Ch. 8: Bloodstains
"What… What! How could this have happened? Surely you could have been more responsible…!" L'Arachel began ranting as soon as the three stragglers returned in complete silence, not caring that they paid no attention to her as she spoke. She had gotten enough of the careless attitude from Rennac to recognize the factors that easily told her that they did not care to hear her speak…. But, in her mind, that made it all the more rewarding to instill her wisdom upon them; she would prove to them that she was worth listening to, and maybe they could tell the others of her marvelous insight, as well. However, she realized over a few minutes of speaking, they clearly had no intent of even acknowledging her existence, let alone her words. Deciding to quickly conclude her chastising, lest she not be able to speak as much later (She so dreaded the thought of losing her voice, after all; why, the people would be horrified, to see the beautiful angel lose her marvelous, melodious voice!), she finished, "…you should have informed me, the Princess of Peerless beauty, for I would have smote the foe with the power of righteousness!" A small chorus of agreeing voices behind her quickly notified the chastised warriors that the other two hellions were with her, too. Quickly dismissing themselves, the three of them went their separate ways, determined to sort things out on their own as they mingled in with the marching ranks of the army.
As of yet, the night had been uneventful and relatively silent, save for the former Cyclops attack and the monotonous sounds of the army's boots as they landed one after another on the hard-packed dirt. The cavaliers and paladins held the side ranks of the march, to prevent their horses from kicking anyone behind them (The majority of the horses had been trained as colts to not accept anyone behind them, always making them assume that they had been ambushed; it was for the safety of the riders, but not for their comrades, who oftentimes walked on foot.), and also served as the fastest way to run up and down the ranks to reinforce an attacked ally, regardless of where they marched. Above them lazily soared the pegasi and wyverns of their company, most of who kept an eye out for attackers. A few of them, however, had their precious ones astride their beasts, lest they be attacked by the monsters that could have possibly lay below. Guinevere, for example, rode before Miledy, to prevent the lechers of the party from assailing the princess of Bern, while Farina carried her protesting husband astride Murphy, who likewise had quite a bit of fun harassing the airsick pirate. Thany, knowing how effective Murphy was at taking advantage of this particular flaw, pulled her own winged mount far away from her parents… and just in time, too, it seemed, as the rather unsatisfactory sounds alerted her to Murphy's success. The rather snide Pegasus always made sure to turn on her side when this happened, just to make sure that the vomit landed on the trees, rather than on her feathers.
Surprisingly enough, the hopelessly paranoid Heath was not watching for foes, but rather, stared down below at the ruby-haired valkyrie that rode below him, constantly making sure that she was safe. He put her safety before his own, and her life before his… it was the least he could do to lessen his guilt and attempt to stave the pains in his heart. He never wanted to leave her, but…. Such thoughts were selfish, and not to her benefit. A noble woman from Etruria should never have even thought of pursuing the love of a shamed Bernian deserter, and yet she had… and, before he was even aware of the situation, she had succeeded in achieving what she had desired; his heart, his love, his hope. But to feel all that crashing down around him tore them both apart, far more than either of them knew that the other had gone through…
It didn't take much effort to realize that families often stuck together in the midst of the large army, with the former traveling pairs enlarging to encompass the entirety of their kindred. Sue watched as her father allowed her mother to ride on her stallion, while she herself allowed Sin to ride beside her. She knew her father didn't approve just yet, and wondered when he would find it appropriate to intervene… for listening to her friends grumble and groan about their own parents finding them in the most inconvenient of scenarios made her quite nervous about doing any such thing with Sin. Even the peck on the cheek she had given him a few nights ago left her face awash with a blush as she recalled with embarrassment the intimacy. Love was considered very pure in Sacae; there was no need to express such feelings openly with friends, for honor tied their hearts together more than any physical activity could have ever accomplished. As such, to even kiss in public was as embarrassing to the members of the Kutolah as it was for an ordinary Pheraean man to engage in lovemaking while being watched by millions of scornful viewers. It was shameful and unheard of… even though she knew her mother, having been accustomed to some of the Elibean customs while engaging in the Second Scouring, did not believe that such actions should be hidden from the outside world.
Quite frankly, she wasn't sure whether she should be feeling ashamed or awed by her mother's courage, to defy her country's customs so; and even moreso for her father, who had clung to all the other Kutolah customs tighter than his grip on a bow during combat.
