1.
Inari for all intents and purposes may as well have been birthed from thin air. Or, considering the hidden village she was fabricated into, spat out from the mossy earth like an old man spits Tobacco. Her mother was rushed into Konoha's hospital when Inari's birth slammed down onto her with the weight of an ocean but remained a stranger to the staff throughout the painful intimacy of child-birth. She did not ask to hold her child, her husband arrived not soon after and mother and father disappeared into the night.
Without names and only hazy memories of plain faces both were quickly forgotten and in turn the faceless couple forgot. A child, their child, and a sword were the only mementoes to the couple's existence; their leftovers made a Laurel and Hardy duo; an unusually small new-born and the sword looming over the shoulders of even the taller nurses. Inari's birth wasn't anything extraordinary. Her parent's though faceless and nameless were not renowned Shinobi legends merely a young couple who panicked. She had no Kekkai Genkai. She was not the lost princess to some illustrious clan. She was merely a child without parents which was by no means unusual in a Hidden Village.
The only snag in an old worn story was the sword's presence. It was with her at birth and it would be with her at death. The sword, almost her twin in an immaterial sense, pinned Inari to an identity and would soon be the heart of her orbit. The nurses knew well enough to not strip her of it; maybe they felt sorry for the tiny, bald, pinkish baby but not sympathetic enough to not dub her Inari when the matter was brought to the Hokage. Inari. Shrimp.
A foster home was readily supplied. The babies always went first and the fact that Inari was uncharacteristically quiet for a baby didn't hurt either. She carried that silence with her for the rest of her life just like the sword strapped to her back. Uta Sosuke was preoccupied with scowling around the butt of her pipe when the care worker arrived with the baby. Three year old Emi Sosuke's head snapped up and her eyes squinted across the dirt yard. Past the rusting frame of the swings she'd hastily abandoned and the weeds that clawed tenaciously towards the sunlight to watch the intruders as they neared her mother.
Uta did not bother glancing away from the middle distance that she was staring down and the care worker was momentarily tipped off balance by the lack of response. No one could rightly blame her. Despite Uta's already hunched and wizened form there was something intimidating about the woman. Maybe it was her permanent expression of tasting something bitter or the way she didn't look at you but through you like you were paper thin. Whatever it was Uta more than made up for her lack of physical strength with this unidentified 'something'.
"Sosuke-san," the care worker prompted softly. When Uta didn't respond he reached up to nervously resettle his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Erm, Sosuke-san," he repeated louder this time.
"I don' want no double glazing, house' fine as it is," Uta grumbled. The care worker glanced up at the building behind the woman.
To call it a house was flattery. A shack seemed more appropriate. It squatted against the ground, stout and broad faced stone front stitched together with a higgledy-piggledy assembly of wooden add-ons that had been collected over the years. The windows were cracked in places and damp rallied in the jutting corners that the shambolic mess had accumulated. But despite the obliviously shoddy craftsmanship it looked sturdy and stubborn enough to stand (or lean in this case) through any natural or man-made disasters.
"Err, no, no, I'm not here for double glazing-" the care worker began again but was soon cut short.
"I don' owe you no money neither," Uta mused taking a deep puff on her pipe. She dispelled the smoke in the increasingly agitated care-worker's face. He simultaneously tried to shield the baby and stop himself from choking when he glanced up he realised the brown pin-points of Uta Sosuke's eyes were on him. Not at him, through him.
"Then whatta you here for?" Uta asked. The care-worker found it much easier to speak when he was addressing the patchy straggles of grass instead of the woman's hawk-like gaze.
"I've brought the child that was promised to your care as agreed between yourself and Hokage-sama," the care worker managed.
"Hrmmm," Uta rubbed at her chin, "let's have a look then."
The care worker nearly chucked the baby at the woman and hastily scrambled towards the rickety fence to retrieve the child's only belonging, babbling to the woman self-consciously as he did so. "She's quiet especially for a baby. Her parents have been confirmed as Konoha born but no names nor means of contact was given- "
"Tch," the woman's scowl deepened and even though the man couldn't see her face he could swear he felt the expression digging into his back.
