A/N: My tardiness is inexcusable, as always, but I apologize nonetheless. Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it. I'm also playing loose with Azeroth's geography; while I did actually venture to the areas for some general information,Cataclysm has made it difficult to accurately portray these places, and I don't remember the geography very well from beforehand. Most of my Azerothian experience was Vanilla and Burning Crusadeanyways. Nonetheless, I hope I do Blizzard's artful zones justice.
I'm also warping how long it would take to get to a few places, as there are a few scenes that cannot be scrapped.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here
- Inferno, Dante Alighieri
Do you remember?
Sometimes.
What was it like?
Agonizing.
When she awoke, she regretted it. Her head hurt, her side throbbed, and there was a massive mountain of fur lain practically atop her that had decided to rest its monstrously large head on her chest, effectively restricting her breathing. Any attempts at awakening or moving the mountain were fruitless; her words were little more than frantic wheezes, and her arms were trapped beneath twisted blankets and the heavy body. Being smothered by your own sleeping wolf would be a sad way to go, indeed.
"… Ris…"
He didn't move. Zoen thought she could hear her ribs slowly cracking.
As she began to succumb to her pathetic excuse of a death, she heard a knock and a door being opened, and the enormous wolf jerked and then pushed off her, barking madly at the intruder. Zoen would have looked to see who her savior was had she not been currently watching black spots explode across her vision as she gasped for air. She heard a voice that sounded familiar, but couldn't quite sort out the sounds into particular words. As the black spots faded away, she could finally discern bright armor and a mop of blonde hair, and could see Tiris' tail wagging furiously as a gauntleted hand scratched behind his ears. Zoen snorted, running a hand through her hair as she propped herself up on her hair.
"Making... friends?" she wheezed, grinning as Felix started at her voice. Giving herself a moment to collect her breath, she said, "He's not supposed to.. to be friendly, you know. He's still very much a, uhm, man-eating wolf."
The man-eating wolf pushed his nose against Felix's palm when he stopped petting him, his tongue lolling out when the hand resumed its scratching. The paladin smiled down Tiris before looking back up at the hunter. "He likes you."
Zoen smiled wryly, shoved back thoughts of (can't die, gotta die, try to starve, wait - there's a dog - er, a wolf - is it hungry? give it the scraps, they won't think I'm -) of red, and said, "I feed him."
Felix made a noise of understanding before saying, "It's good that you're awake. The healer said that the arrowhead was coated in some kind of toxin that put you to sleep."
"Wyvern venom," she supplied, throwing back the covers and swinging her legs across to lay her socked feet on the cold floor. Now that she was not suffocating beneath Tiris, she could see that the small, empty room was carved out of stone with only a small candle for illumination. Her coat and boots were nearby, and she quickly grabbed the former and shrugged into it before reaching for the latter. As she laced them up, she added, "Not an uncommon venom, especially if you're Horde. Kind of hard to acquire if you're Alliance, but we have a lot of chimera venom because of the night elves." She glanced up, snickering at the look on Felix's face. "I'm a hunter, paladin. This is my area of expertise. And anyways -" she stood, ignoring the pain that throbbed from her abdomen - "this is my fault. I've been trying to acquire wyvern venom for months. Of course, not to use on myself…"Much. Can't fault me for a little sleeping aid, can you?
"How ironic." Felix smiled genuinely before shaking his head, saying, "It is good you're awake. Markus and Blaine wanted to leave as soon as you could walk." He motioned for her to follow, and she did, snatching up her gear from where it lay as Tiris trod at her side.
Outside of her room, darkness seemed practically a luxury; sunlight beamed down from above, unhindered due to the complete lack of ceilings. Massive windows had been cut into the stone, open to the air and the breezes that wafted through pleasantly. A shadow passed above, and when Zoen looked she saw the belly of a gryphon just before it disappeared.
"Where are we?" she murmured as she followed Felix through the strange buildings. The scent of pine was heavy, and there were gryphon feathers everywhere.
"Aerie Peak," he answered, nodding respectfully at a dwarf whom they passed, his gryphon walking beside him. "They were the closest by, and the Forsaken weren't desperate enough to invoke the wrath of the Wildhammers on their own territory."
"Lovely," she said, looking down and glaring at her stomach. Wyvern venom. What a big, bad hero she was, the first and only casualty to date.The historians will trip over themselves over me, yeah?