It was only a half-day march from Border Mulan to the capital city of Frelia, and the vague outlines of the majestic castle could be seen as the beginning rays of the dawn broke over the horizon. Despite its overpowering sense of grace and majesty, they noticed after getting closer, the Castle Frelia seemed to be naught but a husk of what it used to be. The very air around the castle seemed devoid of life, and the villages surrounding the castle paid Innes and Tana only menial forms of respect as they passed. There was no need to respect them anymore, they thought, for the castle was nothing but an insect's abandoned skin; a hollow structure, formerly full of life, but was now home to nothing but desolation and memories of times past. The very thought infuriated the Frelian lord, and they set further onward towards the castle.
By this time, morale had remained high, with the exception of three individuals, whose self-righteous healers seemed hell-bent on causing some sort of ruckus… or, at least, it seemed as if their 'stalkers' were a plague personified, made only to make their lives a living hell. Some of the more sadistic individuals found some kind of pleasure when the found that they were not the victims… rather, three disgruntled gentlemen had taken the blow for the team, so to speak. Serra had temporarily abandoned her favorite little mage in favor of learning more about Rennac, boasting about her noble lineage while simultaneously causing the man to almost wish that he were back with his former mistress. The poor rogues was left to simply run away as fast as he could, darting in and out of their ranks in a vain attempt to escape. However, the cleric seemed to know just where he was headed, just as L'Arachel was able to do. And, just like said woman, both of them scared him senseless when it came to that ability. Was there no privacy for him when they were around?
Clarine, on the other hand, set off to bug Erk, asking about her mother and father's hidden secrets, bad habits, and other errs that she could use against them in an argument. She also inquired as to whether or not her brother was more of a hellion than she was… not surprisingly, she was greeted with only silence as the antisocial mage turned away. While Serra at least had some sort of charm, this girl was beyond his ability to be patient with. Had she not been a child of his teacher, he would have wasted no time in dispatching her in whatever way was most convenient for him. In fact, he had even gotten a look of approval from Pent when he put up with her incessant speech… with something like that haunting his memory, there was no throttling her now without his conscience bugging him for all time.
L'Arachel was then left with Rutger, who was not very pleased at all with his current company. Despite his rather desperate attempts to get away (Though, throughout his little endeavor, he made sure not to look desperate while doing so… he had simply made up excuses to try to get out of her company. Despite all this, she had followed him everywhere, much to his disdain.), he found that his efforts were rather fruitless as he was forced to listen to lecture upon lecture about how his swordsmanship was evil, and that learning and wishing to develop those killing arts further was the work of some evil demon that lurked within him. He almost wished he had some sort of demon within him; it would give him a reason to throttle the self-righteous troubadour. After all, he had no one to impress… but, recalling Karel's rebuking of his nature, he repressed the urge with the mentality that her living to annoy someone else caused much more pain than the injury he could inflict on her.
Upon arriving at the castle, Innes wasted no time in leading a small group of troops into the castle walls. Too many members of the army would only serve to get in the way if they had to fight in the narrow corridors, he knew, and so he moved into the castle without the others having any time to argue. Of course, his sister had quite the few choice words to say about that. She had found the note he had left, which told her that he had left an hour ago to the castle, which was a half an hour's walk away.
"Why… Brother! Damn you, Innes!" Tana yelled when she found out that he had departed, surprising Ephraim and Eirika quite a bit with her outburst. They had never known her to be the swearing type, but they knew that it was just as well; Innes was a marvelous tactician, true enough, but his pride often clouded his judgment amidst combat. Once, Tana recalled, he had leapt in the way of an oncoming arrow, which would otherwise have struck Vanessa… oh, how she disapproved of his pig-headedness and foolhardy pride! Maybe he just wanted to look the hero again…
"Tana… I'm sure he knew what he was doing. How often have you seen him run into a…" Listening as Eirika paused for a moment, Tana leapt on the opportune chance to exploit Eirika's error. The blue-haired Pegasus knight knew that her brother had gotten into some rather sticky situations before, regardless of how hard her friend tried to defend him. It was almost infuriating, how she stood up for him… but, then again, she had also stood up for Ephraim before.