"-but they left a sword, quite clearly, for the child. They weren't shinobi that much was obvious and the sword is definitely Konoha made however none of the craftsmen have claimed ownership," the care worker was huffing and puffing between words now. He dragged the huge weapon behind him, the point scoring a track in the dirt and kicking up dust in the sun drowned air. It was easily taller than he was and he had to lug it along behind him with both hands planted on the handle that was almost the complete length of his arm.
"A sword?" Uta looked up from the child, her eyes narrowing to shrewdly appraise the weaponry.
She placed the baby beside her on the stone step with a gentleness that belied her attitude and thrust her hands towards him. The care worker hesitantly handed the sword over and stood back as the woman examined it. It was undeniably beautiful. The blade tall, broad and transparent like a sheet of glass but resilient, the hilt and handle an unblemished silver. It was both fragile and indestructible at once.
"Hrmm, this looks worth a tidy penny," the old woman mused looking the blade over.
"No!" the care worker protested then looked embarrassed at his own outburst when the woman's eyes snapped up to his, "I, I mean that's not possible. Hokage-sama was quite adamant that the sword stay with Inari."
"Who the hell is Inari?" the old woman glared.
"The baby," the care worker blinked blandly.
"Shrimp?" she scowled then the scowl twisted further into a grin.
"Shrimp!" she released a dirty, deep laugh, "Ah, didn' know you people had a sense of humour."
She sniffed and after carefully propping the sword against the warped wood of her shack and retrieving her baby turned to him.
"Well wha' you waiting for? You can bugger off now." The care worker practically ran to the comfort of his office. He bunkered down under a now comforting stack of paperwork but not before swearing to himself that he would never leave his safe, cosy office again.
Inari however was bunkered down elsewhere. And Emi Sosuke was not happy. A petulant frown decorated her rounded features as she squinted down at the baby she would share a room with. Even at three years old Emi Sosuke was not fond of her mother and this new arrival seemed to her as just another way for her mother to infuriate her. She hoped it would cry or something just so she could rage at it but it didn't.
"Babies supposed to cry," Emi grumbled, "how come you ain't crying."
She shot the tiny creature another glare but it slipped.
"You ain't sick right?" The baby gave no answer only watched Emi blankly.
"You're really tiny, you know," Emi edged closer to the cot and frowned down at its inhabitant, her expression a mixture of doubtful concern. The baby stared back. Emi continued to watch, something in her chest slowly surrendering to the human need to watch over small, unbelievable things. Then Emi shook her head as if she was trying to clear water from her ears.
"I ain't that easy, that cute stuff's not gonna work on me," Emi muttered and flung herself on her bed. But her eyes lingered on the crib nonetheless.
...
It was awhile until Inari grew hair and even more perplexing when that hair was crimson. Not the eye-catching bright red that most found desirable but a deep crimson that turned conker when wet. She was still short and that paired with an oval face and a lost quality about her made her appear much younger than she was. Emi called bullshit whenever someone would comment on this. Uta would retaliate by calling her a jealous little brat and whipping a hand round the back of her head. But Emi remained absolute in her observation.
"It's her eyes," she'd bite when anyone cared to ask, "They look like an old-uns."
It was the truth. Even at three Inari's eyes was almond shaped and as reflective as the glass of her sword. They were dark grey in colour but deep. Inari didn't say much on the matter since Inari rarely spoke at all. She wasn't depressed or shy just silent. Emi had nearly jumped out her skin the day she first spoke. Emi, then five, had been hunting through the ratty cupboards for a bag of crisps while her mother was preoccupied on the phone when a voice seemed to arise from nowhere.
"I've already eaten them."
"Ahh!" Emi shrieked, wheeling around and now gripping at her pounding heart to scan the kitchen for what she presumed must be some form of beastie or crisp thief. All she found was Inari watching her quietly, engulfed in Emi's outgrown cast-offs, her little digits wrapped around the handle of the sword she lugged everywhere with her.
"What the hell do you think you doin'! You tryin' to give me a heart attack!" Emi shouted, clawing back her composure so Inari wouldn't realise she'd scared the life out of her. She was embarrassed for herself, for allowing Inari to scare her and for allowing Inari to know she'd scared her. It took two more minutes of Emi glaring at Inari before her brain grasped that Inari had spoken. Emi had been secretly worried that the girl was mute. 'No' Emi shook the thought vehemently; 'she wasn't worried about Shrimp'.