He must have noticed her sudden moroseness, because he continued in a more sympathetic tone, "We would have had to stop here anyways, to drop off most of the horses. We're only taking one as a pack animal."
Zoen blanched, shivering as cold raced down her spine (It's just a breeze, you melodramatictwit.) "We're going to the Plaguelands... on foot." She blinked. "Are you people crazy?" She forgot her own words quickly, though, when she heard... voices. Very, very nearby voices.
Was that my name?
"Ma-" His words were muffled when, suddenly, Zoen clamped her hand against his mouth, moving to a wall to press her ear against it. Yes, yes... She could hear them now, still muffled but distinct enough to make out individual words and voices.
"...eave her here, Blaine."
"By your logic, we should leave all three here. Salric isn't much older than her, and I'm almost certain Felix is younger."
"They are trained paladins."
"And she's a trained archer. It's not like we're leading them to Icecrown, for the Light's sake. We're barely even breaching the edge of the Plaguelands. We'll be in and out before the Scourge even notice we were there."
"They noticed you."
"You're shaking," whispered Felix after unlatching her hand. Zoen grit her teeth, shooting him a glare before pressing her ear even harder against the cool stone. They weren't doing this to her. They couldn't. It was a wyvern'svenom, how the hell was she supposed to combat that? They couldn't just get rid of her at the first bloody setback!
Not them, she corrected viciously. Markus. The guy who hired you in the first place. Did it say more about her or him, that he was so quick to dismiss her for one injury?!
"I'm just cold," she hissed quietly as Blaine's voice became clear again.
"...rent. Besides, we cannot abandon her. She signed a contract, yes? It promises her employment until the end of this excursion. The Argent Dawn has ever been willing to accept external help, and yes, Markus, that help is often wounded or even killed. We all serve the Light, whether we bear Its holy symbols or not."
There was a long pause after this, and Zoen bit her fist to keep from screaming. Finally, she heard the low rumble of Markus' voice.
"Fine. She may stay." Felix shifted uncomfortably beside her, tugging at her wrist.
"I knew you'd see it my way." Footsteps neared the corridor, and Zoen tasted copper before she heard Blaine say, "Old friend? Have you sent a letter to Kalimdor yet?"
A pause; then: "Luke says good luck."
Felix tugged on her arm, unlatching her teeth from her hand, and Zoen allowed herself to be led into the light before Blaine and Markus exited from a doorway she had not noticed before. The former smiled brightly; the latter looked carved from granite.
"Ah, wonderful, we were just about to... Dear girl, what happened to your hand?"
What did it look like?
Diseased. Broken. Ruined beyond redemption. The whole place might as well be put to the flame.
Would that fix it?
No. But it'd make me feel better.
"For a place called Plaguemist Ravine, there is a distinct lack of..." she waved her hand, trying to ignore the bandage, "Plague."
They had been walking most of the day; the horses had been left behind at Aerie Peak, only one of them suitably tempered enough for the Plaguelands, and it was being used as a pack animal. Compared to their foray through the Hillsbrad Foothills, the Hinterlands were proving to be almost mind-numbingly dull. Save for a very foolish Silvermane, they had encountered no dangers, no difficulties, nothing. Occasionally, Zoen was sent up to scout ahead, but her forays revealed nothing. Not even the perpetual mist that hung motionless in the air could inspire any sort of dread or trepidation. If this was what being an adventurer was like, then it was highly overrated.
"The name refers to mists, not the disease," replied Blaine from across the packhosre. "The mists plague this ravine..." He laughed oddly. "I suppose, in retrospect, it's a tad inappropriate."
"A bit," she mumbled, adjusting the strap of her quiver where it dug into her shoulder blade. Her belly rumbled uneasily, a reminder of Markus' decision for them to forego lunch and not stop walking. He was convinced it would be better if they traveled on empty stomachs to the Plaguelands.
The ground, which before had been angled at a gentle incline, had leveled off briefly before dropping sharply, and most concentration went into not tripping and then tumbling all the way down, doubly so for the more heavily-armored of the party. The mists still hung thick and heavy in the air, but the sides of the ravine were higher and closer, looming menacingly above. The trees had turned darker, the leaves sharper and branches more twisted. Silence among the group had fallen again, not dissimilar to the quiet that had fallen in Hillsbrad before -
(Don't think about it.)
