A/N-Chap 5 review responses are in my forums as normal, thank you to everyone who read and commented. And with this chapter, those with any knowledge of GOT will have a very good idea of when she is.

Thanks for reading.

Chapter Six: A Truce with Tribute Buy

Sometimes, Aemon dreamed of that table in Maester Melaquin's study at Summerhall.

The table was unremarkable, but it was the treasures it held that always drew the young Aemon to Melaquin's study. The kindly, soft-spoken Maester loved to carve bits of wood, and then paint them. The wily old Maester had an army of knights, men at arms and ladies in their fanciful dress that he kept on the table, each arrayed like soldiers on a field of yellow or black squares.

To the sons of Prince Maekar Targaryen, the beautifully crafted toys were irresistible.

Melaquin, being the sly old man he was, never failed to bring learning even to simple play. He gave an exquisitely carved figure to Aemon one bright, happy summer day. "That is your father, Prince Maekor," the Maester said.

For the rest of his days, Aemon remembered the feeling of awe that his father could be immortalized with such care and love as that carved figure. But the old Maester was not done. For he turned to Aemon's little brother Aegon and gave him another figure-one that just did not seem as magical or precious, but was still exquisitely made. "And that, my prince, is Daemon Blackfyre. And not ten years ago, those two led vast armies in a battle that still shapes the world. Set your pieces on the table, lads, and let us learn about the Battle of the Redgrass Field."

Aemon often wondered in the years that followed if it was that moment which set his feet on the path that led him to Castle Black.

~~Voluspa~~

~~Voluspa~~

In the nineteen years since Aemon left the world of kings and men to ensure his brother's reign began peaceably, he had known three Lord Commanders. The first, Lord Commander Jack Musgood, was a complacent and ill-mannered fellow. It does no man good to claim failure as his only testament, but Lord Commander Musgood failed to stop a wildling army from crossing the Wall and then failed to reach the battle to end them in time. In so doing he indirectly contributed to the death of the then Lord Stark.

Musgood's successor was no less than Aemon's distant cousin, Brynden Rivers, a former Hand of the King who took his duties too far, and received the offer of Death or the Black for his crimes. Given that Rivers arrived in a band of two hundred men, on the same ship as Aemon himself, it was inevitable that he would soon be commander. To have a Targaryen and former Hand of the King in the Watch made it all but expected.

But having two Targaryens at Castle Black made for a rather strenuous time for Aemon. The man who called himself Bloodraven spent his time as Lord Commander straining against the limitations of his post and raging in private over what he felt was his betrayal at the hands of Aemon's little brother. And to have the king's own brother as Maester at the castle did little to ease his mood.

The thirteen years of their working together passed in quiet acrimony. Rivers rarely if ever consulted with him, and when he did, it was only to find books on the crazed, legendary magics of the North, or writings on the Weirwoods. He disappeared one day beyond the Wall, and that was the last Aemon ever saw of him.

Then there was the third, and most recent Lord Commander.

The door to Aemon's study burst open without a knock, and Adrick of House Cerwyn, 995th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, strode in with an angry scowl. "Maester! How much was that builder's chest you commissioned from Winterfell worth?"

Aemon placed his quill back in the ink bottle and turned to face the hot-blooded Northman. "The whole cost roughly ten gold dragons, Lord Commander," Aemon said with hard-earned calm.

Adrick was a hot-blooded man; Aemon had come to know. Not particularly cruel or vicious, but quick to anger, and prone to regret that anger after. In the face of the Maester's implacable calm, Adrick's obvious agitation cooled.

"Ser Matteus Rivers proved me a fool, Aemon." Adrick paced away; hands clenched tightly behind the long black cloak of bear fur he'd brought with him from Cerwyn Hall. A gift, he'd said, from a father who had too many sons, and was grateful to the youngest for taking the Black. "I thought the lad could be trusted, and he proved me a fool."

He spun and lifted a finger. "And yes, man, I know you warned me."

"I assure you, Lord Commander, you are neither the first, nor will you be the last, to be taken in by honeyed words. Young Matteus was eloquent in his protestations, if nothing else. I take it we have evidence that he and his companion Chet fled?"

"Aye. Two-Toes caught their trail during a ranging. Three horses, heavily laden. Heading north." The man sat down with a forlorn sigh. "I know what I must do, but surely I dread it."

