy Three boys are no boy at all. And a lad near a lass is worth less than them all.

Perhaps, had Ava been more present she wouldn't have sent Rowan to town and Hazel to the Healer's hut. Perhaps she would have remembered the rhyme. But such is life, and here Rowan stood, and he made his mistake,and Kaelyn made hers.

“Um, well, miss Kaelyn, mother feels that, it's possible her time is approaching.” He lied, inexplicably feeling that having a mother in labor would lessen him in her sight.

“Oh my, is it quite urgent?” Kaelyn asked, looking regretfully at the bolts of cloth behind her. Surely she would be back in Strand soon, but she wanted to get started on her new dress now.

“Oh, no Miss, but she felt, perhaps, that it would be good to have you near, when it's convenient, just in case.”

And Rowan's face said “I'm lying”. And Kaelyn knew. But Rowan said, “are you going to sew a new dress? What color are you going to use?” and here was a unique thing, a boy who cared about dresses. And for fifteen critical minutes Kaelyn chose colors and basked in the warmth of statements like “I think that color would suit you” or “that color makes yours eyes sparkle!”

Discuss...

Quinn was in her late twenties, her husband Lucas in his early twenties. Nobody would have expected them to fall in love, had it not happened. Quinn was larger than life, loud, happy, boisterous with bright red hair and a smile for everyone. For ten years before her wedding she had been a wagoner, shipping goods up and down the road to Strand, even heading east along the King's Way to other communities. She always came back with stories as well as goods; tales of her deeds and mishaps on the road. Lucas had been a shepherd: quiet, methodical, gentle, kind, and able to thrive in silence. He was well regarded but rarely inserted himself into conversations. The two met one evening when Lucas had been walking back to Riverside from Strand and Quinn had offered him a ride on her wagon. The community had watched in gentle bemusement as the two courted each other, married, and now were making adjustments to accommodate the other. Against all odds they appreciated one another for their differences, seemed to recognize how their partner had made them more complete. Lucas laughed more, spoke more, and went to more social gatherings. Quinn, for her part, found that bragging about her husband was at least as much fun as bragging about herself. Both of them took up a new trade so that together they could live in rustic comfort. They built their new house across the river from town; far enough away for Lucas to be comfortable and close enough for Quinn. Kaelyn liked them both immensely.

When Kaelyn approached Lucas was planing some logs for the new room of his house, his fishing nets hung out to dry. He looked up and saw Kaelyn and smiled. “Miss Kaelyn”, he said, his quiet voice friendly.

“Lucas, so good to see you. Is your wife at home?” He nodded and walked toward the house, but needen't have bothered, before he had entered the door Quinn came out, beaming brightly, leading her two children. Lucas gathered her in his arms, surprisingly strong and confident, and kissed her soundly, long enough that the kids started making retching noises and Kaelyn looked away.

Finally Quinn said “enough of that, honey, the Healer is here!” She broke the kiss, but kept her arm around her husband's waist. “ Hi there Kay-kay, what's news from Colm?”

“Nothing of great import, he just sent me to check in on your children, to see if they have recovered from their cough,” Kaelyn said, reaching into her satchel again.

“Johnny seems to have kicked it, but Margo is holding onto it, poor kitten,” Quinn said, grabbing Margo and carrying her bodily over to where Kaelyn stood. Margo giggled, which broke into a rough cough that lasted for a moment.

“How do you feel, Margo?” Kaelyn asked, as Lucas set a cup of cold water close to Kaelyn's hand.

“I'm fine. Just tastes yucky when I cough,” Margo said, looking up at Kaelyn with curious eyes. “Are you gonna make me take medicine again?”

“We want your lungs to get healthy,” Kaelyn said, smiling gently. “But Mama did make me some biscuits to give you when you finish your medicine,” she finished, and produced a small packet of white powder and a couple of freshly baked shortbread biscuits.

Margo seemed to think this was a fair trade and swallowed the powder in the water, then grabbed both biscuits before her brother could try to get one.

Kaelyn chatted briefly with the couple as the kids ran around. Whatever game the kids were playing it seemed to involve using Kaelyn as a “base”. Kaelyn finished her conversation, gently unwrapped Margo from around her legs, and then promised to check in a few days.

“And now,” she said to herself, “I think I have a little time to do some shopping” and she turned her path towards Strand. She didn't make much as a novice, being mostly paid in room and board with Colm and Marion, but some few coins did enter her hands and she had been saving up to buy some material for a new dress.

Discuss...

Kaelyn and Daisy walked out of the cottage together, each with their satchel full, heading the same direction at first. “ What do yo have today?” Kaelyn asked, satisfied that she hadn't forgotten anything too important when packing her satchel this morning. “Not too much, checking in on Alora, then on little Tommy, his mother is worried that he's not growing very well yet. What about you?”