Before.
She squinted. "Is the mist orange, now?"
In retrospect, orange was a bit strong of a word for it, but there was definitely something not-white about the mist, a peachy sheen she could just see if she focused hard enough on one spot. The mist, which before had been thin and transparent, was just a tad thicker, just a little bit more opaque than before. A glance at Felix, who walked beside her, did nothing to confirm her suspicions. The boy was peering intensely into the fogs, seeking what she saw but failing.
"Maybe it is a trick of the light?" he suggested at last. "Or it could be pollution from the Plaguelands ahead."
"Are we that close?"
Blaine spoke up, "Yes. We will be at the beginning of the region within an hour."
Zoen frowned, her eyes falling to her feet and the tiny pebbles and rocks that rolled down by them. She tried to picture them in her mind's eye, tried to imagine what could possile constitute the ruins of her homeland. The fiery death of Capitol City was too old a memory to draw upon; instead, she thought of the debonair Forsaken gentleman from three nights ago. (Light, had she really been home not even half a week ago?) She thought of his rot, of his yellow-white bones, of his hanging shreds of flesh and exposed muscle and organs, of the rib bones that jutted from his sunken skin, and then tried to tack it all on to her mental image of Lordaeron, which looked suspiciously like Elwynn Forest. The effect wasn't quite as horrifying as she'd expected. More like the shred of Duskwood she had seen once when hunting through Elwynn. Still, at least remembering the Forsaken made her stomach flip.
They'd walked for an indescribable amount of time before Tiris halted, whining with his tail tucked between his legs and his ears flat against his skull.
"Did your monster break?" snickered Salric. Zoen rolled her eyes, kneeling down as she reached out for Tiris.
""Did your monster glitch?" called Salric, grinning broadly. Zoen hummed distractedly in response. She reached forward for Tiris, but the wolf bared his teeth and she quickly retracted her hand.
"Go on," she said, turning her head a little while making sure to keep one eye on Tiris. She did not like the idea of being left out here alone at all, but they were staring and she disliked having an audience even more. If she was mauled by her own wolf, she preferred that it be done privately.
"We shall wait for you at the mouth of the ravine," said Blaine kindly before he began trekking once more, the packhorse plodding along behind him. Markus glanced back at her, and Zoen quickly looked away to hide her glare.
Yeah, yeah, just laugh it up, paladin. The stupid little hunter's caused another delay. Ha. Ha. Ha.
Exhaling slowly, she focused on Tiris, slowly moving towards him, careful to stop when he froze. She'd never seen him so tense, not even when facing a bear.
"Come on," she crooned, reaching around to scratch behind his ears. "Come on, sweetheart. It's okay, you'll be fine, pretty boy... Come on..."
"Ahm." Zoen flinched and swore, retreating quickly when Tiris bared his teeth and snarled. She looked over her shoulder to see Felix wincing apologetically.
"Not a big fan of undead, is he?" he guessed. Zoen breathed a laugh, turning back to the wolf.
"He's from Elwynn. Of course he'll panic over the dead." She paused. "No offense, of course."
"None taken." Zoen did not respond to him, busily murmuring soothingly at the wolf. Admittedly, the presence of the paladin was hazardous for them all - he was making Tiris nervous, which made Zoen nervous, which made Tiris even more nervous in a vicious cycle - but it was better than being left alone in foreign territory with a stressed predator. Bedsides, he wasn't trying to tease and joke like Salric, which would have made her both irritated and , which most certainly would have ended badly for someone.
Felix didn't know to be quiet, though. "Couldn't you just feed him a treat? I heard a lot of hunters do that."
"Outdated practice," she refuted distractedly. She'd finally managed to reach his neck, slowly and comfortingly stroking his fur. "It was cost inefficient and a detriment to achieving true loyalty."
Tiris had stopped whining and had come forward to bury his nose in Zoen's stomach, nearly knocking her off her feet before she could get into a more stable position. Beaming, she stood, still petting the wolf as he pressed himself against her side. She looked to Felix. "Think they've gotten bored and left us yet?"
"They wouldn't do that." He frowned. "Blaine said they'd wait."
"They could be lying."
