| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Shu-Kri sucks her teeth and Waylund. "Perhaps if your ears worked half as hard as your mouth, you'd recognize I said no such thing. I was curious as to who put you in charge of this man's punishment, what laws and codes deem it proper. Typical Avistani, you assume others have thoughts and needs that match your own. But Rawyia is right: sending him off on his own is no life raft. It's an anchor that would surely drown him. Uneducated? Bigot? Upumbavu! I see one person even further away from home than I deciding unilaterally the fate of a man! Sulk in your tent if you wish, perhaps without your ceaseless prattle we can truly find some justice."
Theshen has gone quiet, trying to think of what Osirian scripture has to say on this matter, if anything.
Badhru quietly asks Nenet, "We're assumin' the authorities in Eto are gonna care about this. Will they?"
Shu-kri saw more than a few posters announcing the public punishment of petty thieves during her stay in Osirion and even had the displeasure of attending one by accident. Most of the criminals were subjected to a hundred or so strokes of a cane; one had an ear cut off and the other, a burly Bekyar, had his left hand amputated. Both of them seemed to be repeating offenders, though it was heard to hear the officials voices over the bloodthirsty crowd.
As for the Prophecies, Shu-kri had read about them: many years ago, an Avistani mystic recorded a series of dreams that outlined the precepts of what later became the foundation of the religion known as the Prophecies of Kalistrade. The main goal of its followers is to amass personal wealth through cunning business sense and moderate asceticism – they avoid physical contact of any kind, abstain from most types of sexual activity and refrain from eating meat. Curiously, many Kalistocrats are atheistic and do not follow any god. One detail, relevant to the matter at hand, is that they tend to eschew slavery in favour of servitude contracts of limited duration, which sometimes are used as an introduction into the religion itself.
Theshen, observing the situation from a distance, is at a loss in how to judge the best and most merciful path. Every piece of Ancient Osirian sacred texts that he can remember at the moment would result in Tariq being cast alone in the desert sands.
Before Shu-kri has a chance to share what she believes might happen with the thief if he is delivered to the authorities, Nenet replies to Badhru’s question shaking her head: ”I do not believe they will, master Badhru. Most likely they will flog the man until he passes out; or, if they are feeling particularly cruel, cut one of his ears.” She lowers her head for a moment, as if in sudden and deep meditation, and after a few seconds snaps her neck upright again: ”If it is your wish to deliver him to the authorities, there is a garrison at the Topaz Bridge – and indeed a robbery here is officially within their jurisdiction. There might even be a bounty on his head, in which case his punishment is likely to be harsher.” She thinks for a while longer, sending a pained look towards Waylund’s tent: ”I have travelled for some time with Lord Wyllt…he can be a difficult and intense personality, but I do believe his intentions are good. Even if he knows nothing about the inner workings of the Osirian soul.” Nenet sighs, her skin paler than before and with dark circles around her eyes.
"I prefer local law to 'punishing' a thief to revere materialism. Wealth heals nothing important."
Theshen speaks up.
"Text after text speaks of the specific punishment that would have been meted out to a robber in the desert: being cast alone in the desert sands. The law the garrison of Topaz bridge are likely to hand out is hardly better! I cast my voice for mercy, as this man has already suffered greatly for his choices. While Lord Wyllt's suggestion is a strange one to our ears, it appears more merciful than a half-interested guard brutalising him and leaving him little to hope for here."
Asmani has listened to the different arguments with a solemn expression, and as Lord Wyllt moves into his tent she steps forward into the fire light. She looks distinctly uneasy, rubbing her thumb across a scar that mars her lips.
"Perhaps growing up on the streets has made me hard. But this man's tears don't move me. He said he robs travelers frequently. How many has he killed? He's no desperate father, stealing bread for his children. He's a grown man. A criminal who thought he could prey on the weak and get away with it."
She hesitates, looking as if she regrets speaking, but then carries on in a rush. "The laws are plain. He should be cut up or flogged. I don't say we should do that, but I also don't think we should waste time taking him to the authorities. I'd be at peace with leaving him with just enough water and food to get to the closes town on his own, and without weapons to attack the next travelers he comes across."
Her expression hardens. "And if he don't survive the trip home? Then that's the consequence of his actions."
Theshen keeps mulling over his response for a short time after Asmani speaks.
