Note to Readers:

In this, my Special Season Break Chapter called, Story of People: Stirrings - We learn the history of Mearth, with a few surprising events.

If you're listening along with the podcast, you'll notice something fantastic and new - We have music! The music hints at the future. It foreshadows what is to come, as well as hinting at some of the origins of Qello's whole journey.

The song was composed especially for Mearth and was written by our very real AngelElf, singer extraordinare, who performed this for Qello and deserves all the thanks and magical blessings. You can share your reactions with Angelique, here in the comments!

If you haven't heard it yet and you like to listen to stories as well as to read, you could find Yellowhair in a digital audio production wherever you normally go to hear podcasts, by typing in Yellowhair or Stories from Hole in the Woods! If you want reminders of other new Elf Hollow audio stories, I don't promise to be prompt, but please send an email to: elves AT holeinthewoods.net, with the word—Subscribe—in the subject line, or even better, say, Hello! —and they'll answer!

≈≈≈

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Story of People: Stirrings - Season Interlude Chapter

As the sun rose and set on the world, spinning through time—River heard and felt all those who listened, those who attuned to her presence where she lived inside the essence of All.

From the high mountain peaks where her rains danced and gathered, sparkled in sunshine, through her misty cool channels and fast flowing passes along high valley slopes in all of Mearth's lands, River meandered and sang, wishing for company—to love is so fine!

Mostly, she sensed her connection to the beings whose thoughts were so still, and could feel her currents within them. She sent the upright creatures within her domain her complete acceptance, her force for life and her grace.

Her will was to flourish, to heal and to grow—to listen to life, love and nature.

River remembered much through all of this time.

River remembered the Cleanse, its heat that scorched all poisons that surrounded her. It was brought on by strife, fears and greed—power that perpetrated suffering, famines and more death of her lands.

The dragon fire River remembered eerily! —A near life extinction event. River remembered the sky, dark with huge beating wings, the smell of sulphur still as acrid in memory as it was in fact.

Then she enjoyed the calm times that had followed—the peace and the healing, alone. River was free beyond that to help all things grow clean and green again, the lands once more to flourish—the songs of the meadow to spring forth and renew.

She nourished and encouraged all creatures of life, out of darkness into re-birth and return.

River never gave sleep a thought through all of this time, but she too would welcome a rest and the joy of knowing her job had been thoroughly done—always fresh, accepting, forgiving, impartial—to embrace all that sought her in comfort.

Without the land, these souls are empty of spirit.

River mused.

Is that not Allness?

Is memory not by definition, consciousness—bringing experience to life?

What else might divinity offer?

≈≈≈

River watched the two men walk on the hillside and reached out to them for their thoughts.

The older man, called Robesaille Quin, spoke. "Young Cetus does not remember. I'm certain of that. We sent him backwards in time. That is confusing for all of us. He's coming only now to his fruition, gaining the awareness we sought."

The younger man gave an answer. "It's my responsibility. I should have to face this—". He stumbled in thought. "It's my duty—"

But he was interrupted. Quin consoled him. "First we'll see if he's able to do what his parents trained him to do. And if not, —well, then I'm sorry—"

"I don't know Master Quin— Will there be changes, if he does know the truth?"

Robesaille Quin squinted into the sun. "I think he'll adjust, but—" He paused. And then said, "We'd better get back— I'd say supper's waiting. We cannot be late for our turn."

The two men wound their way slowly up the hill to the cavern in the back side of the mountainous rock—where they began to pull on their heavy attire, slowly, unsure of the light as they entered the tunnels from the brightness of day. They were too tired, too distracted perhaps to give any attention to a small boy on the left, hiding in shadows.

They had wondered if the child might notice and follow, seeing him earlier when they'd gone down the hill, but they'd soon forgotten.

They had now resumed their regal poise in robes of beauty within all their layers, their plain hiking attire discarded off to one side. And they began splashing through low puddles, holding up cloaks, so as to avoid getting them wet as they wound through the passages. They didn't recall that the boy might be somewheres about.

The child dashed out to where the men had been changing and took out a shiny object from his pocket, refracting the light from the mouth of the cave to where the mens clothes lay piled up on stones. He used the bright patch of day he was creating with prisms—to find each of their pockets and to search through their contents, turning things out as he went.

Water dripped from the hollows and some rats scurried by.

