AN - First things first — an apology. I haven't posted anything in months, because school but also because I'm lazy, and this is way overdue. Now I have to apologize again, though, because I'll be away all summer and almost certainly won't get any writing done during that time. So I wrote this nice long one to tide you over. At least it's the longest one I've written so far; whatever. It should be at least marginally more interesting than the last chapter, if you like tournaments. Plus I snuck in a couple references so try and spot'em maybe. Anyways, hope you enjoy!
The months sped by as Judy's apprenticeship continued. Under Ingvar's watchful eye, she continued to excel in all subjects, from camouflage to geometry. Finally he pronounced her ready to begin real combat training.
Her paw-to-paw drills continued unabated, but her scholarly lessons slowly began to be replaced by instruction on different types of weapons and their uses, how to properly clean and take care of them, and different fighting styles. No matter how much she wished it were otherwise, though, Ingvar stolidly proceeded to take his time on everything. "What you learn here will save your life someday," he was fond of saying. "You must be intimately familiar with every aspect of your weapon."
"Which weapon?" Judy ventured to ask.
"All of them," he replied unconcernedly.
Which was why, on a bright fall afternoon, she found herself in a duel for her life, wielding only a stick.
Panting, she ducked her teacher's slash and backed away, branch held high defensively. Gauging his movements, she moved in for a quick strike to the left, only to be blocked by a simple wrist movement. His weapon blurred as he cracked it down on her forearm.
Clamping her mouth shut against the stinging pain, Judy attacked again, feinting high before sweeping low at his legs. He hopped into the air and struck down at her. She barely brought her stick up in time, finding herself suddenly pressed by a flurry of strikes and slashes.
Making a desperate lunge, she overextended. Ingvar slipped neatly to the side and poked her in the back of one knee, causing her to stumble and fall. Face-down in the dirt, she sighed, trying to quash her irritation. Another loss.
"Well?" her teacher asked curtly. "What did you do wrong?"
"I left myself open on the lunge," she answered wearily. "I didn't keep my balance."
"Consider every move before you make it," he snapped at her. "Your opponent is always waiting to take advantage of an ill-planned or poorly-executed attack. Never act in desperation. Observe, think, then strike! Such a last-ditch attempt against a superior enemy is likely to get you killed, even if you manage to take them out with you." Tossing his stick aside, he made no effort to help her up, instead remarking, "I think that's all for today. Don't forget to review Gustafferson's treatise on the nine uses of halberds in open-plain warfare."
"Yes, sir," she answered, trying to keep her head up. Gosh, she was tired. "Um... you know the tournament's in a few weeks, right?"
"I am aware," he answered dryly. "I suppose you'd like to go?"
"If it's not too much trouble," she said hopefully. "After all, it's only one day, and I'm sure I'd learn a lot from watching."
"As it happens, I had already planned on our going," he said. "It would, as you say, be a great benefit to your education to witness the art of combat as practiced in the real world." There was a bit of an odd tone to his voice, but she barely registered it, so happy was she to find her wish realized.
"Thank you so much!" she shouted, leaping up to give him a brief hug despite her fatigue. Snatching up her books, she darted off towards home.
Ingvar watched her go, thinking. "Hmph," was all he said.
Two weeks later, the village was bustling. Even on regular market days, things were busy, but every tournament was a market day. Merchants, traders and craftsmammals came from many miles around to find business, catering to those who had traveled almost as far to witness the spectacle. Money flowed like water, and the clinking of coins was everywhere.
The streets were filled with vendors hawking their wares, vying for the most customers. Mammals haggled over prices, clutching purses tightly against the wandering pickpockets who looked for an easy mark. The air rang with the clanging of hammers and the sizzling of fried foods. It was like a regular market in most respects, until you noticed the tiered benches standing on the green, and the many colored tents erected up around them. That was where the fighting would take place.
Eyeing the muddle suspiciously, Ingvar waded through the crowd, tailing the small gray bunny several paces ahead of him as she hopped from stall to stall. Ears perked and eyes wide, Judy was making the most of her day, despite the fact that she couldn't actually compete. In fact, she had been a little relieved when her teacher made it clear that under no circumstance was she to attempt any actual combat. Even as optimistic as she was, she knew she wasn't ready to tangle with experienced warriors. Besides, if she did, her cover would be blown, and she still had years of training left to complete.