"Lying is against the Light. A paladin wouldn't lie."
She bit her tongue and said nothing, but still smiled widely when she caught Felix slip Tiris a scrap of dried meat when he thought she wasn't looking.
The others hadn't reached the mouth just yet by the time Felix and Zoen caught up to them, and the two smoothly assimilated back into the party after a few lighthearted jibes by Salric. Tiris remained glued to Zoen's side, and she often gazed back down at him and murmured encouragement to keep him moving. She was so busy calming the wolf that she did not notice when the rest of the party stopped. She still would not have noticed had Felix not grabbed her gently by the forearm.
She jerked, eyes flying from the wolf to the landscape before her to the paladin -
- then froze -
- then looked ahead again -
- and could not look away.
Your dad is a bastard.
The deformed, warped simulacrum of a conifer forest lay ahead of them, trees twisted and limbs practically bare save for a few diseased leaves. Fungi bloomed on the trunks, leeching away what little life there was and replacing it with a toxic substitute. The road had become overgrown and the lantern posts were rotted and dark. Lordaeron was dead, and her corpse was disgusting.
"This -" The words caught in her throat, dissolving and sliding back down to settle heavily in the bottom of her lungs. Felix's eyes were as wide as saucers, his mouth hanging open as he too stared at the desolation in shock.
"This," said Markus quietly, "is Lordaeron."
Like hell this was Lordaeron. She knew Lordaeron. Lordaeron was bright and clean and beautiful. Lordaeron's trees were lush and alive. Lordaeron wasn't bloody orange.
Your dad is an unforgivable bastard.
Markus made the first move, slipping back into stoicism as he crossed the boundary between the Hinterlands and the Plaguelands. After a short lag, the others followed after him.
"We shall set up for camp soon," said Blaine as cheerfully as he could considering the horrendous surroundings. "Just as soon as we reach shores of the Darrowmere Lake."
"Couldn't we camp here?" asked Salric. "I mean, Darrowmere isn't too far away and at least here there's the ravine at our backs, so we've got an escape route handy and we won't get surrounded if we're ambushed."
"Yes, but it is highly unlikely we would be able to flee the Scourge uphill if we are attacked, and the less time we are here, the less chance there is of an attack." Blaine smiled at him. "Your logic is admirable, however. Never stop analyzing the benefits and consequences." Salric nodded, gave the standard "Yes, sir," and tried not to look too proud.
Soon, any lightness of heart quickly leadened as the dreariness of the Plaguelands settled onto them. Breathing was a punishment; the air was too thick and too rancid, and Zoen was (begrudgingly) thankful towards Markus for having them forego lunch. A little hunger was better than vomiting and being hungry and dehydrated. Paranoia tainted her mind the further they walked, a stomach-clenching terror that cloaked in every shadow waited a lich, behind every tree hid a death knight. If this is what so terrified Tiris, she could not blame him for his hesitation.
The walk to Darrowmere Lake felt longer than Zoen suspected it actually was, but she was still exhausted by the time Blaine stopped them, and she had nearly just fallen asleep right there on the half-dead grass before she heard him call them all to attention. He had several small, thin sticks in one fist, which he held out towards the others.
"Time to set watch," he declared. "We'll rest for seven hours. The shortest twig means you get the last, two-hour watch, and the longest means you get the midnight hour." One by one, they each plucked a twig. Zoen drew the longest while Salric drew the shortest, and Felix and Markus and Blaine simply chose hours in between, starting right then.
"No fire, yeah?" asked Zoen as she rolled out her bedroll nearer to the lakeside than the forest. She looked up at the others and froze when she saw Markus staring right back at her.
"Do you wish to create a beacon for the undead to come to?" he rumbled. She swallowed thickly and shook her head. "Then no, we are not creating a fire." He turned from her to speak with Blaine, and she was happy to lose his interest.
She turned to Salric. "How are we supposed to see with no fire? We aren't night elves."
"Full moons tonight," he answered. "Total illumination. You'll be able to see a hundred yards, minimum. You don't follow the lunar cycle?"
"I'm a hunter, not a worgen." Still, it was a bit embarrassing that she had not known. Changing topic, she said, "I don't know about you, but I'm just going to sleep now and eat on watch. Night, mate."
"Try not to get eaten," he said dryly before leaving to set up his own space.