The young scar-faced boy knew what he searched for. And nothing else could move the thing from his mind.

He poked inside, redirecting the light and then he found the glow from the object he sought. Clutching it tightly, he left for outside again—as fast as he could.

≈≈≈

Meanwhile, the two men reached their goal, near the inner chamber.

Preteck, The Hall Assistant, handed the old teacher, Quin, the golden scroll-wand and the gold painted platform that was to be his writing board for the night. "Master Quin have you given your disclosure for this evening some deeper discussion then?"

And Robesaille as philosopher, nodded. But he didn't answer the question. As Master-Convenor for the evening, instead he pointed to the awkward-looking stand that was used for occasions when an address to the Guild was to be long and formal. "I don't think you'll need that."

Preteck objected. "But...,"

Quin looked towards the small murmuring crowd. "There's no point. Too many came. This is a sign. A lot of those who are here tonight are too young to remember the customs of such Inner Halls. It's negating the point. They wouldn't know what is meant and we don't want to set ourselves apart. This is a tolerant time. And must remain so, in deep consideration. Or I fear we are all—" He stopped.

The assistant, Preteck, raised his arms while agreeing and helped loop the sash of highest-position, which noted the bearer's talking rights around the elder's bowed head. "It is so, as you say—" and still nodding, Preteck, backed up in honour, to resume his arrangements as clerk.

"Wait, Preteck. Hand him that please, if you don't mind before you go off—" Robesaille motioned toward the waist-high, decorated talking stick that leaned in a nook along the cave wall by the tunnel entrance.

Preteck brought the talking stick back, presented it to the guest and then continued around the back of the gathering crowd.

Robesaille Quin and his companion now proceeded to step out into the light of the room where the hubbub was centered.

The main chamber instantly formed a group hush, at once catching sight of two men striding in. Silence spread with awe. And the bodies parted, giving way for the speakers to make entrance and onto the level beyond.

Upon reaching the far side, Convenor Quin loudly cleared his throat to get the rest of the room ready to hear him.

"Can—"

"Ah-hem!"

He stood now facing—not a large group but—a very good sized one indeed, for this particular Guild in the high Mountains of Aulde to have gathered on any night.

But this was not an ordinary night, nor any ordinary call he had sent out.

He surveyed the crowd. This biggest high-roofed chamber in the tunnel system revealed a Great Hall carved out of the rock. It reached tall enough for ten men to stand on each others shoulders and still not touch the top.

Cream-colored pillars—smoothed and polished—held up carved arches hewn in the roof-vaults of the cave that gave the Hall its magnificent form. It was befitting this somber event.

The Hall of Grandeur looked like many palaces that Robesaille had once witnessed and were now story-told—at festivals or when guests or bards were travelling through, but the folks here today hadn't seen such things as that. The faces he looked upon now had only known their own short lifetimes here—and not all the ones through which he had travelled in time.

If the predictions here tonight had not been about to unfold, these people, too, might soon learn how to see such incredible sights. How sad this might delay their magic. He brushed off the thought.

The hidden chambers and tunnel network existed throughout far regions under the surface of lands all around. But this particular cave was as high as the clouds on the wind. And with paths too hard to find, for the uninitiated. It was remarkable they had all come. The region was entirely unknown, to virtually all remaining people besides those who were here this afternoon. These were the families of those who had talents far beyond the rough lives that they currently lived.

Robesaille began, clearing his throat again. "I am humbled to address you all with such a pressing matter. But I have to say how grateful I am you were able to leave your good work and to come to the Guild. The Summum Montis is deeply honoured that it will bring you all from your homes, when there is a need. It is a remarkable turn out for such a steep climb. I truly thank you again! This is omen-blessed. You are each warmly welcomed." With that, he turned to honour his guest.

"I want you all to know Geluneur of Eastruck here. He has come as a news-laden traveller for us to hear of his tales this past dozen sums. It was of great importance that you all gathered at once to hear him, for there may be no other time in which to have this information relayed—and with enough warning ahead of us still. Thanks to Geluneur here, we have some fortunate early awareness."

"He has seen—

"Well— he's been told—

"Well. I'll let Geluneur tell you himself—" Then he added, "—when he's ready" buying Geluneur more time to find his composure.

