Stavanger Bay her early leaf's a flower

@Qilaq

Too long.

It'd been over a month, now, since her daughter had first fallen into her jaws. She'd been so sickly, then, and small. But even as small as she was, she'd been big enough to endure the drop - the only thing that'd stayed the beta's hand was the air of unhealthiness that had surrounded her.

She was healthy, now. She was healthy and far larger than she'd been before, and Doe loved her like she'd never loved another wolf before. It was a love full of pride and care and mostly fear. She feared for that girl like she would never fear for herself, or fear for capable Szymon, or Skellige the Bearbane.

But it'd been too long, and not even fear could hold her back any longer. Rather, it was fear that caused her to act; fear of what the Wickedness would do if Quill remained in the territory without Her blessings.

The Drop was a necessary evil.

"Quill," she called, approaching the girl once she'd tracked her down. Her heart attempted to twist in her chest, but coldy, Doe pushed such pains to the back of her mind. It was for her own good, and for Quill's, and for the good of the pack.

In the last several days, for more than a week, she'd become a little more adventurous. She'd seen the wolves during the Den Night though she'd only seen one since, but it made her realize there were other wolves around her than she'd originally thought. Her world had previously revolved around her caretakers for they entertained her, fed her, and kept her happy, and honestly what else is there? She never sought for much else and her desires remained small and few. 

At least, until recently when an itch in her paws had been found and she'd wandered off every once in a while. 

She was always found, or at least found her way back to the den, but she never really met another wolf in her travels. Arturo had been the first and the meeting had been tentative at best but it hadn't been enough to strike fear into her that she may not try again. 

This time, she finds herself near the waters. The sounds the ocean makes once it crashes against the shore has her attention, caught in a trance as it repeats over and over. Appeh had taken her into the water before, however vague, and while it had been terrifying at first, she'd found an ease in it. The memory remains in the back of her mind, though, and since then she had only been close but never do her paws touch the cool water that laps up near her toes. Instead, she dances back once it gets too close to her. 

Her name is called and her ears swivel back on her head, slowing during to see Amayo coming in her direction. Everything else is temporarily forgotten as she spins on her heels and dashes to close the distance, pressing up against her chest and greeting her with an eager tail and kisses just as sloppy as ever.

By now, the little woman was sure of the life that bloomed within her. She'd been suffering a mother's stomach, though like Hind before her, it was not so severe as affect other shewolves in her condition. Still, her maternal instincts only grew with the progression of her pregnancy, and although some might've cast out any children that were not of their brood, Doe could only see Qilaq as her daughter. Without thinking, she snuffed her nose down the growing girl's back, checking her over for signs of ailment even as she prepared to cast her into the Wickedness.

It was hard to remind herself that this was for the best; that it was necessary - especially when her girl was so happy to see her, so trusting and enthusiastic even as Doe continued to exude the serious nature of this important ritual. Serious as she was about the Drop, she did not rebuke her daughter for her joy. There would be reason enough for joy afterward, after all. And, if there was not, this may well be the last time Doe would experience the happiness of Quill. The thought pained her, but it was a reality that they would have to face.

"Walk with me, Lamb," she said kindly, smoothing a kiss of her own over the darkling's brow. Together, they made their way to the Eastern Arm - the tall, black arm of cliffs that protected them from westward winds. The climb was an easy one, as the natural shelves provided convenient stepping stones to the top of the cliff, but Doe took it slowly all the same. Her heart was heavy, but she hoped to make Qilaq's light. "You will fly today, Qilaq," she said, looking down at the pitch-colored youth. Doe didn't know exctly how old she was, but she was nearing her den-mother in size, by now. "We will reach the top of the cliff, and you will fly into the Sea. And because you are strong, she will carry you back to the shore. But you must remember - "

By now, they had reached the top of the cliffs, and a gentle wind was ruffling the beta's fur. She shivered at the slight chill, noticing for the first time that the hair on her belly must already be thinning, but pushed aside such distractions in favor of focusing on her daughter. She lowered herself to the girl's level - not so far down, anymore - and let her eyes bore into Qilaq's. "You must remember to swim. To come toward me. I will call for you, and you will hear my voice. And you will come."

She did not ask if the girl understood. It seemed to Doe that she understood very little, and if these words were lost on her as well, there was nothing that the young mother could do.

Raising her muzzle, she howled for @Szymon and for @Skellige, knowing that anyone else who heard her call would know what was occuring on this day. She hoped they would keep their distance, at least until her daughter surfaced once more.

PP to get them up there; kind of trying to hurry this along. As ever, just let me know if I need to change anything, and I will do so at once <3

The day had come.