"I have great respect for the law. But the law must serve the common good if it is to be just, not the other way around."
He pauses.
"That said, it is true that this man has committed crimes. And as you say, likely more still than he has admitted to. I will not object to your suggestion."
Rawiya looks startled at Asmani's comments.
Oh, how terrible!
She looks around at the other faces, which appear to her to be solemn, but not cruel.
"If no one else objects, then I will not either.
"The rest of you seem far more experienced than I in these matters."
Nenet stands up and leans on Badhru, her legs trembling slightly: "I would deliver him to the authorities, but your mercy might be greater than mine and I would judge you no less worthy or just whatever your decision, my friends. In case you decide to set free this poor wretch, the matron has packed abundant provisions. To share a day's water and food will not put us in any danger." She closes her eyes and shivers. "I beg your forgiveness, but I will excuse myself now. The poison still courses through my veins; I must rest if we are to make any progress tomorrow. I will see you in the morning."
Tariq, the widower, continues ignoring the discussion regarding his future. When the conversation reaches a lull, those outside their tents realise that he has been singing for quite some time. They are simple lullabies which the Osirians immediately recognise as something a father would sing to put his child to sleep. His cracked and untrained voice is far from pleasant – which perhaps explains why the melodies seem haunting, lingering long after Tariq's voice breaks down to a whimper.
Theshen turns to the others.
"I would take first watch this night. I feel sleep will not be swift in coming to me anyway."
Rawiya shrugs
"Any time is fine for me. I prefer to watch the day start, but we should probably be on our way as soon as there is enough light to see the road. I'll take whatever the last watch is."
Rawiya hears Tariq's songs circling her mind as she rolls herself into a blanket and tries to go to sleep.
It is early morning when Rawiya sees Waylund exiting his tent, putting it away and quickly loading his camel without saying anything. When she tries to question him on what he was doing, the wizard informs the bard he is taking his leave and that Nenet has been informed of his decision. Before she can say anything else, the man jumps on top of his camel and departs at full speed towards Sothis. Nenet, colour mostly returned to her cheeks, later exits her tent with a frown ”The gods toy with us, my friends. Lord Wyllt has decided to abandon us, citing irreconcilable differences. It is a shame to lose a conjuror of such skill,” she sighs and shakes the letter in her hands, ”but perhaps it is wise. The Torch would smell any discord within the negotiators and use that to his advantage. My specialty is very different from Way— Lord Wyllt's, but I may be able to give you support in arcane matters, should the need arise.”
Before departing, the group gives a modest amount of provisions to Tariq, the widower. He only leaves his wife’s grave after much coaxing, walking in whatever direction was pointed to him and often looking back to where the camp had been.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Nenet is in high spirits and keeps all engaged in constant conversation; indeed, an external observer might once again raise an eyebrow at how the apprentice acts as if she were not on a camel’s back riding through the scorching heat, but at a small gathering of Sothis’s petty nobility. A few hours later, the group reaches and crosses the Topaz Bridge without drawing anything more than a an uninterested look from the guards stationed there. Though its name promised opulence and beauty, the reality is much more mundane: the bridge is a simple wide construction carved out of sandstone and with the red emblem of the Ruby Prince visible on the many standards scattered throughout the place.
The riverbank here is lively and densely populated with all manner of travellers, from merchant caravans to troupes of entertainers. Walking around, the group hears a duo of bards playing long flutes, an impromptu bazaar set up by a group of pedlars and even a barrister who seems to be giving legal advice to those in need – his improvised office at the same time aristocratic and extremely precarious, requiring two servants permanently running around to avoid documents flying away and scorpions from finding their way into the solicitor’s robes. Away from all the hustle and bustle, Badhru, Rawiya, Theshen, Asmani and Shu-kri see a small bonfire surrounded by a few dozens of fully robed persons, most of whom have theri faces covered with veils or bandages. They seem to be trying to be silent, but their attempts are foiled by muted moans and shy sobs.
"The so-named lepers," Shu-Kri's formal Osiran at least has a decent accent.
Theshen has deeply mixed feelings upon seeing the man leave.
Is this the best way, in the light of the Gods? I know not.
During the journey, he casts a curious eye on Nenet, trying to work out if she is using magic. But he chides himself: he knows his skill in such things is lacking.