So today was a day for watching only, and for trying not too betray too much interest. Fortunately, most does were expected to swoon over the daring feats of strength on display, and if anyone noticed her getting too excited, they probably wouldn't think anything of it. Judy thanked her lucky stars for that — she was already having a hard time curbing her enthusiasm. The last tournament to be held in Bunnyburrow had been almost six years ago, and she could barely remember it. Soon she would be up in the stands, able to watch real heroes compete. She could hardly wait!
Unable to contain her glee, Judy bounced up and down a few times before hurrying on, anxious for the events to begin, and eager to get a good seat.
Every tournament was different, but they all operated along the same basic lines. There were two main types of competitions - those for magic users, and those for more material combatants. Each type was divided into different classes. Mages were ranked on power and experience, while warriors were separated based on size and skill. Then there was a wild card option for each which included participants of all sorts, aimed at hotheads looking to prove themselves against older masters.
Once the weak had been eliminated, each of the qualifiers in the two respective competitions went up against the others, until there was only one winner from each tourney, as well as several second- and third-place finishers. It was rare for the two winners to go up against each other, as the completely different natures of their abilities made for unfair combat, whoever won. Two wizards could counter each other, and two skilled swordsmammals could stretch a battle out for quite some time, but pitting one against the other usually resulted in a disappointingly brief engagement.
In some tournaments, there were no divisions of skill. Instead it was a simple bracket system, systematically working through random pairs until one was left. Others included a melee where all contestants could throw themselves against each other. Depending on the size of the venue and the number of volunteers, there could be any number of additional events — archery and axe-throwing contests, boxing, wrestling, fencing; and for the mages, displays of proficiency in various areas like fire-raising and illusions.
Due to Bunnyburrow's peaceful rural nature, nobody expected this tourney to be particularly exciting. The area was lacking in large, fearsome mammals — it was mostly home to rabbits, the occasional mustelid, and a great deal of placid ungulates — and contained few mages. There wasn't going to be a magic section, or even any rabbits competing. A separate wrestling contest had already been held for those bucks who wanted a little excitement, but no one considered them worth anything in a fight. Sure, there had been the Battle of Tulgey Wood, but that was three hundred years ago, and bunnies were now almost universally regarded as the weakest mammals in the animal kingdom.
Well. Almost.
For in the mind of one doe, a bunny was worth something, and she was determined to prove it, no matter how long it took. She would show everybody what she could do, and when the day finally came, she would — oh! it was starting! She picked up her feet and sprinted for the stands.
With the tinny blare of a few trumpets, the crowd's attention was drawn to the village green, where a large square had been pegged out in the middle with string. Nearby, a ragtag assortment of mammals was loitering near their tents. Some carried swords or staves, others shields and spears, while a few appeared to wield nothing at all. Some were large, some small; some held themselves with an air of self-assurance, while most did not. These were the contestants. Soon, they would take their stand on the field of battle. They would either prove themselves, winning glory and recognition, or be booed off the field in disgrace. The pressure was evident on their faces. Those few old hands present had seen it all before, and revealed nothing.
Heart pounding, Judy scanned the benches, hoping her parents weren't here to catch her eye. How were they all filled already? She could swear she had seen at least a half-dozen empty spots just a few moments ago. She couldn't bear it if she had to watch from the sidelines, trying to steal glimpses through the legs of taller mammals...
"Up here, Hopps," she heard suddenly over the noise of the assembled spectators. She looked up to see Ingvar's grizzled muzzle scowling at her a few levels up, maintaining an empty space next to him through what appeared to be the power of sheer irascibility. Though he looked like he would rather have his fur yanked out than be stuck where he was, Judy had never been happier to see anybody in her whole life.
Awkwardly squeezing through the packed benches, drawing muttered complaints and whispering apologies as she went, Judy dropped into an opening next to her teacher with a sigh of relief. Right then, she was extremely grateful for her small size.
She was about to thank Ingvar for saving her a seat when something occurred to her. "How did you get here ahead of me?" she asked, trying to think back to where she'd last seen him. "Wasn't I in front of you?" He merely grunted in reply.
Adding it to the list of his mysterious talents, Judy shrugged and turned back to the field. Already the divisions and entrants had been announced, and the first two combatants were taking their places. She could see a badger wielding a pike up against a deer carrying a buckler and a light staff. Neither seemed very confident. Around her, bets were already being placed on the outcome.