Geluneur looked as worried as if he did not know how these mages who had climbed here in response to Quin's mind-shreek-call—the men and women and their bard friends, their apprentices—some even had brought their children—how would they, could they, might they think to react?

He, in fact, did not know most of this Aulde group on high. But he did know many others and he could make an attempt at a guess. They had been given no advance warning. And there had been no way to provide one—without the due panic. He would have to accept their reaction, whatever that was going to turn out to be.

Great Hall Master Quin intended to tone down any damage and fright from the announcement.

The announcement itself, by rights, belonged to the younger guest, so Robesaille as Convenor motioned to the magi-trader—once again at last in his own robes—with a quick look to get him started.

Geluneur the Companion raised the talking stick high in the air above his right shoulder.

Waiting until he had all eyes upon him and the room had soon fallen silent, he began. "I am Geluneur Of Eastruck, known as Strayder in some worlds otherwise. Somewhere else I can go by Jarith of Nine and here—and in the lands down below—I sometimes am known just as The Trader, or for now even, Joe. Most of you don't know me of course, because I have come here from a long time of travels—land-wide—to try to get answers."

Geluneur glanced back at the Master, nodding in deference. "We have to explain what had been a recent concern for the Summum Montis."

The eyes of many waited. A group of Elders in robes stood stone-still in a corner. A child murmured and a mother shushed her baby.

"And that fear has now been confirmed."

Geluneur took a deep breath into his large weary frame. "There are shadows—" He looked to meet each pair of eyes and steady them now.

Some in the crowd glanced around at others, hunting for confirmation that they were hearing Geluneur right.

—To the east, there are some sightings. Some have noticed peculiar things. There have been shifts in the earth without any reason, changes in currents or the shadows. And they are moving this way."

There was silence.

"At first there was just a sense. Then there were some singular visions, but we were not willing to risk an alarm until we could find a way to confirm this." Geleneur squinted from sweat and met Robasaille's eyes.

"It didn't seem a thing that could be likely, so I chose—at the request of Master Quin and others—to spend five summers in travel, holing up through the winters where the most likely sightings did seem to occur.

I have searched across all the villages this entire mountain range wide. I have taught, shared and listened to stories in every one and the least of those camps. I have been as far as I could. My final point reached was beyond the Crystal Mountains. And now I say—I've brought back what I've learned."

Geluneur had their fast attention. He shifted to holding the talking stick across his front.

A loud man urged from the back of the hall, wanting proof. He yelled, "What is your sighting?" but Robesaille raised his hand to shush him. "Let Geluneur speak. You will have time."

Geluneur shifted, then squared his shoulders. "What you won't know is that seventeen years ago, three men came through the last known of the rifts and into this future, but not from a time so long ago before us here now. It was not that far past." He sighed. He would get nowhere quickly, if he explained more of that journey.

"What is relevant is that in the time past—and we don't know exactly how long before our existence—here now—that time might have been—but perhaps it was a hundred sums of winters past and the lands there were still proven much barren."

He gauged the room again, and content that all eyes were steady on his face, he swallowed—realizing that what he had just said might imply his own intent in his previous travels through time, so he continued with confidence, making light of his unwitting misstep.

"There was a shift in a rift that was then still being used. What happened at that time is effecting us now." Geluneur's focus was hard, looking inward. "I must start by reviewing our history. Even past—just a hundred sums, there was strife across these same lands of our now Sharing Times."

"The travellers I mention came to us from before we were Mearth. They came to tell us our future, our past. The times are both still connected. What they want us to know is that the men and women there—those who survived The Scorching and Burnings—were struggling greatly. And we and our history have come a long way to get to this point."

"Before our present day Sharing, the lands lay in decimation for a long time past Days of Smoke. Then they reached a turning point and came back—all the quicker with the help of forces I will later tell you about—but our own ancestors did much to achieve that return for so much the better, if you did not guess."

"What I need to re-call you to here is that, through all of the Lost Period after the Ancients, when history finally collapsed into the Fourth Broken-times War and more strife, and then still further, when that resulting Disorder next culminated with inevitable Days of Smoke—decimating ourselves then with six generations of deformities to begin the worst Stumping era of all—"

"What I need to make clear is—it was not until, and only when—the surviving clans once again broke all their peace bonds, that the shadows re-appeared and their Scorching destroyed everything—to leave only a few of our survivors below." This is a good way to simplify he thought.