"…And I'm sure that you coming to his rescue in Carcino doesn't qualify as a suicidal dash onto Death's Door?" Tana laughed bitterly at this, watching Eirika look just a tad ashamed that she had forgotten about that. Indeed, it had been her reinforcements that had allowed the Frelian prince to survive, but it wasn't something that she routinely held over his head or anything. She had no use in remembering, though she was fairly sure that Tana dwelt on that topic quite frequently. The younger girl had always envied her closeness with Ephraim, and little wonder; she and her brother could scarcely hold a decent conversation without the words soon erupting into a heated argument, while the other two seemed to almost share the exact same feelings on every matter, and met each other halfway if one didn't agree with the other's thoughts. Ephraim and Eirika could always understand each other; Innes and Tana could not.
"Bah, he'll be fine." A voice behind them made the group jump, which incited a hearty laugh from the figure that stood behind them. Gerik smirked a bit, pointing towards the sniper as he ran into the castle gates. "He escaped relatively unharmed from Carcino, with only what weapons we had, and only one fighter on backup. Sorry, Tethys, but you didn't exactly count as a fighter." Waving his hand a bit as the lords turned around, they saw that, indeed, Tethys had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Caught, the dancer walked in, tossing her ruby hair a bit to the side; more of a gesture of nonchalance than one of true necessity.
"Hmph! Some gratitude. And where would you be now, without my invigorating dance? And do recall that I did take care of a few of them, myself." Smiling a bit at the odd looks she received from the Elibean lords, who had until now had seen no reason to speak, she let her smile fall when Gerik spoke again.
"…Catching a few of them by the neck with your ribbon on accident doesn't exactly qualify for taking care of them, Tethys… especially since I had to decapitate them after you started hollering about having dirty men tied up in your dancing gear." Rolling his eyes, he turned back to look at Tana. All the cheer from the last comment disappeared, leaving him only with a serious tone that he rarely expressed towards anyone but his mercenary group while briefing them on their next assignment. "I don't think you've got anything to worry about, Tana. He's gotten himself out of worse situations than this, and he did say he'd signal if he needed help. All we have to do is look for the red sparks… but we'll never see 'em. His pride's too much for him to--"
Ironically, those red sparks they had been dreading to see soon lit up the sky, emanating from the center of the castle. Gerik, not seeing Tana's 'I told you so' glare, was still gazing up at the sky with disbelief and amusement written all over his face.
"Well, I'll be damned…"
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Within the castle walls, Innes knew he had made a dire miscalculation for the moment he passed the gates. He knew that Bern had set up a temporary base there, but he certainly hadn't expected for a good two hundred or so soldiers to be there. Now his small band of warriors had found themselves defending themselves in the narrowest hallway in the castle, just before the throne room; by posting himself here, he knew, the enemy would have no advantage in terms of surrounding them or overwhelming them with numbers… however, Bern had the advantage of having a stream of fresh, ready-to-fight soldiers, while Innes was left with one group of soldiers, whose endurance was weathering down with each swing of their weapons.
"I've sent the signal, Prince Innes. It may take a while for the reinforcements to arrive, however… do we have any spare weapons with us?" Saleh asked coolly, tossing yet another orb of fire into the fray. So far, magic had been their best ally, temporarily scattering the enemy ranks while allowing them to strike from afar. However, they still required their fighters to be on the front line, for the sake of protecting their two magisters.
"No, we don't. That's why I told you to light the signal in the first place." Speaking in his typical cynical, condescending tone, Innes turned instead to fire an arrow into the front lines, felling a soldier who saw nothing but the approaching of a blur before an arrow embedded itself between his eyes. His allied warriors on the front lines were unphased by this sniping, and rather, welcomed it with open arms; anything that could temporarily stem the tide of enemies, even for a few tenths of a second, came as a blessing to them. Looking back for one brief moment as he held a soldier at bay, Ross shouted back to his commander and temporary tactician as he heard the steady, strong wing beats that alerted him to the new wave of foes.
"Innes! The wyverns are approaching! Take 'em out, will ya?" Surprisingly enough, it was not the prince that shot down the oncoming winged beasts, but a bright bolt of lightning, which seared straight through the tough hides of the wyverns and sent them crashing into the ground. The pathetic mews of the wyverns were overridden by the screams of the soldiers that they had fallen upon; the hallways were densely packed with men, and so each falling wyvern took at least five to ten soldiers down with them as they collided with the earth. Turning to see who his savior was, Ross was not greeted with the calm, cool appearance of Saleh; but rather, the smug, proud face of someone he knew much better met his gaze, for better or for worse.