"I'll put two on the deer —"
"The deer, are you crazy? Look how skinny he is. Wobbly as a newborn, too. My money's on the badger for sure —"
"With that pike? Who even uses a pike when it's one-on-one? He'll trip over that thing and knock himself out —"
"Oh, please, the reach alone is enough to win it for him, all he has to do is stand back and give that deer one good poke —"
As the bickering continued, Judy leaned close to her mentor and whispered, "Is there always this much betting?"
He glanced briefly at her, then returned his gaze to the dueling pair. "No. Usually there's more."
Out on the field, the badger somehow managed to knock over both himself and his opponent with a spectacularly terrible move, leading to groans and derisive jeers from the audience. To the further delight of the crowd, an official came out to proclaim that they were both eliminated due to sheer ineptitude, and the two were pursued out of the ring by boos and bits of thrown food. Judy could see that the deer was actually close to tears.
"That seems a little harsh," she said, empathizing with the two. "I feel sorry for them. And why did those mammals have to be throwing things?"
Ingvar appeared unsympathetic. "That's the way it is. They shouldn't have entered if they weren't at least competent enough to handle themselves in a single bout." Sensing her discomfort, he added, "And the crowds are always like that. Do well, show off, and they love you. Make one mistake and they'll be pelting you with rotten tomatoes. It's just something you have to get used to. If those two can't take that, they'll never make it."
Frowning, Judy barely noticed the next pair up as she thought. She certainly didn't remember any of this from her last tournament — probably not surprising — but it had never figured into her view of the world. When she had envisioned a tournament, she certainly hadn't imagined this. In her world, even the losers were treated with respect, not contempt, and rookies were encouraged to learn through experience, not chased off with insults. She supposed the betting could be allowed, since many mammals would find it a lot less enjoyable otherwise, but she didn't think that being a hero (or heroine) should be such a commercial enterprise. Thinking back, she remembered Ingvar's look of distaste when he had mentioned introducing her to the "real world," and realized that this was what he must have meant.
Snapping out of her fugue, she saw one scruffy-looking goat disarm another with a clever strike, accompanied by cheers from the spectators. The loser accepted his defeat with equanimity, and the two bowed to each other before leaving. The sight cheered her up somewhat. She hadn't been paying attention to the fight, but she was always pleased to see courtesy on the battlefield.
The referee stood forth to declare that the rookie rounds were over, and they would now be entering the intermediate section of the tourney. Judy sat up a little straighter. This was for more experienced mammals, and was taken more seriously. Unlike the one for newbies, the intermediate section was divided up by size, going from smallest to largest. Higher-quality tourneys went by weight, using massive scales to weigh all the contestants, but they had nothing like that here.
As the first two warriors walked onto the field — a weasel and an otter — the betting intensified. Mammals called out seemingly random numbers, placing money on everything from the duration of the fight, to the number of touches, to how likely it was that the loser would flee the field in tears.
"Five says the weasel gets it in under a minute —"
"Ten says the otter does —"
"I'll wager the weasel tries cheating within ninety seconds if he can't win before then. Tricky devils, weasels —"
"Fifteen says you're full of dung; I know plenty of weasels with more moral fiber in their left toe than you've got in your whole body, Jevis Stiltkin —"
"Ah, this for your moral fiber," punctuated by a rude gesture, and the wagering devolved into good-natured squabbling.
Beside her, Ingvar snorted contemptuously. "Betting is for fools," he muttered. "Only an idiot would risk good money so pointlessly, especially when they've got no idea who's going to win."
"Do you?" Judy ventured hesitantly. "Have an idea, that is?"
He eyed her closely, then spoke. "This fight won't last longer than a few seconds at the outside, once their blades touch. The otter's carrying a concealed dagger, and he'll try to cheat with it, but despite what he thinks about his own ability, he has no idea how to wield more than one weapon at a time. The weasel should defeat him easily."