"Did you just speak?" Emi asked suspiciously. She wasn't entirely sure whether or not she'd imagined it and confirmation even from Inari was something she needed. Inari merely nodded. Emi's gaze shifted.
"You know mom don' like that in the kitchen," Emi said. Inari's eyes trailed over to the object of Emi's focus.
Her sword.
Most children had teddies. Inari had her sword. Even at that young age she felt herself irrevocably bound to it. To her the sword was born of strength, something solid and secure in its identity and purpose. Therefore without it Inari herself felt insecure. She needed its firm but gentle hands to remind her of those things she forgot when she felt the darkness of disquiet creeping in. Her parents, whoever they were, had left it there because they had left her. No reason had been given and no confirmation that they were even alive. Not even their names. Inari needed her sword, this pin to keep her.
You are Inari, it whispered.
"I ain't gonna say nothing," Emi mumbled, eyes chancing fugitive glances to see if she was okay before hastily settling back on the cupboard then repeating, "Jus' make sure she don' catch you with it in here. Alright, Shrimp?"
She looked to Emi. And this is your family.
It wasn't that Emi even needed Inari to speak. Both had a way of understanding the other. What Inari lacked in speech was compensated by her expressions, expressions that were expressive but difficult to read unless you had learned to decode them. And Emi for all her bluster was a sensitive soul hidden behind her more than ample use of language least someone (namely her tough mother) mocks her for vulnerabilities. Each needed understanding and each gained it in one another though Emi was would never openly admit it even to herself.
"Emi!" Uta yelled from her perch behind her desk.
Uta Sosuke's desk was a marvel. The space at first glance seemed tiny but its capacity was enormous. The objects Uta would pull from those drawers with her crooked fingers seemed physically impossible, Inari was certain she'd once seen her adoptive mother pull an ironing board from one of the top herb drawer. Even without its seemingly bottomless drawers its surface was another paradox. It was littered with pipes and tobacco cases, small golden trinkets, scrolls, ink wells, a never-ending supply of mugs, bottles, fruit bowls and oddly enough the ugliest looking clay duck known to mankind. Emi rounded the corner scowling at her mother and prepared for a fight. Her eyes softened when they fell on Inari in the corner. She was four now and Emi seven.
"I've just had a call from Takanka-san, go pick up the groceries," Uta ordered, not bothering to look up from the bills that she had laid open before her.
"You got legs ain't you! Go get 'em yourself. I'm busy," Emi barked.
"Don' get fresh with me girl or I'll smack you round the head," Uta bit back but managed to suffocate her temper, her ever-present scowl easing back onto her face, "go take Inari, she likes it when you walk her through town." Uta was well aware that she'd already won the argument.
Emi would do anything for Inari, grumble about it continuously while she was doing it but do it nonetheless. It was a fact Uta was well aware of and not above using. Not that she was a bad mother, Emi didn't generally get on with others and although quiet Inari's calm was something that drew people in. Uta had some hope that Emi would by default of being with Inari acquire some friends but Emi didn't make it easy since she seemed unwavering on her general dislike of people. Inari's adoptive step mother wasn't above using her in her own designs. While any involvement of Emi was out the question, Uta's perspective of Inari and Emi differed. She loved them both but Inari was her adoptive daughter and Emi was her blood. Inari's presence was gladly tolerated but if push came to shove she was still anchored to her role as adoptive daughter.
When a storm blows in you save the main house not the extensions.
It wasn't that Uta was cruel or spiteful to Inari she treated her well but not with same unconditional love reserved for Emi. Any concern Uta may have had over this was soothed by her daughter's attitude towards Inari. Emi had none of her mother's distinctions between blood. Inari was Emi's sister and Emi loved her. Emi was Uta's daughter and Uta loved her. Uta only ever wanted what was best for Emi but both were too alike. Both stubborn and short-tempered and incapable of bearing themselves open to others. Uta had other motives behind this outing however. If her times were correct, and they always were, the ninja academy class should be finishing in half an hour.
"So you want me to take the brat too!" Emi huffed but the fight had fled her eyes, "she ain't a bloody dog we gotta take walkies."
Uta merely lifted her head and fixed her eyes on Emi.
"Alright, sheesh, I'm goin'" Emi sighed with frustration before mumbling 'old cow' under her breath.