Kaelyn sighed. “The usual, Ava Chastain, then Quinn and Lucas and their kids, then back to check on Ava again.”

“Mmmm, poor lady, having another child ten years after she thought she was done.” Daisy said, nothing but concern in her voice. Kaelyn nodded.

“She's having a hard time of it, too. her time is close, and she's been in false labor almost every day.”

“That's rough, and with Kent's condition, she probably doesn't get a lot of time off her feet.” Daisy said.

“Kent has been doing well lately, thanks to some things that Master Colm has prepared for him. And anyway, Hazel is old enough to help with household chores.”

“And what about Rowan?” Daisy asked, the smile on her face obvious in her tone, even without Kaelyn turning to look.

“I gather he's helping with his father's business,” Kaelyn said, refusing to be drawn. Rowan Chastain was roughly her age, and had always had quick, bright eyes, and a quiet, diffident manner that attracted Kaelyn more than the louder, more brash boys in Strand.

“Well, I hope Kent doesn't have Rowan too busy this morning,” Daisy said and giggled.

Kaelyn sighed. Daisy was only about six months older than Kaelyn, but when it came to boys she almost acted like she was already sixteen, always talking about kissing and...dating, and... Kaelyn stopped thinking about it before she started blushing.

They came to a crossroads and parted ways, Daisy heading up to a small cluster of houses, Kaelyn walking rather farther to the Chastain household.

It was a bright but windy morning, and Master Colm had predicted rain before evening, so Kaelyn was dressed in a slightly-too-warm cloak of light blue, a color she had loved as a little girl, but was starting to think was too juvenile for a novice healer.

The Chastains lived in the small village of Riverside, maybe two miles from Strand proper. Riverside had grown up near the mouth of a wide valley where the shepherds kept their flocks, and was creatively named after its sparkling, murmuring water source. Kaelyn liked Riverside rather better than Strand, it reminded her of her home in Coombe. The air up here was more open, quieter, and had only the faintest tang of the sea when the wind came up off the bay, the rest of the time it smelled of mountains and sheep.

She also liked going to the Chastain home. Their house was well built, cared for by generations of Chastains, solid timbers and well tended walls. The floors were flagstones, quarried in a different valley, brought here, carefully placed, and carefully replaced when worn or chipped.

Kaelyn knocked on the front door and Rowan answered, a touch faster than one might expect, almost as if he had been waiting. His hair was slicked back, face washed, and Kaelyn smiled up at him...when had he gotten so tall?

“Well hello, Rowan!”

“Miss Kaelyn,” Rowan answered.

“Rowan, I'm younger than you, just Kaelyn is fine.”

“Yes Miss,” Rowan replied and Kaelyn came inside, smiling slightly.

“Mother is in the sitting room” Rowan said and Kaelyn nodded her thanks. As usual she walked through the house to the courtyard out back, washed her hands carefully at the pump, up to the elbows, with Rowan watching. Once done, she turned and walked to the sitting room. Rowan followed her hesitantly.

Under normal circumstances Ava Chastain had an ethereal, otherworldly beauty that spoke of her druid heritage. That and her name. Kaelyn always said her full name in her head, loving the poetry of it: “Ava Aviana”.

Ava had long, deep brown hair, usually braided intricately, but when left loose it reached to her waist. Her eyes were green with flecks of copper, and even though she was the wife of a tinkerer in a shepherd's village she had fair skin, with only the faintest sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, which made her look eternally young. For the past few months of her pregnancy, Ava had had the type of look that people referred to as the “glow” of pregnancy, healthy, and smiling, carrying the child in a way that in no way detracted from her beauty.

Right now, however, she also looked uncomfortably pregnant. Her long hair was tied back in a ponytail, with several additional ties along its length to keep it out of her way. Her face was dewed with sweat and eyes wide with pain. Her breathing was heavy and she was leaning back in a large chair strewn with furs, her feet on a small stool in front of it.

As Kaelyn entered the room Ava tried to smile faintly, but Kaelyn shook her head and came over to Ava's side, gently wiping Ava's forehead and then checking her pulse.

“Are you okay, mother?” Rowan asked and Ava nodded. “Of course, Rowan, it's just...this is just part of the process” she said, words ragged.

“I'm sure we're getting close now,” Kaelyn said and then chased Rowan out of the room. This was woman's work. She closed the door gently behind him and then came over to gently examine Ava.

Ava knew the drill and Kaelyn tried, once again, not to focus on the fact that she was barely a teenage girl, who had never even been kissed, giving advice to a mother of two about having a third child.