"Ah," Judy said, uncertain. She took a closer look at the field, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Quietly, he began to explain, as the two mammals circled each other warily. "You can't spot the dagger — I haven't yet taught you how to identify hidden weapons — but it's obvious if you know where to look. Now, how do I know what I told you about their skills? Look at how they hold their weapons. While the weasel always keeps his free left paw up and ready, the otter doesn't know what to do with his, and forgets about it. It just hangs there in space. He's clearly unskilled with that paw, and he certainly can't use both at once, while the weasel can if need be. And both of these mammals rely on speed, given their small size — that's why they fight with daggers. Once they close with each other, the otter's disadvantage will decide things swiftly. To be frank, I don't rate his intelligence very highly if he's cheating in such a foolish manner."
Out in the square, the two leapt at each other, a small knife materializing in the otter's left paw. Judy wouldn't have noticed it if Ingvar hadn't told her, and she thought the spectators hadn't either. After a brief clash of steel, the otter was booted to the ground and a dirk was leveled at his throat. The swiftness of the weasel's victory brought mingled cheers and boos from the audience, who apparently hadn't noticed the other's attempt to cheat. The knife was no longer in view.
Removing his blade, the weasel extended a paw to help the otter up, only for it to be rudely batted aside. Pulling himself off the ground, he stalked away malevolently, eyes burning with suppressed rage.
"Ah, well," Ingvar sighed. "Another sore loser. Be careful around mammals like that, Hopps. They don't win graciously, and they can't bear defeat — they'll do anything to take revenge for real or imagined slights."
"But he was the one cheating!" Judy said indignantly. "What right does he have to get upset?"
"Cheaters are always furious when they lose, especially if they know they've been fairly beaten. There's no point trying to reason why. Sometimes they'll even accuse you of cheating, both to get even with you and to try and shift attention away from their own rulebreaking. And confronting a cheater will usually accomplish nothing but earning you an enemy," Ingvar said forcefully. "I know you're probably thinking of complaining about him to the authorities, but trust me — it won't do any good. If the weasel's going to report it, let him. Otherwise, stay out of things that don't concern you."
Though his words were harsh, his tone wasn't unkind, and Judy could tell that he meant well. Still, her blood sizzled at the thought of letting a cheater like that walk away. Someone could have been seriously hurt! At least he hadn't won. That would have been really intolerable.
The next pair up was a coyote and another goat, one armed with a quarterstaff and the other with a cutlass. After a few brief exchanges, a furious bout of whacks resulted in the coyote receiving a shallow cut down the arm, which was sufficient to decide the winner.
"Hang on," Judy said, confused. "Is it to first blood? I thought..."
"Different tourneys have different rules," Ingvar explained, never taking his eyes off the next set of contestants. "Some go to first touch, some to first blood or a knockout, others use a points system. A few — very few — go to the death."
Seeing her shocked expression, he added, "But those are extremely rare, and heavily discouraged. The king shuts those down whenever they get to be a problem. Unfortunately, a lot of mammals just have an appetite for blood. And not all of those are predators."
Seemingly unwilling to carry the conversation further, he lapsed once more into silent observation. Deciding not to pursue the subject, Judy wondered what he was looking at in the next pair of fighters. She followed his gaze and tried to see what he saw.
As the pool of fighters decreased, their size grew, gradually working up to the heftiest warriors. The initial group had been small, however, and already the last two were up. A large boar with a war hammer was squaring off against a puma, who carried two javelins. Narrowing her eyes, Judy attempted to work out the likely winner, evaluating each mammal's strengths and weaknesses the way she'd been learning.
The boar was shorter and stockier than his enemy, as well as lacking in a cat's natural agility and reflexes. The heavy hammer he carried would tire out a lesser mammal, but he looked as though he could swing it for hours, endowed as he was with rippling muscles. Judy thought he would act defensively. Hammers were often unwieldy, and against the big cat's speed, he would be forced to use every resource to defend himself. Most likely he would play for time, conserving his strength, waiting for the right moment to strike.
The puma was much more lightly built. She wouldn't try throwing her javelins — that could risk doing serious injury to her opponent, and she might not be able to get them back quickly once thrown. And they wouldn't be very effective against a hammer like that. Any direct block would probably turn them into splinters. She'd use her speed to circle him, looking for an opening. If she could draw blood, the contest would be over quickly.
As she watched, the boar stood his ground stolidly, while the puma sidestepped around him. Both held themselves with an air of affected ease, as if they were completely unconcerned by any possiblity of defeat. Judy could tell they were experienced.
In a blur, the puma attacked, striking high and sweeping left simultaneously. The boar sidestepped the high strike and blocked the other with his hammer, bringing it up just in time to parry another swing, and then two more, and then...