"…I told you that I would end up protecting you, Sir Son-of-Warrior-Garcia-Ross." Content with flaunting her superiority once again, Lute let another bolt of lightning fly into the fray, scorching the skin of wyvern and human alike as the electricity weaved in and out of the crowd with the aid of their armor. The metal plates that normally protected them conducted electricity quite well, and many a soldier was left twitching on the ground, their skin littered with blisters and beginning to curl back as the burns incinerated the top layer of skin. The putrid smell of burnt flesh rivaled that of the scent of blood, which already overpowered the senses of those on the front lines.
"…Is this all you've got?" Seemingly unimpressed by his opponents, Raven pulled an axe from his belt to quickly replace the sword he had all but lost within the opponent's armor. Just a few moments ago, he had driven his blade straight through an opposing knight, barely slowed by the thick plates of armor that covered the man's torso and belly. However, as the knight fell, he found himself unable to retrieve his weapon without leaving himself completely vulnerable to enemy strikes. Maneuvering easily through the fighting and preferring to dodge rather than block, Raven eventually found that he took significantly less damage by staying put… mainly because the spell casters behind him thought that he was an enemy when he moved too far ahead of the group. He knew his style of fighting gave him quite a bit of endurance, but that mattered little if his last weapon were to break amidst the struggle.
"Wow! This is great!" Wil, completely unaffected by all the bloodshed around him, unleashed arrow upon arrow into the crowds. He stood beside Wolt, who likewise let loose a steady stream of arrows. Each noticed that their quiver was running empty, however, which made them quite nervous. Ceasing fire to save ammunition until it was truly needed, both archers began firing other objects instead. Sticks that were broken lances were fired into the fray, javelins were loaded into their bows, and even the odd piece of broken metal was used to strike from afar. Ultimately, both teens ended up with large lacerations in their hands as a result of this type of combat, and had to cease in order to mend their wounds temporarily with strips of cloth torn from their shirts. They gave their arrows to Innes, since they could no longer participate in combat; an archer with wounded hands was utterly useless, after all, and they would only serve to be a detriment to the cause.
Each of the warriors had fought valiantly for the first half and hour or so, with only exhaustion limiting their actions on the battlefield. Ross continued to decimate foe after foe; despite his small stature and the size of the axes he wielded, his strength had already surpassed his father's in every aspect. Wil and Wolt were incapacitated, though Innes continued to pepper shots into the fray and keep the winged beasts away from their ranks. Raven was injured after roughly two thirds of the army had fallen, having taken a sword wound to his abdomen. Though it was not a fatal slash wound, it reached down almost a centimeter into his flesh and spread across his entire midsection; what worried the two women who stood aside, however, was that it continued to bleed relentlessly whenever he tried to swing a blade. Adrenaline kept him going for a few more minutes before Wendy literally carried him off the battlefield after momentarily using her armor as a wall, scared for his life after watching his blade strokes slow down to an almost sluggish level. Though he protested violently to this, blood loss soon rendered his vision blurry before the darkness that was unconsciousness took him. She left him by Innes, who kept Raven's weapon handy in case he regained consciousness. It was then that Wendy and Amelia had taken over, axes and lances blazing.
The two girls who served as reinforcements of the group fought side-by-side, moving up to replace the other melee units when exhaustion seemed to overtake them. The pink general was a sight to behold; a behemoth of brightly-hued clanking metal, moving up with an axe in each hand. The woman, though most would consider her to not be the war-bound type, did not allow her image to interfere with her skills in combat. Many of them had claimed behind her back that her armor would one day be stained red from all the blood she spilled; a testament being proven true as more and more spatters of crimson liquid came to rest on its plates. Whether she slammed the hilt of her axes into opponents' skulls or used their blades to flay their bodies like fish, the only thing that kept her from moving forward was the sheer number of foes that remained. Her downfall came in her endurance, for holding up armor that weighed almost twice as much as she made for quite the exhausting experience, especially if she was forced to walk. While standing in place did not deplete her energy, as the armor held her upright, she had to constantly move in order to get the best angle for swinging her weapons. She also had to make sure she didn't hit her smaller partner… difficult, considering that her bulk took up half the hallway and the thin, panoramic view of the outside world offered little in terms of looking up or down at allies or opponents. She could see only at one altitude, which was the height of her eyes.