"It would seem, Lord Commander, that justice must be done. However, it also seems to me that our newest recruits have yet to actually leave Castle Black. Young Dalard arrived with Ser Matteus. They did not get on, if memory serves. Perhaps this would be a good first mission for young Ser Delard."

Adrick was not the sharpest knife in the armory, but when the meaning came he sat up and stared at Aemon intently. "Aye. A ranging is in order. And with old Two-Toes along, perhaps we can keep the young Ser in check. A good plan, Maester. My thanks!"

And with that, Adrick burst out of the study as roughly and loudly as he burst in. With a sigh, Aemon went back to his inventory of northern flora. "You must kill the boy you were, Adrick," he said to himself. "For no boy can lead the Watch."

~~Voluspa~~

~~Voluspa~~

In the latest missive Aemon received from his brother the king, Aegon V Targaryen included a precious gift.

The beautifully illustrated copy of Six Times to Sea: Being an Account of the Great Voyages of Alyn Oakenfist, nearly brought a tear to Aemon's eyes. The gold leaf and masterfully drawn illustrations spoke of a princely commission, and that it was a book Aemon had not read made it even more precious. He parsed his reading out-only an hour each day when the light was just right, so as to prolong the first reading as long as he could.

He was only part way through Alyn's second voyage when Adrick burst into the study without a knock or word of warning. His heavy features were twisted with anger, but also uncertainty. "I need your counsel, Maester."

Without even a by-your-leave, the man turned and left. Aemon stilled his impatience. "Tomorrow, my friend," he said to the book as he slipped in a velvet mark and slipped the precious tome into its velvet cover and back into his personal chest. The book was worth three builders' chests and more.

He arrived in the great hall, which despite the name was not particularly grand. Rather, it was a long, low-ceilinged chamber where the brothers of the Night's Watch took their meals while at the castle. It also served as the only place left in the ancient castle large enough to hold them all.

As he entered, he saw only the twenty men who'd ridden out with Ser Dalerd. Orban Two-Toes stood at their front, looking rough and unwashed from the week's ranging.

"Tell the Maester, Two-Toes," Adrick ordered roughly as soon as Aemon stepped in. "Just as you told me."

"Aye, Lord Commander."

Two-Toes was one of Lord Commander Brynden's archers who arrived on the same ship as Aemon himself. However, unlike Aemon, Orban spent most of his time with the Watch in the land beyond the Wall. He searched out and fought raiders and other enemies of the kingdoms, and in the process had lost most of his toes, a part of his ear, and one finger to frostbite. He was as hard and strong a man as Aemon knew, but also one of the most fair.

He told a fanciful story like out of the Goodwife's Tales. Of magic and witches, and a blind girl who could see and command the clouds. But, just to ensure Aemon knew it was not just any tale, Adrick said, "Ser Delard's body is in the cellar. He's to be burned tonight."

"Then I shall examine the body forthwith," Aemon said. He found no need to comment on the story, not when there was evidence of it to study.

The body, though, brought Aemon up short. He'd never seen the like, but he'd read many accounts of men and women dying similar deaths. It looked, to Aemon's eyes, anyway, as if young Ser Dalard died of a peculiar dragon's fire. The burns formed branching pathways, almost like trees that flowed down his flesh in striking patterns of charred flesh. Nor was it one burn, but rather hundreds that covered every inch of the poor lad's body.

The heat was intense enough to explode the bones in the boy's legs, and melt his chain mail into the ruination of his skin. So, like a peculiar dragon's fire. Or, if Orban was to be believed, a chain of lightning called down by a blind witch. Truly it was the most remarkable thing Aemon had ever seen.

Adrick stomped down the stairs. "What news, Maester?"

"The wounds support Orban's words," Aemon said. He noticed how the Lord Commander carefully looked anywhere but at the body. "The burns were like tiny flecks of dragon fire, lashing over and over again."

"A fire could do that as well."

"With respect, Lord Commander, a fire would have burned the wool of his cloak as well. This particular fire burned flesh and metal, but his cloak bore only mild heat damage. At first glance, I would have to say Orban's story was confirmed."

Aemon did not become agitated by the mystery, he became excited. "Still, for all the harm she did poor young Dalard here, she did not strike down Orban or his men."