She laid her weapons carefully to the side of her bedroll and laid down without slipping out of her leather armor or longcoat. It was cold, and she had no intentions of wasting time armoring herself in an emergency. At most, she was willing to place her boots next to her bow, but made sure she could slip them on quickly. As Tiris settled beside her and she began to drift off, she couldn't help but smile.
At least she wasn't wearing plate.
No nightmares.
What?
I didn't have any nightmares that night. I guess that should have warned me.
"Zoen."
Yes, that was her name.
"Wake up."
Such an unattractive prospect, that. She decided not to follow the suggestion.
"Please?"
Well, when you put it that way...
She cracked one eye, then the other, to see Felix reaching out to shake her shoulder. He smiled in relief when she propped herself up on her elbows. "Your turn," he whispered. She nodded, sitting up and rousing Tiris as Felix slunk away towards his roll. She yawned, but consoled herself with the fact that it would just be an hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand, six hundred seconds.
... Oh. Wait.
"Hey!" she rasped hoarsely. "Soras!" Felix stopped, then turned towards her. "I - I can't tell time." Light, she looked like an idiot now. Paladins were probably taught some ancient secret to tell the passage of time by studying a blade of grass or, or the Light probably just whispered it in their ears like some bloody butler or something -
There was a glint by him, and then suddenly a bronze pocket watch hit the ground by her arm. Picking it up, she rubbed her thumb against a design that she couldn't quite see in the pale moonlight. She looked back up at Felix, who grinned sheepishly. "I can't, either," he admitted. "Just remember to give it back in the morning, please. I'll probably get the next watch before you again tomorrow night, and I'll need it again."
"Yeah." Gods, the kid was a lifesaver. "Of course." He smiled again, bid her goodnight, and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the bedroll.
Salric had been right earlier. It was bright. Everything contrasted sharply in the moonlight, cast in luminous white light or hidden in pitch-black shadows. She would have considered it beautiful had she not been in the Plaguelands with Caer Darrow and Scholomance at her back. Reaching over, she slipped on her boots and slung her quiver over her back, berating herself when she saw how few arrows she had. Ten. Ten whole bloody arrows to protect herself against the forces of undeath. Damn it, she was going to steal one of those new magical quivers the second she got back to Stormwind. Who did she have to sell her soul to just for an infinite amount of arrows -
- A talking sword, perhaps?
She cast the train of thought away instantly.
Staying awake proved to be incredibly difficult. Once or twice, she checked the pocket watch hopefully, despairing when the longest time between checks was five minutes. She crouched for a while, hoping the uncomfortable position would force her to stay awake, but within (she checked again) three minutes her head was dropping repeatedly. Finally, she just stood up outright, stretching her arms high above her head before popping her fingers one at a time, twice. For good measure, she popped her wrists and shoulders, too. She panicked for a few seconds after accidentally popping her jaw during a yawn, half-afraid that she had dislocated or broken it. In fact, she was so intent upon prodding the area that she didn't notice it.
Tiris did, though.
Ears to his skull, hackles raised, he glared at the forest and bared his teeth, a low growl rumbling from his chest. His yellow eyes flashed terribly in the moonlight, twin fires against his shadow-body. Zoen peered uselessly into the darkness, tightening her grip on her bow as she reached one hand towards her quiver.
What...
A slight breeze wafted from the forest, and Zoen was caught between wanting to gag and needing to freeze.
A rancid, putrescent wall of odor slammed into her. The Plaguelands as a rule smelled absolutely awful, but this was foul even for the Plaguelands' standards. She'd been wallowing in the stench for almost two hours, and she was absolutely, positively certain that there was no chance that the malodor she had just suffered was even remotely caused by only the environment. It was impossible.
The Scourge were nearby.
Her senses flew into hyperdrive, adrenalin pumping through her veins instantly, but she forced herself not to move. To move would be to die. She would panic, and they would swarm down upon them in a second. More than likely, they just hadn't yet caught the scent of the party, else Zoen and her comrades would already be dead. Silence was key now. She had a duty, and there were consequences should she fail. Silence was key now. If she alerted the horde, then she would doom them all. Stuffing the watch into one of her pockets, she began.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she inched towards the closest paladin, Blaine. She nearly screamed when he turned towards her suddenly, horrible images of a wave of ghouls crashing upon their heads flooding her mind. He moved his head fractionally towards the forest before turning to her again, slowly raising a finger to his lips. He reached forward for his weapon and boots.