"Shrimp, you comin'"
Emi's stride was long and focused. She churned up the pathways, hands stuffed in pockets and an expression that almost dared anyone to bother her. Inari followed, her steps more patient and serene, her sword trailing behind her. Every now and then Emi would slow to allow Inari to catch up before continuing, muttering curses at her mother as she did so. Konoha's streets rose up around them, an organised chaos of the old and new. Newer neon signs, electrical cables, street lamps and billboards perched atop buildings that had stood testament for years; familiar paths lined by buildings (that due to the natural woods and stone seemed to have rose up from the surrounding forest) and that constant underlying scent of pine from the trees that nestled the village. Inari did love this place; she felt her heart in the earth beneath her feet and the watchful eyes of the Hokage Monument. Home. Konoha filled her lungs with an emotion as soft and soothing that sense of 'home' carried. She loved this place and felt that it somehow loved her back.
Emi's mutterings broke into a whistle, the whistle gave way to a soft song and soon she was singing aloud. Inari smiled. Emi's voice was rich and melodious; she could and would at every chance sit and just listen to her sing. Emi glanced at Inari from the corner of her eye and returned the smile. It was born of a peace that only Inari could settle within her.
The peace was broken when they entered the grocers. The small bell tingled as Emi slammed the door open and the earthy smell of fresh vegetables shrouded them. The grocers was small, a wall of shelves on opposite walls and a set of shelves clamped into place between them, the till was situated at the far end to the extent that customers would have to crane past the wooden divider to see the jovial moon-face of Takana. The entire grocery store had the feel of something squashed into a space that was far too small for it. The shelves were overflowing, boxes of fruit and vegetables had been left to their devices and oddly enough Takana had decided to decorate the already cluttered space with hanging baskets full of goods. It was slightly claustrophobic but cosy.
"Hey, Takana!" Emi shouted from the doorstep, "Mom said you already 'ad the groceries packed."
"Ah, Emi-san," Takana beamed from his post he spotted Inari and his smile grew wider, "and little Inari-san too!"
The old man shuffled about under his till as Emi quickly strode across to him with Inari keeping patient, steady pursuit. Takana re-emerged with a box full of lollipops and pulled one out for Inari.
"Here you go sweetie," he smiled gently as he bent down to give her the lollipop.
"Thank you," Inari said.
Despite her small frame and naturally quiet demeanour her voice when she spoke was surprisingly steady and clear. Inari took the sweet and moved to open it but her face puckered slightly when she realised she'd have to relinquish her hold on her sword. Emi wordlessly took the lollipop, removed the packing and handed it back speaking to Takana throughout.
"Have you got the stuff then? She said it'd be ready," Emi said. Takana's eyes darted to the clock and he made a grand show of looking about for her misplaced groceries. Emi waited twenty seconds before growling.
"Eh, old man you got 'em or not?" she frowned.
Takana laughed good-naturedly, "oh deary me Emi-san I seem to have misplaced them," he sighed dramatically, "You'll have to redo it."
Emi glared at him hard for a moment before snatching the bag from his hands and picking her way through the mess of the store.
"Ah, your sister's so short-tempered Inari-san," Takana smiled.
Inari nodded.
"But she's a good person," Takana smiled fondly.
Inari nodded.
A small, soft smile curled her lips and her grip on her sword slackened.
"Shrimp! Stop listen' to his rubbish and pick out what you want," Emi called, "if the old cow's gonna make us shop we might as well get what we want, right?"
Inari made her way over to the bath soaps and creams; she immediately picked out a handful of bottles and dumped them in the basket. Emi blinked then shook her head and began muttering but there was no venom in it. It was a good thing Uta was so talented at amassing money since while Inari's adoptive mother was all too keen to succumb to her tight-fistedness Inari spent it like it was going out of fashion especially on moisturisers and bath salts. She spent an ordinate amount of time in the bathroom and Emi had to physically drag her away from the hot baths whenever they visited. An unusual habit for a young girl but Inari had confessed to Emi that she felt wonderful after a long bath 'like everything was warm and calm'. Emi on the other hand, shuffled into the shower raked soap through her mop of unruly black hair that even when wet insisted on sticking up from every angle and shuffled out. Ten minutes at most and she was done. Emi herself loaded the basket with those few CDs she didn't already own, both moved down the food aisle. Emi's hand moved towards the carrots, Inari's lips curled upwards slightly and Emi placed them in the basket. Emi's hand moved towards the leeks, Inari's eyebrows puckered and Emi moved on. The shopping was done in this manner. It took Emi mere seconds to read Inari's silent answer and she would sing to herself as she did so. Finally the basket was full and Emi lugged it over to the counter.