"Many went into the caves and our families survived."

A voice called out from the crowd "We have other stories—", mistaking Geluneur's direction. Geluneur ignored the commentor.

"Why are you telling us this?" asked a woman near to Geluneur. "Many here—we know this—"

"Please. No." said Robesaille. He held his hand up again. "In time." He nodded back towards the woman—asking for her silence.

Geluneur went on, "What you probably don't know, but this doesn't matter, is we—are those families. The times of peace started through us."

"The great Cooperation prior to Sharing was finally able to happen then, because the people surviving were simply too spread out, too tired—too weak and just barely alive. They welcomed our help.

Finding our way together was all that we had. It was hard for a while. For a time the resurgence of cooperation among the people remaining had to hold the would-be greedigs in a most powerless dance.

At last, as you know, the misers began to vanish, one by one, through the decades. All of life became greater in Sharing—and all through this part of Ustory.

I might add, the lands also grew greener and brought us abundance again."

A man at the back, growing impatient, demanded to know. "So why do you say this? Today we have no trouble. No one here would do a thing like strife another, nor a clan, nor a village. Why did you call us—? We have want to be happy. We are happy—through our festivals—our sharing, our tales."

Geluneur put his left hand out to touch the well-worn surface of the volume stacked on the pedestal between the two men on the slight platform. Carved into its heavy leather guard placed on top was the name, "Record of Ustory of Mearth and Previous Times".

He looked over many heads—right at the man. "I say it—" He inhaled and paused again. "—because here, today—these last few years—"

"Ouch!" A yell echoed from a small boy in the front grabbing his hair on the side of his head, as his sister was admonished by their father.

Geleneur took a breath, not to be distracted, and watching each set of eyes, delivered at last the findings from all of his search.

"We feel—some long-forgotten greed has got through. The dark times have squeezed through a rift in the Aulde. It's from the east and right here they seem to be showing up most—"

The crowd gasped, fully knowing what Geluneur's meaning was.

Geluneur confirmed. "The balance has to be out of order. Or they would not come here, ever again."

Drips of distant water from the tunnels punctuated a long, frozen silence—all unsure who would act next.

Finally, the first woman spoke, urged by the appealing worry in the eyes of her oldest of sons. "We are not Elders, nor the likes of Masters such as you, but—as the women and men of this Guild—we once prepared to fight, and even died—" She referred again to the past. "—Such losses! I say we gave out too many good lives for happier times."

The crowd waited.

A kind voice strained with concern, now broke in with affirmation from all of the crowd. "How can you say that this is out of balance? Share more of your explanations then now— tonight?"

Another voice urged, "How is it you know this?"

Geluneur knew they would demand too much too quickly or even argue with anyone in earshot now. They were distressed at the thought of a returning of Strife.

He knew his time had passed to be well addressing this, until they calmed down. He just had to say it—concluding, and be done really quickly. He gripped the talking stick and tensed. "They are more likely the shadows of concern only. But—

"Tell us!"

"Some can hear them whisper—see them."

"It's not many of you but—"

"And not many of them are here, but the balance has somehow swung again."

"The Spirit Dragons are flying. The Elder Clan of the Sea Nation has come to Assess."

He looked in affirmation to the elders, huddled at the back of the Hall. "We had regrettably failed yet to notice early signs that had called them out of their depths. All had seemed right with us."

Geleneur thrust the talking stick in both arms, straight out in front—to buy himself time. "I know the Guild Elders will have their own address, soon—or this evening. They willingly share their part in this. I'm sorry. And they—"

But—"

Completely out of order, Master Quin chimed in, looking gravely forward. "We are sorry. We make no excuse. None of us thought to look. There had been no other signs. No one knew this could happen again—that they could come back."

A solemn moment hit the crowd. Now they had heard it said by Master Robesaille, himself. Their fears were confirmed. They were stirring—and anxious.

"How far off—?" This time it was Preteck who spoke, he too breaking the Order of Talking with Sticks.

"Most tales come from far off to the East" said Geluneur

"How far—?" asked another.

Robesaille sized up the room and stood tall with a nod from his chin at his guest.

Geluneur looked concerned at Robesaille, wanting a signal, then went on, "As I said—they are here. People here are seeing the signs."