Adrick snorted. "Because she was telling a lie, man. It was a woods witch trick to scare off the other men. And it worked."

Aemon looked down at the body. "This was no trick, Lord Commander."

Adrick waived the point away.

"It doesn't matter. I can't let this stand-not the murder of a man of the Night's Watch. Killing deserters I can abide, but she's stolen our property and now murdered one of our brothers. I ride out tomorrow with fifty men. We are going to find this woods witch and put her to the torch."

Aemon had many thoughts on such an action. Knowing Delard as he did, Aemon had little doubt the man took an action fully worthy of the wood witch's ire. But whether he deserved it or not, the Lord Commander was right not to allow it. There was no law in the Seven Kingdoms or beyond that allowed the smallfolk to defend themselves against a lord.

"I want you to come," Adrick added.

Aemon's thoughts stuttered to a halt. "I'm sorry, Lord Commander, did I hear that correctly?"

"Aye, man," Adrick said. He had a hard time meeting Aemon's eyes, and spoke more gruffly even than normal. "I need to know if this girl is an Other. What Two-Toes describes, it's impossible. But all the other men agree that she called lightning down on the poor bastard. I need to know if there are others like her, and if she's a threat to the kingdom."

If not for the arduous journey he'd just been condemned to, Aemon would have been proud of the fact the Lord Commander actually thought through his reasoning.

"Then I am at your service, Lord Commander."

"Good. We leave at dawn. For tonight? Prepare the body for the pyre. We'll burn what's left of him."

~~Voluspa~~

~~Voluspa~~

Morning came cold and clear. Aemon found a chestnut gelding saddled and ready for him. Clydas had done well in packing all he would need for the two weeks or so they expected to be gone. Adrick was already mounted and giving words of their cause to the men. The latest Lord Commander had many deficiencies, Aemon thought, but he had a good rapport with his men, and soon had them cheered at the idea of vengeance for their dear, lost Ser Dalerd, utter bastard he might have been.

Aemon found it interesting how warm it became in the forest, even though Castle Black remained at or below freezing. Once within the trees of the forests, the journey was pleasant enough. The long summer sat gently over the forest.

The men sang or told stories as they moved. What need did they have for stealth with a column fifty men strong? Aemon did not join them, but he smiled at the lyrics or the spirit with which some were sung.

However, there was never comfort to be had for long beyond the Wall. Because on the third day, it started raining. It did not stop even when they reached White Tree.

A single bent, aged man stood in the middle of the tiny commons to greet them. Aemon, though, found himself admiring the healthy crop of barley the people had grown, and a garden of even more food beside. Their sheepfold was full, they appeared to have a pen filled with wild chickens and hares, and all around he saw evidence of a bountiful area.

At the Lord Commander's word, Orban did the speaking. "You know why I'm here, Old Man," he called. "Is the witch here?"

The old man shook his head. "She never returned, Crow. She's still at the cave."

Orban glanced at the Lord Commander, then the crop. "You'd just got the seeds in the ground when we last spoke."

The old man shrugged. "Telos blessed the ground. You saw the tree."

"What's he saying, man?" Adrick's voice slithered through the rain.

"The weirwood, Ser," Orban explained. "Moved like it talked to her. Dropped a pair of branches for her."

Aemon absorbed that information in silence, but again considered where it was coming from. The old wildling didn't say it other than as something he and Orban both witnessed. Which meant those other men with Dalard could verify it later.

Adrick rode forward. "Did you have any part in this, old man?"

The wildling shook his head. "She saved a girl of the village from you Crows. We took her in, fed her. She blessed us, then led you Crows away. None here done harm to you or yours, Crow."

For a brief moment, Aemon wondered if Adrick might strike the village down just because of their association with this Telos. To his relief, though, Adrick didn't even seem to consider it. "I believe you, Old Man. Two-Toes has told me White Tree has given shelter to my Crows. We'll consider the deed done."

Then, in payment for his time, Adrick tossed a bag of wine at the old man. "For the trouble," he said, before leading his men away.

Money was meaningless to the Free Folk, but wine and steel held real value. Orban nodded to the Wildling and fell in behind the Lord Commander. Aemon followed with the rest, pleased to have avoided bloodshed there. Adrick was far from perfect, but he was at least not a villain.