Judy was awestruck. The puma seemed to be everywhere — feinting, jabbing, and slashing like a whirlwind — but the boar was always there to meet her, weathering the storm of blows. His hammer spun and bobbed as he calmly blocked or deflected each attack. He moved only when absolutely necessary, dodging with a grace she would never have believed for such a large mammal. Clearly, both of these two were far more skilled than those who had come before.
After what felt like only a few seconds to Judy, the puma slipped in close to land a stinging strike on one wrist with a javelin, before twisting away out of reach. The boar only narrowly kept hold of his hammer. An instant later, a sharp whack to the back of one knee sent him down, still upright but struggling to withstand the renewed onslaught of attacks. His brow was furrowed with effort. Sweat ran down his arms, and he was obviously tiring.
Judy watched with bated breath, unblinking. She didn't want to miss a moment. The other pairs had been interesting, but this was a fantastic display of ability, and whoever won, it had been well worth her time. The question was, who would win? Around her, the betting reached a fever pitch as mammals yelled out enormous sums on one or the other.
The cat hadn't let up one bit, determined to keep her enemy down. Yet Judy thought she could almost detect a pattern in her attack, perhaps brought on by overconfidence. And where there was a pattern, there was a way to exploit it.
Without warning, the boar launched explosively upwards, avoiding the javelins and sending the puma flying backwards with a shoulder to the chest. She rolled and came up again, weapons clutched defensively, but he knocked them out of her paws with a single powerful swing. He wasn't even winded!, Judy realized. He must have been faking his exhaustion! That was the cunning of a true adept.
The crowd exploded, cheering wildly for the unanticipated comeback. Pouches of gold and silver changed hands, with complaints from the unlucky and with glee from those who had suddenly become richer. Out on the field, the boar graciously helped his opponent up, and they left together to riotous applause, apparently complimenting each other on their performance. The referee began bringing out the awards for each class.
"Take note, Hopps," Ingvar said suddenly. "That right there is one of the most important things you can ever learn."
"Oh, I know!" Judy said, bouncing with excitement. "It was incredible! How fast she moved, but he just blocked everything, and —"
"Not the fight, Hopps," Ingvar cut her off. "What happened afterwards. You can be the greatest warrior in the world — or in your case, the greatest trader in the world — but you will be lonely and despised unless you know one thing: how to win, and lose, with dignity. Those two knew how. That weasel knew how. The otter did not. You may not quite know how yet, Hopps, but you are learning."
"Ah," Judy said. Though his advice was completely applicable, she had been bemused until she remembered that she was still pretending to be a merchant's apprentice. She was glad he'd stopped her before she'd given herself away. "Well... I'll try harder at it, then, sir."
He snorted. "You know, Hopps," he said, "there are some things that neither you nor I can beat into your head. It's time for you to get some practical experience."
"Really?" she gasped. "Oh, thank you!"
"Yes, we may as well start now. It's about time, and books can only teach you so much. The market will be a good opportunity to learn."
On the green, the few winners accepted their prizes and bowed. Judy saw the boar, the goat, and the weasel, representing the large-, mid-,and small-size mammals respectively. Had there been any larger competitors, each other class would have been shifted down, but the arrangement was fairly loose to accomodate such vagaries of circumstance.
As the crowd slowly began shuffling down from the stands, now that the fun was over, Ingvar led the way into the broad avenue filled with stalls. Merchants called out to browsing mammals, offering the best prices to be found anywhere, sir! Produce, textiles, candied sweets and jewelry, all on offer.
"In my profession, it's very useful to know when mammals are lying. Saved my life a time or two. Otherwise you might find yourself fooled by some unscrupulous bandits, hoping for an easy ransom," Ingvar lectured as they made their way through the press. "It's a common ploy. One or two will pretend to be poor travelers seeking aid, or something of that nature. They lie their way into your company, wait until you're asleep, and next thing you know you're tied to a tree in the middle of the woods while the whole troop rummages through your wares," he continued, still keeping up the pretense of innocence. Even without the mercantile add-ons, though, he was still giving her important information.
"And whether you decide to enter the trade or not," he went on, "you still need to know a great deal in order to avoid being taken advantage of. You need to understand how to identify good quality product, counterfeit currency, and potential escape routes, as well as knowing if a mammal has a heavy purse, a light purse, or a concealed weapon, and how willing they are to buy, sell, steal, bribe, or remove the breath of life from your body."