And then he sees the lepers.
"The poor souls."
Rawiya glances at the grieving group and then back at Shu-kri. "Do you think they are pretending?" she says in a puzzled voice.
Then her eye is caught by the long flutes, and she stands, enchanted, for a few minutes taking in their technique. Her fingers move as she mimics their hands moving up and down the slender poles, trying to figure out the notes and the movements needed to produce them. She sees bright yellow and orange sparks fill the air as the music floats away.
"No. It is more that I do not trust gossip to be perfectly factual."
Theshen seems to nod to himself. He turns to the others:
"Friends, if we have the time, I would offer some aid and comfort to these lepers, assuming they are lepers. I can ease pain, even if we cannot stay long enough for me to provide much in the way of recovery. And I will have to grow wise in the ways of the Gods to cure disease at a touch."
Rawiya turns away from the musicians
"You're a compassionate man, Theshen"
She asks, "Now what? This is not Eto, so we probably should keep moving as soon as Theshen finishes. Or are we spending midday here?"
Nenet gasps in terror, her glittering necklace reflecting the light of the torches around her. ”Prince Unas-Ankh! If they are indeed lepers, you might contract their terrible disease by getting too close,” she says, but then gives a resigned shrug before continuing. ”Your insistence in dedicating time to help those of lower station mystifies me. But, alas, if master Amenopheus hasn’t been able to change you, what hope do I have?” She points at an empty space some 500 metres away. ”I will begin setting up our camp over there; come and join me once you are done with whatever business you have here. Asmani, help me.”
Whilst Nenet and Asmani walk away, Rawiya continues observing the musicians for a few more moments. One of them, a young man with a shaved head and a beardless face notices Rawiya’s curiosity and winks at the Osirian woman whilst making his movements slightly more exaggerated than before – perhaps in an attempt to help Rawiya’s scrutiny. His helpfulness aside, it is the other one’s prowess that produces most of the yellow and orange sparks. He is much older, dressed in simple black clothing and plays with his eyes closed.
At the robed people’s camp, Theshen and Shu-kri see a small child walking with the help of crutches take to the centre of the diseased group. The girl appears to begin preaching and her tiny body trembles with each uttered word. Unfortunately, she’s too far away and whatever she is saying is incomprehensible from this distance.
Theshen gives a smile at the replies.
"I have gifts for purpose. It would be amiss of me not to share them with those in need."
Hearing the small speaker, he starts walking towards that group, hoping to catch the meaning of her words.
Theshen and those who choose to accompany him approach the camp where the child has begun to speak. She is small and the few uncovered parts of her body bear the signs of a vicious disease: her left foot is missing, her face is blanketed in swollen scabs and her eyes are coated with a milky white film. Nevertheless, she speaks with astounding passion: ”…and you know what that means: Sarenrae will guide us! We must persevere, we must fight on, bear our scars and our bodies to the just goddess so her searing kisses may purify us, my brothers, my sisters! Let her love burn away your sins! Let her dawn bring new light to your bodies! Sarenrae will heal you! Sarenrae will bless you! Wonderful Sarenrae! Wise Sarenrae! Powerful goddess! Mother of Eternity! Princess of Peace!“ The sickly crowd answers to the sermon with surprising, almost feverish excitement, screaming and howling. The child continues her preaching by repeatedly yelling ”The dawn brings”, to which her listeners chant back every time: ”new light!”
Rawiy stays near the musicians, leaning forward to see how the older man achieves his melody. She smiles at the younger man and nods in time with the music, but then turns to explore the rest of the way-station.
The barrister attracts her attention and she wanders over to watch him in action.
Hearing nothing but contract disputes and trade details, she looks through the bazaar, buying some roasted meat on sticks from one vendor, and some fresh fruit from another. After spending these few coppers, she returns to the place where Asmani and Nenet have set up the tents.
"Have we any coffee?" she asks. "If not, I saw a coffee vendor over there. I'd be glad to fetch cups for us all.
"But if we don't have the equipment, I suggest we find a brass merchant and acquire a pot and then some beans. It might be useful to be able to offer hospitality to strangers."
Shu-kri, joining Theshen, immediately recognises the final chant as one of the aphorisms usually repeated by followers of Sarenrae. It seems logical to her that people afflicted by a vicious disease would be loyal believers of the sun goddess, given her emphasis on healing arts.