Amelia, who seemed much smaller with her lack of armor, fought beside her, using all the skills she learned with the lance to strike at her foes. She had taught herself this unique style of fighting, and it showed; while most lance-wielding fighters liked to stab at their opponents, she used the weapon's length to strike sideways, striking at their skulls with all of her weight and the weapon's momentum behind it. This way, she did not waste time in pulling the lance from the corpses while also carrying the ability to strike more than one opponent as she struck in an arc before her. Oftentimes, this led to opponents causing others in their ranks to lose balance; all of who made easy targets for either her or Wendy's weapons.
"Damn it! Wendy, Amelia, fall back!" Several men were approaching the two fighters with weapons that neither could fight without serious injury; warriors carrying large, armor-crushing hammers followed behind an entire group armed to the teeth with rapiers and hatchets. While that in itself did not seem serious, he knew it was imperative to get them out of harm's way, lest danger befall his two emergency fighters. He never intended for them to fight in the first place; when he had planned out his course of attack, he had wanted Wendy to appear intimidating to the foe, distracting their attention before having the rest of their warriors move around to attack the foe in a pincer formation. Amelia, the lightest of their warriors and quickest on her feet, was supposed to move straight to the throne room (He hadn't wanted to bring along either of the rogues or any of the new thieves; he didn't trust them any farther than he could have gone over and kissed them. Considering his infatuation with Eirika, that wasn't likely in the least.), figure out who was occupying it, guess their general strengths, and return to regroup. Then again, he had also estimated that their numbers were about a third of what they were now, and he had been quite wrong about that.
"Raven is injured, and Ross is exhausted! They're in no condition to fight!" Wendy did not even spare a look back, and Innes scarcely heard her over the resulting clanging of metal against metal. Again and again the sounds of gnashing steel resounded in the air, and soon, too, did the scream of pain that was torn from the younger girl's throat. The pink knight was shocked, considering that most of the remainder of the army had been decimated… As Wendy turned, she was greeted with a sight she never thought she'd see…
Stuck within Amelia's left shoulder was a hatchet, which now protruded sickly from the ghastly wound it had produced. Blood continued to gush out in many rivulets, quickly soaking her clothes and trickling down her belly. That in itself was not particularly shocking; injuries such as that could be treated with the aid of a healer, despite the incredible amount of pain the girl currently experienced. What none of their company expected was for the ruler of this particular encampment to approach them, let alone strike at them so quickly. Already, an azure-haired swordsman had struck, burying the blade of the sword into the girl's side. The swordsman made sure to lean all of his weight into the blade, as well, which allowed it to bore deeper into her body… Amelia felt the cruel tearing of her flesh as she felt one more shriek of pain escape her lips before the fiery pain that ailed her subsided as she fell to the ground. She felt almost numb… she felt no more of the pain, but her other senses seemed to fade, as well. Her vision blurred, her hearing became fuzzy, and all was numb to the touch… and she felt so sleepy…
Withdrawing his sword from her side and kicking Amelia's prone form aside, the warrior who had not hailed from Bern stood ready to fight, grasping his sword with a hand that looked as if it had been burned…
"You… You'll pay for that, you blackheart!" Picking up Amelia's lance with one hand while continuing to hold an axe in the other, Wendy didn't even hear Innes's protesting cries as she charged into battle. With skill and speed that seemed unbecoming of a knight, she swept both of her weapons in front of her in an x-shaped pattern, ensuring that he would have to block, rather than dodge her weapons. Sure enough, he did… though, strangely enough, his face did not contort with the strain of holding her back, though he did seem to have trouble holding her off, as testified by the shaking of his hands and arms. Meeting his eyes, Wendy could see that something was… off. Despite the darkness of the sapphire that composed them, she couldn't see an end to the depth and the cloudiness that blurred his eyes. It was like staring into a funnel of clouds, only with no beginning and no end.