"You better not lose it this time," Emi warned as she relinquished her shopping for Takana to pack. Takana kept a close eye on the clock as he did so. Emi yawned.
"Which way we walkin' home?" she asked Inari.
"Long way," Inari answered.
"Eh? But I wanna go home."
"Short way."
Emi eyed her for a moment before sighing, "Look we'll go the long way but you better-"
The clock hit the hour and all of a sudden Takana was shoving the packed bag into Emi's hands and shuffling them out the door.
"Goodbye, please come again," he smiled before slamming it behind them. Emi scowled at the closed door for a second.
"I swear this village is fulla crazy old nuts," she huffed before marching off with Inari behind her.
Emi was walking along singing to herself when she stopped. Inari was not walking with her. A moment of panic gripped Emi's chest between its teeth and she spun on her heel. Inari was still there, the Konoha sunlight sliding along the razor sharp length of her sword. Inari's fingers were gripping a tall, metal fence, her grey eyes fixated on whatever was on the other side. Inari never asked about her real family. A sense of dread crept over Emi's skin. She fully expected to see some family on the other side, some couple with dark grey eyes and crimson hair beckoning Inari back. What would Emi do without Inari? But Emi would let her go, if Inari wanted to go she'd let her go.
"Shrimp?" Emi said. Inari didn't answer she was so absorbed by whatever had captured her attention that everything around her ceased.
"Hey, Shrimp!" Emi put a concentrated effort in appearing angry, she strode towards Inari but avoided looking out across at what she imagined was the idyllic, perfect little family scene that would claim Inari from her.
"Emi, what do ninja do?"
Emi blinked. Inari was still engrossed with whatever was on the other side of that fence. Emi's gaze moved painfully slowly towards it, she was still too scared and she hated being scared but the little girl, her little sister made her feel a lot of things that she had previously deemed weak. The domed roof came into view then the string of great orange tiled buildings attached to it then blessedly the sign 'ninja school'. The long way usually consisted of trailing beneath the mountain's vast shadow and by default the Academy beneath it. Emi had been so wrapped up in her fears that she hadn't registered the white walls nor the herd of parent's ready to collect their children. She hadn't really thought to, they'd never come into contact with ninja students before. Although Inari carted her ninja sword everywhere her life had never skimmed with that of a shinobi's because Emi's life hadn't. They lived in a Hidden village and therefore cheek by jowl with ninja but Emi had never been interested in shinobi. Two things interested her, music and Inari. Emi's brown eyes lingered on the rapt focus of the four year old.
But Inari was interested. More than interested.
"They protect Konoha," Emi answered.
Inari's tiny finger's tightened against the metal of the fence until her knuckle's whitened. Emi looked and looked closely at the fire in Inari's eyes. Old eyes she thought of them and seeing them burn like that with a longing set something within her. Inari didn't speak much, once you knew her she never really needed to. "Shrimp," Emi said, eyes already seeking out the sensei among the gaggle of ninja students, "wait 'ere a sec alright?" Inari nodded, eyes still locked on the ninja school. Had she even blinked? Emi scowled as she made her way through the children, some her age, some older, very few younger. She gripped the sensei's sleeve before her nerve could falter.
"Can I help you?" he asked, keeping any curiosity he may have had effectively locked away.
"Yeah can I ask you somethin'?" Emi replied.
"Of course."
"When does the new students come in?"
Emi said nothing on the way home. She surprisingly did not sing. This worried Inari. She liked to hear Emi sing. She did not ask; she was content enough in the knowledge that if Emi wanted to tell her she would. But she did not like it when Emi didn't sing since Emi was happy when she sang. The possibility of her being the cause of Emi's discontent encroached on her mind. Maybe she had upset or angered Emi in some way. She glanced across at Emi; no, Emi was not unhappy, she was preparing herself for a brawl. Her face had hardened and a worried crease had lodged itself between her eyebrows.
"It's going to be okay," Inari said.
"Yeah, yeah I know, I know," Emi sighed then smiled to herself.