~~Voluspa~~

~~Voluspa~~

Aemon was quite thoroughly sick when the column reached the branch of the trail that led to what Two-Toes called Bear Cave Hill. His head and joints ached and he had a constant, unpleasant discharge from his nose. After three straight days of rain, most of the men were showing signs of illness.

Which is why when Adrick started down the branch trail, stopped, and then turned and announced it was time to return, Aemon thought the man had developed a fever in the brain. The other men looked just as confused.

"Lord Commander, what of our mission?" Aemon asked.

Adrick blinked at him from under heavy, sodden brows. "What mission, man? We're all soaked to the bone in this miserable weather. Let's be on our way."

"But what about the woods witch, Lord Commander?" Orban sounded as confused as Aemon.

"Why, we burn her, of course," Adrick said. "Now let's be on...wait. What?"

The Lord Commander sat up in his saddle, no longer so sure of himself. "What devilry is this? I…"

All of the misery of the last few days evaporated away in the face of something that could not be explained. "Orban, start down the trail," Aemon said.

The ranger did so without any ill effects. Adrick, when he tried again, froze with a twisted expression and once more backed his mount away. "Devilry! Hophin, ride forward!"

The old ranger named Hophin-a rough man with no love for any other-had no more luck than the Lord Commander. One of the newer recruits, though-a smallfolk man from Winterfell who joined for steady meals-had no issue passing. Aemon himself rode forward, and like Two-Toes and Wilfre, had no issue.

"How remarkable," the Maester said. "Young Wilfre, Orban and myself can pass without issue. Lord Commander, if you don't mind, let's have all the men try."

So they did, and of the fifty, only seven could pass to the trail without issue. The rest froze up just like Adrick himself. Aemon watched in growing confidence of what was happening, even if he could not explain the how of it.

"Wilfre, lad, have you ever killed a man?" Aemon asked.

"No, Maester," the boy, not even seventeen, said. "Don't have a mind to, unless I gotta."

Aemon asked the same of the next who could pass, and the other five besides, and each had a similar answer. Not all were young lads-there were a few who'd worn the black for a few years. But none, as far as he knew, had been blooded. A handful were simple thieves sent by harsh lords to serve the night's watch over losing their hands.

"What are you thinking about, Maester?" Adrick demanded.

"While the mechanism escapes me, it would appear that none who mean this Telos harm may pass," the Maester said.

"How is that possible?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Aemon said. He couldn't help but laugh.

"You don't have to sound so chipper about it."

Aemon didn't bother to look apologetic. "It is a rather extraordinary situation, Lord Commander. I do recall an account of one Ser Eustace Hightower. If you might recall, he accompanied the Lady Elissa Farman on her voyages. His ship was damaged and he had to take anchor at Sothoryos. He spoke of places where a man could not go no matter his will due to a dark and dread magic."

"Aemon, you're not helping."

The Maester gave an elegant shrug. "Lord Commander, this is truly beyond me. I have many links in my chain, but Valyrian steel is not one of them. But I do have a suggestion. Since I am not impacted by this strange curse, and Two-Toes is not either, perhaps the two of us should ride on. If nothing else, we can speak to this Telos and determine if she is a risk to the castle or the kingdom. The rest can set camp, get some fires going and perhaps dry out a little. It is why you asked me to come, was it not?"

Adrick did not look happy at the suggestion, but having traveled so long, he was obviously loath to just let the woods witch go without something. "Fine, then. Two-Toes, do your best to protect our fool of a Maester. The king would be unhappy to lose his brother, methinks."

With that awkward blessing, they dismounted and continued forward.

The rain stopped five feet into the trail. Aemon stopped and turned to stare back. Not five feet away, the rain fell in a heavy downpour on the miserable wretches from the Night's Watch.

Orban met his gaze when he looked forward. "We go on?"

"At this point, I'm not sure we could do anything else. Lead on, dear Orban."

The trail proved narrow and smothering, with branches constantly catching at their cloaks. However, they abruptly entered a bright clearing at the base of a stony hill. The sun shone down without any hint of the horizon-spanning storm they left just an hour before. Spread throughout the clearing were signs of industry one might expect from a sizable village or a newly raised Lord's hall.