“The baby isn't in position yet, Mrs. Chastain,” she said, face regretful. “And your womb doesn't seem to be quite prepared either. I'm afraid it probably won't be today,” she said, standing and wiping her hands on a cloth. She dipped more water out of a bucket near the chair, wrung the cloth out and gently placed it on Ava's forehead. “Master Colm has sent me with some things that should ease the pains,” she said, drawing out a small bag of herbs. Ava smiled faintly.

“The pain is receding, and honestly, it's not as bad as you might think,” Ava said, her breathing coming more evenly now. “It's a good reminder that I'm alive, that children are a dear treasure, and the price is part of the deal.”

Kaelyn looked at Ava. “There is a price for all good things, or so Master Colm says,” she responded, feeling a bit out of her depth.

Ava smiled and pushed a few stray hairs back out of her face, sitting up a little more comfortably.

“Colm is a very wise man, and even knows a few true songs, in the midst of all that wizard-influence,” Ava said. Kaelyn didn't really know how to respond to that.

“Steep the herbs three minutes in boiled water, then drink with a dollop of honey from a local hive,” Kaelyn said, moving back to something she knew. Ava nodded gravely, but smiling a little. “And send Rowan...um, or, um,...someone, to come fetch me if labor starts again,” she finished, packing up her satchel.

“Thank you, Kaelyn,” Ava said and got to her feet, slowly and awkwardly. Kaelyn opened the door for her and told Rowan to boil some water, which he was already doing.

The Chastains were somewhat unique in that they used a family name, an affectation that came from Kent's side of the family, Kaelyn suspected. It felt more...regal, more landed somehow, especially with a family name like that... Chastain. “Kaelyn Chastain” she murmured to herself under her breath, and blushed slightly.

Discuss...

Your mother and I got home this morning and found the kitchen messier than we left it, and the two of you were “asleep”, or at least, in bed.

Now, we were young once too, and we know how things can happen. I'm going to give you two a moment to let either of you come forward and explain what happened.

No?

Rowan, nothing to say?

Hazel? Anything?

Very well. Let me see if I can create the sequence of events. You needed to clean the kitchen, but didn't want to. So far I'm on board, who does like cleaning the kitchen? So someone in this room decided to perform a Summoning.

Now now, don't look surprised. You're both of an age where you've started exploring Summoning, and honestly that's a good thing! But let's look at what happened:

Can either of you tell me what went wrong?

Okay, first off: the circle is much more of an oblong, which might have worked, but it's bad form. I suppose it's artistic but I should hope you will practice the Craft more carefully.

Second, the salt shaker is on the edge of the circle! I had quite hoped that you would be beyond these mistakes, my children. An interrupted circle is less than useless at containing a Summoned creature, as I'm sure one of you learned.

But since you both seem entirely surprised that any of this happened, let me continue my conjecture.

This circle was designed to hold a daemon, I'm guessing. One that no doubt should have been tasked with keeping the kitchen clean.

But given the sloppy nature of the Summoning, I'm guessing our mysterious Summoner got an Imp, or possibly even a Fury. That hastily summoned being proceeded to wreak havoc until the sunrise. Does this sound familiar at all?

Oh, not you, Hecate. I didn't say “is this my familiar?” You're just fine. I wasn't calling you. But since you're so obedient, unlike some people, here's some catnip.

So, where should we start? First off, children, I need you to understand that Summoning is a right, not a privilege.

No, a right, R-I-G-H-T. Obviously it's a rite, R-I-T-E. Please don't try to distract me, Rowan.

When you perform a Summoning, you are taking on the responsibility for a new Entity coming into this world, and for their actions. Yes, I know you've heard these words before but clearly they didn't sink in last time.

When you Summon, what you are really doing is binding the will of a being that exists outside of yourself to your will. this doesn't have to be creatures from the Other Side, if you know their full name, you can perform essentially the same magic with mortal beings.

Hazel Circe Chastian, you will be quiet until I leave the room

See? As I said, if you know what you're doing, and you know a being's Name, you can use your Will to override that of another being in this reality, but you need to be careful. Set a specific purpose and a specific time. Also, Stop laughing at your sister, Rowan.

Sigh. Well, We were all young once, I suppose. Very well, children, you need to clean up the kitchen. And yes, Hazel. I know it was him. Stop pointing fingers. Whose fingers are those? Put those back. Anyway, as I was saying, Being, Purpose, and Time limit are the keys to a successful Summoning, or a successful Binding, in some cases. Observe:

Rowan Atlantes Chastian, you will clean the kitchen before dawn tomorrow.

See how easy that is? Good night children.

Discuss...