"It'll be worth it," Emi said softly, voicing whatever was swirling about in her head.
Inari had a suspicion that the ninja school had some part to play in this but she couldn't see where. In fact she had to strain to envision the Konoha Ninja School having any part to play in something mundane. 'They protect Konoha'. Inari's grip tightened on her sword, the ache in her heart swelling. 'They protect home'. Inari could not envision herself as a shopkeeper. Nor a singer like Emi was destined to be. Nor a carpenter or tailor or cook or anything really. Not until she'd seen the school and then something had clicked. Even now that Emi was holding the gate open onto their shambolic lawn that feeling still clung to her like a wet sheet.
"Where the bloody hell have you two been?" Uta thundered from her office. Emi paused, her jaw and eyes set and she pulled in a breath in hopes that some courage would mix in with the oxygen. Wordlessly Inari slipped her hand into Emi's.
"Mom," Emi began she paused.
Her wide brown eyes searched the wood of the wall for a moment, another sigh and her hand gripped Inari's back.
"Mom!" she said louder, "I gotta talk to you."
"Well get in 'ere so I can hear you," Uta replied. Emi shuffled into Uta's office, the heavy smog of smoke from her pipe leaving a constant haze even in the hall outside.
"I gotta talk to you and you gotta listen right?" Emi said, "an' I don't care if you say no 'cause I've already done it so there ain't nothin' you can do but you gotta listen first alright?"
"Are you gonna beat around the bush all day?" Uta scowled.
Emi swallowed, breathed deep. "I enrolled Shrimp in Ninja School."
"That all," Uta dismissed turning back to her papers.
"Look I don' care if you like it or not, I know you wan' us to stay 'ere forever and rub your bunions and get your slippers and stuff but she's goin'. I ain't never seen Shrimp look at somethin' like she was lookin' at that school so she's goin' and...Eh?" Emi jerked to a stop mid-rant to gape at her mother.
"You deaf as well as dumb I said is that all," Uta scowled, "and what's that 'bout my bunions and slippers! How old do you think I am you little brat!"
"You, you, you..eh?" "Sometimes I can't believe my daughter's so bloody thick," Uta sighed.
"Your new uniform's in your room Inari," Uta said giving up on her spluttering daughter entirely.
"Thank you," Inari replied.
She felt numb; the fuse between reality and her brain had burnt out somewhere leaving her cast adrift in no man's land. She felt her legs move more than put any concise effort into it, she looked at but didn't see the corridors and her and Emi's room cluttered with Emi's belongings. Her bed in comparison was neatly made as always and lain across was her uniform. Inari reached out for it and felt the material between her fingers, smooth but durable. Her uniform consisted of a peach top that looked like a kimono but only reached the knees, a thick black obi, black shinobi trousers and lastly her sandals. Inari sat there running her hands over it. It made sense. Her sword pressed its touch against her leg.
It all made sense.
Inari although having no qualms about spending her adoptive mother's money had gained a sense from Emi that nothing was freely given. If you wanted something you had to work hard for it or work hard to prove yourself worthy of it. This sense of obligation had been soaked up by a young mind and instilled there. She had been born with a sword. She had been given a name, a home and a family but she had not been given any means of repaying until now. She'd been born with a sword to keep those precious things she'd been given safe. A smile broke across Inari's face as she felt that odd ethereal sensation of complete understanding. She buried her face in her clothes and leaned back against the wall.
Home.
"Inari! How much bloody money did you spend on bath salts?"
a/n:
Good day, good morning and good evening. This is my first fanfiction and I will confess now I really had no intention of ever posting this or even writing this but the story kept damn stalking me! So here it is and here I am doing the unforgivable and review begging. I promise not to make a habit of it I'm merely want some idea of whether or not to continue with it. I have to warn I won't have an updating schedule but I've already written a stack of chapters already so hopefully I can get the others done before I run out :S For any die hard Naruto fans, ages and times and events will likely be changed because
a) even though Kakashi is every flavour of the awesome rainbow the idea of him going through his Chunin Exam at the age of seven seems unlikely in my mind. Short arms. Can't get over the short arms.
b) I'm not very good at religiously keeping to timelines, in fact I'm kind of pathetic at it so...
Anyway I'm aware I'm rambling so even though there's not much here at the moment some feedback would be brilliant.
Thank you for reading.