"…Blackheart, you say? You don't know the half of it, Ostian knight." Still as unemotional as the Dark Priestess, the warrior continued to apply pressure against her weapons, despite the weight disadvantage. The burn on his hand slowly began to glow, mirroring the sigil of the rune that summoned the Bael in the encampment as he began to push back. Surprised, Wendy could feel the man below her weapons begin to press upward with more force than he ever had previously, outshining his previous performance by threefold before, using her weight against her, he pushed in a diagonal fashion. Knocked off-balance, it took a few seconds for her to regain her footing… seconds that were more than taken advantage of by the adversary.
Finding the vulnerable niche just below her helmet, which barely protected her vulnerable neck, the enemy lord whipped his sword arm back, preparing to thrust inward for the kill…and a spray of crimson liquid splattered onto the ground, painting the girl's armor a dark red, just as they always said it would. He didn't revel in the bloodshed, however, for something was horribly wrong… the fact that he would kill unnerved him, as did the strangeness of the blood. Something was off…
For it was not her blood that had been spilled, but his own.
Feeling a sharp stab of pain as metal pierced his back, Marth looked down to see the tip of a rapier emerging from his chest like a grotesque growth, covered in blood while the steel it was made of continued shining malevolently as if it had never been stained. Feeling it suddenly withdraw, he felt the fiery pain follow in its wake, staying behind in the wound after the perpetrator had left its victim. Dropping his iron sword, he made himself turn around, despite the pain that he felt. He could not die now, he remembered. There was so much to do… so much to accomplish… Completely ignoring the wave of reinforcements that arrived for the group he fought and not caring that both of the wounded girls were being healed, he instead turned his attention towards the one who had attacked him.
"You're… Roy of Pherae, aren't you… the royal brat of Lycia." His deep, almost inhuman voicecarried with it a tone that seemed almost amused that he had been stabbed by such a 'weak' foe, and did not bother to hide it. He could almost feel the seething anger of the lord behind him, but paid no heed. Eliwood, knowing that his son's pride and honor was being attacked, let him be… it did no good to have another fighting for his honor.
"I am Roy, son of Marquess Pherae. Who are you, to have attacked Frelia?" Roy refused his anger seep into his voice, and became even more agitated to hear the man once again chuckle bitterly at his attempt to salvage his honor.
"You need not know my name. I assure you, however… my motives are far beyond your comprehension." Something nagged within him violently at this point… he felt as if something that was a part of him was revolting violently against his demeanor and words. Why was his voice not his own? What was this force, rebelling against him? Why did it seem so familiar…? He was far too unnerved by this to not take any action, but did not know what he could do to stop it. It was within his mind; he could take no sword to it. It had no corporeal form; he could not slay it. It did not live as he did; he could not bribe it to leave. A sense of familiarity rose up within him, boiling over before he realized at once what it was… himself.
His individuality had been torn apart by his summoner, left to rot within the confines of his mind… but now, he could speak freely, however temporarily. He noted that, for the first time, the scar ceased its burning… that in itself was a marvelous blessing. He found that he could actually repress feelings of bloodlust now; feelings he had never harbored before meeting Formortiis, and a thirst that still disgusted him.
"…Tell me. What do you believe to be incomprehensible?" Snapping out of his temper-fueled fit, Roy returned to his calmer demeanor… using his intellect rather than anger to get his way, he hoped at least to coax out one or two answers before letting his sword finish the speaking for him.
"…My name is Marth, Sir Roy." Bowing deeply in genuine respect (it certainly wasn't a gesture he used often, but he had learned how to do it well enough by watching others), Marth continued to speak. His voice was the equivalent of silk; smooth, velvety, and soft. It wasn't menacing, and was quite appealing to the ears, but was far. "I did not attack Frelia, nor am I a part of Bern's army. I am—" Gripping his chest at the renewed pain, he felt only a crimson haze descend over his vision before collapsing to the earth. A newfound pain raged within him, ten times worse than before; it shook his nerves, his body, and his very soul as he could only scream inaudibly inside himself. He could not open his mouth, could not move a muscle… no, something vile seemed to be seeping into every core of his being. He heard the baritone echoes of a voice within his skull before he lost all conscious thought…
This body… yes. It's much stronger than Grado's prince. You've failed me… and yet, you will make a fine host, Marth of Aritia.
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(Hnee. :3 Thank you to all my reviewers. The lemon's in two chapters, methinks. Sorry about the delay; I've been on quite the hectic schedule, recently. As clichéd as it sounds, please read and review!)