Judy trailed along behind, bubbling with barely-hidden mirth at the way he casually slipped in hints meant only for her. Even if someone had been bothering to pay attention to his words, they probably wouldn't know what merchants' apprentices were really supposed to be learning. And though she would never abandon her dream, the secrecy did get a little depressing at times. It was moments like these that made it more bearable.
They spent the next few hours cruising from stall to stall, observing transactions as Ingvar quietly pointed out the little tics that gave away a mammal's intentions and desires. Though some were peculiar to different species, a great many were common to all, and by the end of it Judy felt almost like the trader she was pretending to be.
By the time the sun was lowering towards the horizon, the last of the merchants was hastily packing up his wares, and the shops along the main street had begun to close. Ingvar was trekking steadily down the road while Judy happily recounted the events of the day, going over the battles move-by-move.
"...so clearly, he was using the Agrippa defense, which seemed a bit unnecessary to me but what do I know, so she tried countering with Capo Ferro, but then he switched to the Bonetti defense, so even though I saw her throw in some moves from Thibault she just couldn't get through! Really he must have let her get as close as she did, and looking back on it it seems obvious that he was faking, his ripostes were far too clean for him to have been really under pressure — I mean, the rest of them were all right, but that one was just incredible!" she declared after a particularly vivid description of the last fight. Sighing, she dropped her arms to her sides and slowed slightly, thinking of how long it would be until she could compete in something like that herself. Turning her head, she looked up at her companion and asked, "Were you ever in any tournaments?"
The old wolf, well-practiced at concealing his emotions, revealed nothing of the memories her question stirred, memories he had done his best to bury a long time ago. With some effort, he replied, "...A few."
"Really?" she asked incredulously, unable to hide her amazement. Although there was no doubt he was good enough, and he must have gotten his skills somewhere... With a little imagination she envisioned a younger version of Ingvar, less a few scars and with a darker coat, calmly defeating lions and grizzly bears in the arena. "Did you win many?"
"Some," he admitted grudgingly, avoiding her eye. "But I'm far too old for that now."
Though she didn't say so, for fear he would think she was trying to flatter him, Judy thought he was undoubtably good enough to beat just about anyone. He never deliberately showed off, but from their sparring matches she knew he was some kind of master. After all, she had gotten miles better than when she had started, and yet he was still impossibly better than her. No matter how far she progressed he was always a hundred times as good. But he steadfastly refused to talk about himself or his past, avoiding the subject at all times. This was a rare admission from him.
Lost in thought, Judy almost walked by it before she realized she was at her house. "Oh! Um, I've got to... well, goodbye, I guess," she said, unsure exactly how to leave. She didn't really want to make him walk all the way back to his little hut on his own, but he had already refused numerous offers of a room in their house. "I really learned a lot today!"
"I should hope so," he said dryly. "I'll be quizzing you on it tomorrow, and you ought to be able to tell me exactly what each of them did wrong. Winners as well as losers. So you'd better have been paying attention. Don't be late, Hopps." With that he turned and walked away into the gathering gloom. His form was quickly shrouded by dusk.
Judy closed the door and hurried up to the room she shared with her sisters, hoping her parents wouldn't be around to ambush her with any irritating questions about her day. The tourney, and her brief glimpse into Ingvar's past, had stirred her up quite a bit, and she wanted some time alone — or mostly alone — to think. Cheating, incompetence... otters with fiery eyes and quick-stepping pumas ran through her mind, while cheering audiences threw gold at them. In the distance, the silhouette of a lone wolf watched silently.
The last thought she had before drifting off was that being a warrior was a lot more complicated than she had imagined.
AN - Aaaand... there we go. So yeah, probably I won't post anything till August or September maybe. Sorry. If you didn't like this chapter, I promise the next one will be more interesting. There's a bit of a time jump — I'm saying Judy's around thirteenish in this chapter, but there'll be a substantial training montage at the beginning of next chapter that covers... what, a decade? I know it's a lot, but not much happens, and I know everybody wants to see her set off on her quest ASAP. Cause there will be a quest, just so you're aware.
Leave a review, tell me what you think — I always love to hear from you guys. Have a nice summer! - [CC]