Meanwhile, Rawiya finds Nenet sitting on a small rug in front of the fire, donning only her silks, with her chainmail most likely inside her tent. The apprentice’s face lights up at Rawiya’s suggestion. ”What a lovely idea, Rawiya! You make me regret having refused the matron’s appeal for us to bring beans…but I would be delighted to join you.” Nenet stands up, brushing some of the dirt and sand away from her clothes. ”Less than two days away from Sothis and I am already missing the delicate pleasures of civilisation. I am truly helpless. Well, I'm up for a short walk in this little garden of oddities we find ourselves in. Lead the way!”
Theshen approaches the group.
"Hail, all. I would bring some divine respite to your wounds and ailments, if you would have it."
Rawiya smiles brightly at Nenet.
"Let's sit and have coffee together. We can bring a cup back to Asmani afterward."
She leads Nenet on a winding route past spice vendors, and rugs piled high with deeply colored silks, and others with beautiful rugs and coverings displayed. They stop in front of a small tent with a brazier and a tiny old man who has several small pots ready to make coffee.
In a few minutes the steaming cups are in their hands and they are seated on a wondrously figured rug next to the tent.
"How did you come to be apprenticed to the Sage?", she asks.
==========================================
==========================================
"It's getting late, we should probably return to our tents. Do you want to buy the coffee pot now, or wait until the morning? I suspect that everyone will be packed and moving on early, so perhaps we should ask this coffee maker who has the best pots and who has the best beans."
Theshen and Shu-kri are unsettled by the scene that takes place after their intervention: some of the robed men and women turn to the healer torn between disbelief and hope, already yelling their pains and problems, whilst others seem angry and offended. The child screams what might have been an order – but to Theshen and Shu-kri was an unintelligible shriek – and the chaos stops as suddenly as it started. Once there is silence, she looks in the newcomers’s direction, brandishing one of her crutches : ”Who is this man who lures us with sinful promises?” She moves forward and repeats her question, now directed at Theshen: ”Who are you? What do you want from us, demon who strikes when our most holy Mother of Light is hidden and cannot protect us? What is this so-called divinity you pretend to speak for?” Her followers keep their heads low, avoiding any eye contact. A moan of pain and a cough are the only sounds that break the tense silence.
Meanwhile, Nenet takes a sip of the coffee and smiles. ”Oh, it’s a long story, almost older than myself. You see, though my family is of very noble pedigree, my father and his father were not savvy businessmen, to say the least. Our family’s fortune and property disappeared like shadows in midday, so when I began to exhibit my talent for magic arts, we did not have the means to give me a proper education. It was then that the sage unexpectedly came into our lives – I was a silly little girl who had barely seen 10 Inundations, but somehow the Sage had heard of my plight and offered to finance my studies in exchange for my apprenticeship once I was ready. Plus…” she blinks for a second, takes a sip and beings smiling again. ”Plus, well, other tasks not necessarily related to my studies but nevertheless necessary. And you, darling? I can see you are well-mannered and educated, much more than anyone could expect from one of Miri’s girls. How did you end up in the business of selling silks and sweets?” She puts the cup down and rearranges one of her silk scarves. ”If I am not intruding, of course.”
-------------------------
Nenet yawns. "If you wish to buy them, you should do so now. There's no guarantee any of these people will be here tomorrow, darling. But I'm afraid the sands of the desert begin to make their home in my eyes, so I won't be accompanying you on that little adventure."
Theshen raises his hands in front of him, to signal his unwillingness for conflict.
"Good people, I am no demon or bringer of ill intent. I am a son of Isis, the Queen of Miracles. My offer of succour stands, but if ye refuse it, I will leave in good grace."
The child scoffs when Theshen mentions Isis. ”See? This heathen believes in the old gods, the demons of old who cry in shame after their despairing defeat by the hands of the Dawnflower! Begone, tempter, no one her needs your healing! They will be cleansed, like I was, by roaming the desert for 300 days and 300 nights, feeling the kiss of our Holy Mother of Light burning our impurity away.”