Geluneur continued again. "There is not a doubt in my mind. The shadows are seen clearly sliding in— Sliding in from thought and to form."

He was quiet for a moment. "They've come here again," he said in low solemn tones. We ourselves—must also assess what is the damage and find the first cause of the rift. Or all will be lost as the darkness takes over—"

Faces in the crowd looked at each other, unable to fully take in the news.

Who would work together with whom on this night?

They wondered.

Geluneur tried to resume. "We are early yet in the Assessment but, sadly, I must say, "It is time to take up your counsel. Not in a moment longer."

Without waiting—Master Robesaille cleared his throat and stepped forward to his position and reached for the Grand Talking Stick, which he himself did not require. While Geluneur moved to give him more room.

The dinner—which had been the whole focal point earlier, was now entirely forgotten.

Master Robesaille raised his arms, Talking Stick held high above—to make the point that he was their focus. "We will spend the night in meditation. And form talking clans."

"It is sadly time indeed to take this morbid news under intense advisement. Please. Let us first eat. Then we must face all our truths. Our time will seem short."

≈≈≈

Outside, the young boy ran along the downward slope—holding his arm up, with its shiny object held high.

And, far above the Impenetrable Mountains of Aulde, high on the opposite side of the Etrancent Hill—which had formed long ago from a sliding of shale—the bigger cliffs stirred and seemed to be shifting. A giant shadow came to life.

Wings opened wide and felt for a slight lift of the winds.

As silently as the current that bore her glide down, the shadowy beast headed straight for the child.

But the boy had well and long known this shadow. And he saw what it was that approached. This was not, to him—a shadow of any type to be feared.

This was his heart. This was the beast known as, Mother—his friend and his love through all of his time as a child—as good as gold and steady as the kindness of soft summer breezes as well as all he had known from his grandmother Noona, since he had been delivered to her.

The beast hit the grass—claws first, then rolled, thudding into the ground and flipped him over. The boy screamed with laughter, pretending he couldn't get away. But more excited, he held up the object he carried. "Look. I found it!"

The massive head of the Dreconeesh nuzzled up to him. It pushed him over.

Loosing balance was a usual thing, living with a creature as large as she was.

Alphonse got up from the hillside, brushing himself and giving no notice, instead more intent on watching to see what the beast felt from it, or saw in the object.

The Dreconeesh surveyed the tiny bit of stone. She snorted, blew it over, then hooked a claw under it to turn it some more.

She lifted her head, nostrils flared, and with a rattling shake she raised her mouth—opened wide—to fein a giant bellow in her gratitude up to the sky.

"No!" the boy shouted to her.

She restrained herself.

She pranced instead in a circle, ending up with a flourish and a flop that curled her whole body round the new object, as if nesting it were the right thing to do.

Alphonse was pleased. The great form of Eesha—as he called her—settled down and tapped on the object from time to time, to be certain she could still see it from all sides and every angle—over and over again.

Alphonse heard her share herself within a part of his mind. "Bashan is pleased," Eesha relayed.

Alphonse swung his head off to the side to avoid any strike of the higher frequencies that came with the dragons voice-mind. He had long known how to duck when dragons sent their voices out, talking too loud.

He threw his arms up in the air howling. "Yess!"

His loving great Eesha—known to her clan as The Bashan of Tirwekk—had been a lot more careful, trying not to deafen the young growing boy, when he was just small.

Grandmother Noona had said the dragon owed him this time. Eesha had fired upon his homeland—he knew not why to this day—and she had scorched the cottage where he had been born and where his family had lived.

Only in the last second, had the Dreconeesh seen, when veering off, that the baby wore the shimmer of a true-to-form shifter of shapes. The whelp was an Utherling child. It would soon be to grow up as her own kind and kin.

Then—guided through shame—she'd taken the tiny Utherling, along with her pride and hidden them both in some caverns, near Aulde of centuries past, until—very soon afterward—the voice of Noona called upon The Bashan through her 'knowing' of guilt; Noona had perceived the dragon's remorse through stone and through time.

Grandmother Noona had deliberately sought the great Bashan of Tirwekk out on that day with a plan she would propose.

Noona knew when this time came she would need to look and sense deeply, through distant rock—to wait and be ready. She had already waited several years for a child who might be born of the stories—The Legend—Bashan.

She had practiced. She knew where to look and was prepared with her deepening insight.