The largest and most noticeable thing Aemon saw was what appeared to be a stone foundation carved into the side of a gently sloping hill of stony soil, facing south. If the foundation gave any hint of the size of the structure, it would be close in size to the great hall of Last Hearth. The style of construction was quite vexing, though, because it looked almost like shaped dragon stone. As they walked closer, Aemon could see how the stone of the hill's base had been carved and then somehow that very same stone was shaped to level the side of the stone at the deepest point, extending it out like walls to serve as the foundation of a new home.

As he walked even closer, he saw what looked like fired clay pipes set at the outer base of each of the stone foundation walls. More than that, he saw what looked like tarred timbers set at even intervals within the walls. At the outer base of the walls, he saw narrow, round pipes perforated through with holes.

"Valyrian drain pipes," he whispered to himself.

Surrounding the foundation were several different earthen kilns, at least one of which was obviously firing bricks. Beyond the foundations, he saw fields of ripe rye and vegetables that made the fields of the Riverlands look fallow.

He saw hides set up on primitive stands to tan, and roughly hewn workhorses and tables, and in the middle of it a finely made builder's tool chest. But out of all of it, the most striking was the sole figure working in the midst of everything.

The maiden, for she most certainly was a youth not yet twenty, stood at an unusual height. But for all that size, she had the lithe build of youth. She was indecently dressed by the standards of the Seven Kingdoms, but in the uncommon warmth of the clearing, and given the work she was obviously doing, the tunic and short skirt of some unknown fabric seemed understandable enough. If nothing else, it revealed striking lines of tattoos about the backs of her legs and arms. She stood atop a large, squared timber and was using a finely crafted frame saw by herself to cut planks from the timber. Based on the neatly stacked, spaced planks set between the foundation and hill's sharp, stony rise, she'd been doing so for some time.

"That's her," Orban hissed.

Aemon had seen pit sawmen at work. It was grueling, exhausting work the men had to do in shifts. But as he and Two-Toes approached, this tall, slip of a girl sawed down the ten-foot length of the squared timber, moving only to shift the timber to avoid its supports, until the plank fell away with a loud thud.

She hopped down, placed the saw by its carved cypress handle upon the jutting end of a workhorse, and placed the plank with its fellows on rows of straight branches to keep them apart. She must have been exceedingly strong for a woman, Aemon concluded.

Then, and only then, did she sit on the respectable pile of planks and turn to view them. And in so doing, Aemon felt his heart thud with fear, while Two-Toes made the sign of the Seven.

Her eyes glowed like two distant stars, unearthly and inhuman. Aemon could feel them like a weight against him, penetrating to the very core of his being.

"Are you hungry?" She called to them. "I made some stew."

She sounded so very young. The voice, and the youthfulness of her skin and features sounded at such odds coming from a creature whose gaze felt so heavy and ancient. And yet, rather than a challenge, they were offered food.

Aemon remembered some of the fanciful stories of his youth, and the price to be had for refusing courtesy from those creatures who were beyond human. Marshaling his wits, Aemon bowed. "That would be lovely, thank you, dear."

The girl named Telos walked to one of the kilns, and only then did Aemon notice that she'd placed an iron cauldron atop the shaped chimney, cleverly using the heat of the kiln to cook the meal. She grabbed the handle without regard for the heat and carried it and three hand-carved wooden bowls to the sand before the stickered planks.

"You can take your cloaks off to dry, if you wish," she said. "It only rains in the clearing at night."

"Why is that, my lady?"

"Because that's when I want it to rain," she said simply.

She put the pot down and used her bowl to dig some of the stew out. In the process, she held out the other bowls.

Aemon undid the clasp of his soggy wet cloak and laid it across a pile of fired bricks. His boots squelched from the rain as he strode across the rocky sand to accept one of the bowls. The stew looked rich and meaty, with diced vegetables. He took a portion, and then motioned for Orban to do the same.

There was meaning in the sharing of food.

"I haven't gotten around to carving spoons yet, sorry." She put the bowl to her lips and just ate it directly.

Though hot, the flavor of the soup almost overwhelmed Aemon. It was as rich and savory as anything he'd ever had as a prince. "That is marvelous!" he declared. "Thank you."

A brief look around revealed two tree stumps close enough to speak. He sat in one, and watched as Orban carefully took a bowl and sat himself. "I apologize for our unannounced visit. My name is Maester Aemon. My companion there is Orban Two-Toes."