A man in the crowd whimpers a feeble reply ”But, Child of Light…the man seems to be talking in earnest…and my sores…pus is running out of them…perhaps the man is Sarenrae’s messenger…bringing aid to her devout…followers?” The little girl spits on the sand. ”Sarenrae tests your willpower, my friend. If you stay strong, she will help you, as she helped me. If you sell your soul to the first heathen that comes around, I do not know. Are you willing to defile your body and your soul to save yourself from fleeting pain? The choice is yours, only the Dawnflower can judge you…”
She seems to consider the discussion finished and sits somewhere amidst the crowd. The rest of the group turns their backs to Theshen, though many keep looking back and whenever their eyes cross the oracle’s he sees a silent cry for help.
Rawiya looks uncomfortable.
"uhm, yes. Miri. Sweets and silks. Yes."
She looks around to see if other members of the party are nearby, and hopes that Asmani is really asleep.
"I had a bit of family trouble, and Miri seemed like a good person to ask.
"Oh, no. Not that kind of family trouble. "
She sighs.
"My uncle wanted me to be married to one of his trading partners. One with, shall we say, unsavory tastes for young women.
"When I refused, the partner was incensed, and my uncle threatened to revenge the family's honor by making me pay with my life. "
She makes a wry face.
"I didn't like that idea.
"I had heard of Miri's skills and connections, so I went to her to ask for assistance in removing myself from the path of the sword. She, naturally, was willing to make a bargain with me."
Rawiya looks pensive.
"So here we are. At least, here I am. Working on fulfilling my part of the bargain."
As Nenet rises to leave, Rawiya returns the cups to the old man and says, "Who supplies you with these lovely pots for making coffee? Is there someone camped here tonight who could provide us with one that is similar?"
Waving to Nenet, she says, "Sweet dreams. I'm going to buy a coffee pot and a small supply of beans."
Rawiya makes her way through the market, spending several minutes inspecting each coffee pot until she finds one that is well-made and attractively designed. She barters a bit, but is not seriously trying to take advantage of the maker, knowing that good relations with fine crafters will serve her well in the future.
She makes a similar bargain with the vendor of the coffee beans, taking some as green beans, and a few already roasted a deep brown for the morning.
Theshen is at a loss.
Back in Sothis, his aid would never be refused by those in such straits. He backs off a little and watches for a time, to see if any of those eyes he saw break away from the group. If he can get them alone, he surely can help them.
Surely.
"Does the Dawnflower preach against healing? I've never read all the scriptures, but I don't recall that ..."
Once she finishes helping set up the camp, Asmani dusts off her hands, gives Nenet a curt nod, then heads back over to where Theshen stands.
She joins him, hands on her hips, and studies the group. After a beat she calls out, "The gods help those who help themselves! The Dawnflower might have sent you this man - who can say? Act! Take his help, and feel better!"
She studies the little girl intently. It is strange for one so young to wield such influence over a group - is there something more going on here?
Shu-Kri also observes the child-prophet.
Asmani and Shu-kri eye the child suspiciously, but as far as they can see the kid simply speaks her mind with unusual passion.
Their words, however, seem to have more effect than Theshen's attempts: after a few minutes, some of the child's followers – perhaps the ones in greatest pain and need – approach. They are four: two adult men and one elderly woman who carries an unconscious child in her arms.
Meanwhile, back at the camp, Nenet shakes her head in disbelief. When she replies her voice has lost some of its aristocratic frivolousness: "I am speechless, Rawiya Altaw'am. Such injustice, such callousness! You do well in not telling me their names, as it would be difficult to restrain myself if I were to see those men in Sothis. Tell me, 'akhtaa, is there anything I can do to help you?"
"Perhaps you saw my fears while we were talking to the Sage? I was terrified that he would see through Miri's illusions and inadvertently tell my father where I was. They meet from time to time so the Sage can peruse my father's scrolls and papyri.
"If, in the future, you hear me telling falsehoods, do not be quick to correct me. It may be that the person has a connection that needs to remain unexplored.
"My family has vast trading interests, and I'm sure my uncle has his spies looking for signs of my survival. I doubt he was entirely fooled by my attempt to 'drown'. "
She smiles a small smile.
"And, although my features are disguised, the magic that provides the illusion cannot be hidden. We need to be ready to explain the glow that surrounds me."
Theshen turns to Asmani and Skhu-kri, saying softly: "My thanks."
He then turns to the afflicted.
"I fear I cannot offer a permanent cure here and now but I will provide what relief I can to you."