In Noona's determination, she was at last able to hear the maudlin beast—in all its repentant form, deep through the caves. So Grandmother Noona made a deal with the poor Dreconeesh.

She told The Bashan, "This is not a guilt you need wear, if you just bring the child here."

"I can raise him however you like, so he need not die. What would you know of Utherlings? Surely you don't? I will help you save this Utherling boy."

The Dreconeesh had been unnerved and suspicious of the human-sounding grandmother's motives, but she had no other choice, so she had waited and heard Noona out.

Noona had continued to croon in the mind of the Bashan, in a way that seemed to echo through time. "I shall tell you how it's meant to be and you too shall see that you are soon worry free."

So the despairing Dreconeesh—feeling blurry and desperate, and after listening for a while, realizing the child was growing cold at her feet, decided no harm could come to the Utherling babe—if she agreed and if she should make her large presence consistently known.

So—for the sake of the Order of her own Klarketk Mind and her highest most-sacred thoughts—the dragon consented to enter the rift. She let Noona's voice guide her and, protecting the child, moved form of stone and through time to come through the rock to 'this here and now'.

Very soon—in an instant's leap to the future—the whelp infant was in Noona's arms and growing fatter—more healthy each day.

But the great Dreconeesh knew the scars on the babe's face remained to remind her, inescapably, of her honour-bond to this child. Unless—and until—she knew Noona was harmless, she must remain near him.

And beyond that then Eesha could no longer hear her Clan bellow their End-times call to the Cleansing and their return to the sea. She couldn't leave with the clutch.

Besides—being duty bound to the Order—the Dreconeesh did not want to wait before Council to admit her rage had gone completely unchecked.

Her clan would assume she had been killed by the Uprights.

And perhaps when the boy was soon grown and Eesha's honour restored, Grandmother Noona would see well enough to help her get back.

Had Eesha still lived on—in the past times she had come from—she would have been spotted and hunted, once left alone: an only beast of her kind, declining.

But here, Eesha was alive to remain lost and lonely, upon a vast expanse of mountains, seas and valley ranges, with no kin—just her Utherling son and the Noona.

And although Eesha was free every night in her sailing through skies, able to keep her own solitude—to restore her deep values and enjoy all that she wished for in darkness—she was alone.

After a time, when the child was just two turns of age—in this land where he was now living—he had suddenly begun speaking with the beast's shared vocal calls.

And—in that exact moment—the lone dragon Eesha came to love the child deeply. An unheard of attention in the world of her kin.

Alphonse—wearing Eesha's brand of fire on his face, had then also—for the very first time, called the Dreconeesh by her new name, Eesha! It was the closest sound the small child could make to what she had been called—The Bashan, or the other name she had borne on her chains in her youth — Dreconeesh.

And since then—in that moment—Eesha had thought less and less about leaving or her diminishing, long-past return to her Clan.

Eesha and Alphonse—their time in the mountains wound their lives, now together, into a knot.

Eesha instructed the boy on a great deal throughout the new short lifespan for the pair in the hills. Neither one ever went far from the other. Off on their own, they had shared many adventures and making of stories when they roamed many miles.

≈≈≈

River watched—as the young soon-to-be-man now climbed upon the limb of the dragon, and wrapped his arm around her huge ear, holding onto one of her horns near him for balance.

River saw him lean in and whisper.

The dragon gave a shiver of warmth and they both—together—watched the object, the crystal—dancing on grass with colour and song. It still held the memory of the dragon's full family line.

And River burbled. She saw in them hope for the future of all—and the places that held for her beauty and meaning.

And she avowed her ambition in seeing it never be scorched again!

I must help them remember the stories. Without stories, the land will be silent.

Remember the stories. They are the light, the wisdom of All—and of every one of the worlds throughout time.

≈≈≈

The truth about shadows and a boy called Scary is finally learned or perhaps just introduced!

What did you think? Any surprises? Did you notice the hints in Geluneur's 'other' names? All your voting and comments make Qello so happy!

Stay tuned for Season Two of Yellowhair - coming up soon!

Chapter 23 (Part 24) will continue Qello's journey. Luna's fate has now suddenly plunged Qello into a world of unknown dimensions.

Can she still find her heartsong using good grace and her courage alone?

Back with more soon.
≈ Wez