"We've met," the girl said. She smiled at him, a surprisingly kind smile for a creature that struck men down with lighting. "My name is Telos of the Trees. And have no worries about being unannounced. I've been waiting for you since you left the giant ice wall. I'm glad your commander didn't hurt the people at White Tree. I really didn't want to kill you."

How could she know that? Unless she spied on us and fled. While her eyes lent themselves to a supernatural explanation, the more likely one was that she was there, and then ran ahead of them.

The threat was clear enough, though. "I'm glad too." He wasn't sure if he meant the sparing of White Tree, or not dying. Though both were preferable. He looked around the clearing at all the work she had obviously done, and the work still to be done. "You've made good use of the tools you came into possession of."

"They've come in handy." She slurped more of her soup as she also regarded her work. "I never realized how tedious planking is by hand, though. I've actually thought about trying to hire one of the villagers to help me, but they need every hand they can get. Then I thought about just having a tree grow the planks, but that seemed unfair to the trees."

Nearby, Orban made a brief obscene noise when he finally tasted the stew. "Beg pardon," he said quickly, before scarfing it down.

Aemon found himself wolfing the stew down like a boy as well, genuinely impressed by its flavor. He grew up a prince, and had not tasted any stew so good. When she saw he'd finished she motioned for him to have more. "I made extra," she admitted.

With the worst of his hunger sated, Aemon slowed himself to further study her and the clearing. "I must admit, this wasn't what I expected to find when the Lord Commander asked me to come. You don't sound like a native of this forest, and I can see just from what you've done that you have skills the Wildlings do not possess. I don't know if I've seen any squared timbers north of the wall."

"The Thenns square their timbers," Orban said. "Only ones, though. Most of the rest have stone axes not suited for such work."

"I'll admit I'd be building a very different home if not for the tools."

A deep, powerful howl reverberated through the forest. Telos turned her impossible eyes north, shaking her head.

"That's a direwolf," Orban said, wide-eyed.

"His name is Flurry," Telos told them. She smiled fondly. "He's only a puppy, barely two years old. He went after a giant elk and came out with a shattered hip. I healed him, and now he's my friend. It gets lonely here at night."

She then pointed her chin back the way they came. "Your Lord Commander's looking sick."

"Does it rain on them still?"

The girl's wistful expression hardened. "Your Lord Commander came here to kill me, Aemon. Burn me at the stake. It will rain on him every time he enters the forest. Every time, Aemon, until he dies. If he hurts the people of White Tree, the rain will be accompanied by lightning."

"And you'll know, because you can see far afield with those eyes," Aemon guessed.

She nodded, then served herself more stew.

Aemon found himself feeling something he'd not felt since his earliest childhood; he felt wonder. "Telos, I must ask. Where are you from?"

She considered him for a long time. "You've studied the stars."

"Well, yes."

"Ever consider what they are?"

"Of course. But we have no way of knowing."

"They're suns. Just like the one that rises over the east. Millions and millions of suns, and many of them have worlds just like this one. One of those worlds was where I was born."

She glanced up and sighed. "With my eyes, I can see farther than you can imagine. But since I arrived here, I've searched for my world in the heavens and I can't find it. It's so far away. I'm not even sure it exists any more. Not like I remembered it."

Aemon was not so far removed from the world to not recognize longing when he heard it. Her claim, though, was just fantastic. "Why are you here?"

She met his gaze. "I died a good death. I saved my people. Aemon, I have no idea why I'm here. I don't even know how. I didn't come here by choice. But now that I'm here, this is my forest. The people here took me in and showed me kindness, so now they are my people. And those who do harm to me or mine will find no shelter, nor peace, within these woods."

She motioned her hand around them. "You should head back. Your Lord Commander is not looking well at all."

Aemon stood and placed the bowl down. "Then I will take my leave. Thank you, dear, for the food and the explanation. What influence I have I will use to perhaps ease the Lord Commander's concerns."

She nodded. "You could come back if you wished, Aemon. If you do, bring some books. I can speak any language of man, but I have to see the written language to know to read and write."

"Perhaps I will," Aemon said. "Until then, be well, dear."

With that, he began the walk back to his horse and fellow brothers of the Night's Watch with Orban Two-Toes at his side. It wasn't until he and Orban were on the narrow trail that he realized he no longer felt sick.

"How extraordinary!"