Turning from him, Zoen crept over to Salric, then Felix, then finally Markus. All of them seemed to sense the horde the moment they awoke. If Zoen were in a better mood, she would have been amused by how they all reached for their boots and weapons before their armor.
It was going so well. It was going so incredibly well. Salric had managed to get his chainmail shirt on without a sound, and Markus had moved away from the edge of the forest without attracting the horde. It had gone so incredibly well. Of course something had to go wrong.
Out of absolutely nowhere, Zoen heard a rock fall with a heavy splash into the lake. There was no moment of silence, no delay in which she saw her life fly before her eyes. The rock hit, and the horde pullulated from the shadows. Monstrous ghouls flew at them, moaning and growling as they opened their jaws wide, Plague-coated teeth gleaming like an executioner's axe as they descended. The first wave was quickly reduced to ash by righteous fire.
"Run!" shouted Blaine as he bashed in the skull of one of the zombies. "To the bridge! Get to Caer Darrow!"
Luckily, ghouls were stupid. The party's path to the bridge was unimpeded, and they all quickly turned and ran for it, abandoning all unequiped armor and any gear they could not swipe from the ground. Zoen heard the packhorse scream in terror and pain before falling silent. Any sympathy she might have felt for the beast was quickly squashed as she turned and got a headshot on a ghoul that had been nipping at Felix's heels.
Nine.
The bridge was close, so beautifully close. Blaine had already reached it, and he raced like the wind to the middle of the structure, stopping both to catch his breath and cast a few spells to slow down their pursuers. Salric reached him next, then Markus, then Zoen and Tiris, then finally Felix, and they were running running running and the ghouls were right behind them.
Blaine was fast despite his age, and he led them unflinchingly through the streets of Caer Darrow cutting through to smaller alleys to trick the mob of zombies that were still moaning and growling right behind them. The ghouls really were incredibly stupid; they followed the party through the tiny alleys that slowed them down, around buildings, and even through the doors of shops and homes without fail, even if a simpler way to get to them lie not ten feet away. Through it all, Blaine never faltered, never hesitated, never doubled back or stopped to consider where he was going. He seemed to know the layout of the city by heart.
After a long eternity, Blaine led them to what was likely the main road, racing towards the massive fortress that towered ahead. Heavy metal portcullis hung just above the entrance, and he flew through them, grabbing the wheel to lower them as the others rushed in after him. The running had taken its toll, however; even with Markus nudged Salric struggling with him, the horde would reach the party before the portcullis fell.
"Keep them off us!" Markus roared, giving a titanic shove and managing to lower the portcullis a good two feet. Bow out, Zoen nocked arrow after arrow while Felix chanted holy magicks to burn and turn the undead.
Eight - seven -
it was at her shoulders
Six -
Tiris almost got bit, but Felix sliced off the ghoul's head before it could close its jaws
Five - four -
she had to kneel, it was at her stomach, and they were crawling
Three - two - one -
and with a loud and beautiful clang! the portcullis fell, thick steel barring the zombies' path, leaving them to claw futilely through the holes at prey far out of their reach. They moaned and growled like animals, lipless mouths stretched wide as some began to gnaw at the steel, as though they could chew their way through the obstacle. Bone-chilling though the sound was, Zoen started to laugh breathlessly, and Felix did too, and Salric was doubled over with laughter as he staggered away from the wheel towards the other two, and not even Markus and Blaine's cold silence could sober them.
At least, until it did, and somehow, even with a mass of zombies not twenty feet away, the elder paladins managed to send fear crawling down their spines.
"Do you know where we are?" asked Markus quietly, heard over even the raucous din of the undead.
For a moment, Zoen wanted to laugh again, because who cared where they were, they weren't outside with the ghouls. But then a memory dredged itself up from her mind, a murky thought that she had to polish and clean before it revealed itself as poison, and then she couldn't laugh, or breathe, or think beyond the slow comprehension that dawned on her face, couldn't pity the horror that Felix and Salric felt as well.
Darrowmere Lake. Caer Darrow. A large fortress.
Scholomance.
Is this...?
Yeah. This is it.