In short order, he begins to attend to their wounds.
And he will make a point of touching them lightly while imploring Isis to ease their suffering.
”Oh, darling, I have lived amongst courtiers my whole life. If there’s one thing I learnt was to never contradict falsehoods! I shall ask no more about your father, but I will keep my ears open for rumours of a drowned noble lady when we return to Sothis. And as for any unsavoury elements asking too many questions – I will treat them with the utmost care, should I meet them. May Sekhmet's axe strike down their wickedness.” Nenet’s voice has now become tinted with cruelty.
At the leper camp, Theshen hands work wonders as the oracle desperately tries to work against the ravages of leprosy. Knowing he most likely has given one temporary respite, he can barely hide the pain when the lepers thank him earnestly and wholeheartedly. The two men run back to the camp as soon as they can – ”Sarenrae bless you, healer, and may you see the light of her ways” – but the old lady lingers around for a moment, cradling the child.
Rawiya looks around to see where the others in the party might have gone.
She notices Theshen, Shu-kri, and Asmani over by the lepers, but cannot make out the words. Theshen looks tired and somewhat unhappy, but Rawiya can't tell why.
Perhaps they would like some coffee to lift their spirits
Rawiya walks back over to the coffee vendor and buys four more cups of coffee, then returns to the tents.
Asmani leaves Theshen to his good deeds, pausing only to squeeze his shoulder before returning to the tents. There she moves to their small fire and squats before it, forearms resting on her thighs, hands dangling between her knees, and stares into the flames, lost in thought.
When Rawiya offers her the cup off coffee she startles, hand slipping to her hip where one of her curved blades is sheathed, but she catches herself in time and rises smoothly to her feet, taking the cup gratefully.
"Never get tired of this stuff," she says, bringing it to her nose and inhaling. "Days was I'd be living off coffee and little else. That or the black tea they brew that's nearly as strong. I remember two weeks when I was eleven that I drank nor ate nothing else." She smiles with a touch of bitterness, looking out into the middle distance as if viewing those memories, then gives her head a slight shake and looks sidelong at Rawiya.
"What's your story, then? Nice leather armor, fine looking longbow. You're not from the streets."
Theshen turns to the old woman, trying to keep a smile on his face. He barely notices the movements of his companions nearby.
"Elder, is there anything else I can do for you on this night?"
"No coffee for me, thank you. Sleep will come hard enough tonight without caffeine."
The old lady cradles the child whilst she speaks: “This one’s a gonner for sure. Poor kid…but nah, master healer, 's just rare to talk to someone who don’t flinch at me face. I used to be pretty, y'know; men and women would give me gifts, want to lie with me. But that was ‘fore the scabs ’n wrinkles.” The woman sighs before changing the subject: “Say, I can’t offer ye much, but I used to be a wicked oil reader, ‘fore Sarenrae came into me life. Can do a free reading, if ye’s interested.”
At the camp, as Rawiya considers how to answer Asmani’s question, a sudden racket erupts from one of the caravans nearby – the same one, Rawiya is quick to notice, where she had caught a glimpse of a wonderful set of brass for coffee brewing. At the centre of the commotion, they see a half-orc chasing two adult men and a scrawny teenager; behind them, an old Katapeshi man yells: “Thieves! Thieves!” The group’s tents – which Nenet deliberately set up far from the centre of the huge encampment – are the last hurdle the presumed thieves have to get through before escaping their angry chaser.
The irate half-orc chasing the three thieves has ruddy skin, almost coppery red, and amber eyes.
He has a gladius hanging at his belt and a light crossbow in hand.
While clearly much heavier than the three humans he's chasing after, he is notably slender for a half-orc.
Those near can hear him yelling fluent Osiriani with a Katapesh accent:
« ایک بوڑھے آدمی سے چوری ہو گی »
« اسے ختم کرو، یا میں آپ کو کچھ رو دونگا. »
"Hand it over, or I'll give you something to cry about!"
Theshen looks at the child, confronted with that sad truth of the youth's mortality.
He turns to the woman.
"It would be amiss of me to refuse such an offer. I would take an oil reading, yes."
Grateful for the distraction, Rawiya springs to her feet and tries to move into the path of the fleeing teenager, ready to tackle him should he come close enough.
Shu-Kri displays her longspear threateningly. "Stand down and live."