Szymon, splashing ashore after an invigorating swim that bore the chill of early autumn, tilted his head to cast an oblique glance toward the cliff above. Doe’s cry had caught his attention as little else could, and the sight of two silhouettes where he’d expected one clued him in to the significance of the moment. Qilaq’s time of judgment was nigh, and though he believed he knew firsthand how it pained Doe to cast her daughter into the Sea, he also knew it was a task that only the pack’s witch doctor could complete. He stood on the shoreline, rising to his full height, his head and tail held with exaggerated pride — he was proud of all that Qilaq had achieved since the first day her paws had touched down on the hallowed sands of the Blackrock warband. She was taller now, and stronger, and the strength of Doe’s love and Szymon’s protection would guide her safely ashore. Throwing back his head, he called encouragingly to his daughter in a long, sonorous howl as the wind whipped at his fur. He wondered what spirit guide she would receive, believing with all of himself that she would be returned to him and reborn with the Sea’s blessing. Then, as his cry came to an undulating close, he stood facing the ocean — he would watch for her to fall, and he would watch until she, like her mother before her, tumbled into a heap at his paws.

You will fly today.

Qilaq blinks a few times as she stares at Amayo, trying to understand the words. She doesn't have wings like a bird that will carry her away, or if she does she doesn't know how to work them. The way Amayo bore her gaze into her own causes the itch to turn and inspect her back to fade, ears falling back against her head. If she could look, she could find out for her own, but she isn't able to move her head and listened to the rest of the words given to her. 

Something doesn't feel right. She's never heard this tone before, a few degrees of worry and panic that comes to her ears and grips her. Qilaq swallows a lump forming in her throat, unsure of where it's come from, and adjusts her stance a fraction. It is only when she hears a second call, familiar, that puts a little ease into her form and she forces a break away from Amayo's hard stare to the figure in the distance. "Appeh," she quietly mutters to herself, momentarily forgetting their purpose.

She was comforted, to know that Szymon had come. Too, that he sounded so unaffected helped Doe draw herself up and speak less urgently to the girl they both loved. Nudging her gently toward the edge, Doe tried once again to explain what must be done.

"Yes, Appeh," she agreed, taking a few steps toward the edge herself. "Jump in the water and swim to Appeh, Qilaq."

Part of her wanted to push the girl. Part of her wanted to take her by the scruff and drag her back down to the sands. Mostly, though, she wished she had the words to make Qilaq see why this had to be done, and how best to do it. But Doe didn't know how to make the girl listen to her, and already the thought of what might happen to the girl was making it hard to speak.

But Szymon was here, and he believed she would be alright. She was strong, and older by half than the pups that normally weathered this trial.

"You'll be fine," Doe murmured, touching her nose to the girl's dark rump and giving another gentle push. There was no force behind these nudges - they were not meant to move the girl, but to tell her which direction she ought to go.

She has to swim to Appeh. 

It's easy, she's done it before but he'd never been that far and she's never been this high. Her head turns to glance back at Amayo, trying to understand why she had to do it. They can go back the way they'd came, right? Her jaw tightens and she remembers the warily panic, however brief it had been, and despite the calm now, it had been there. Perhaps they cannot go back the way they'd came, something blocking their way. Qilaq swings her head again, behind her, and sees nothing out of the ordinary.

If she can't go back, neither can Amayo, and with as much comfort as that's able to bring, she puts her attention once more on Appeh down below. The nudges she receives inch her close, one small step after the other, but her hesitation remains apparent. It goes against everything her body tells her, keeping her currently rooted to the stones beneath her feet when she's nearly two feet from the ledge. She trembles, taking in a slow breath to try and steel herself so neither of those she loved most could see but with little success.

Fly, she hears, and it is only a fraction of a second before her feet are off the ground. Haphazardly swinging but in the right direction but she does not fly. Her limbs flail as she falls heavily down the side of the ledge. It is over before she's able to really figure out she's not soaring down gracefully but inhaling gasps of water once she submerges. 

Panic gives her another surge forward, surfacing the rocky water, and she inhales air and more water and everything hurts. Qilaq doesn't stay afloat long before she dips back down to a few seconds later breaching the surface again, this time several feet closer to the shore. It isn't enough to leave her hope as she struggles forward, forgetting everything she'd once been taught to do in the water.

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The black-banded Cairn felt his heart swell with pride at the small, precious bundle that tumbled in a flurry of gangly limbs from the overhang upon which she’d perched only moments before. A heavy splash, its sound subdued by the vast distance it had to travel to reach Szymon, lent his spirit wings — now, more than ever before, Qilaq would be his. Skellige owned them all — Doe, Szymon, and Qilaq — but the silver-ribbed behemoth had given his brother the right to a mate and daughter, and the golden-eyed boy was determined to keep both of them safe. Throwing back his head, he loosed a triumphant howl — in small measure, to guide Qilaq and comfort Doe, but mainly out of his own selfish joy. “Swim, Qilaq!” he shouted, his voice resonant and resplendent with fanatic pride. “Swim, my girl!” He laughed, throwing back his head at the strength he saw in his mate and child, and howled anew his triumph.

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In that moment, none of them feared. Doe watched as their beloved girl launched herself off the cliff, graceful and lithe despite her youth. And for a moment, she did fly. She soared over the rocks and sailed straight and true - and then, abruptly, dived into the ocean blue. The mother in her could not watch as her girl hit the water, but she heard the familiar plop and a splash that seemed far to quite to have been made by her strong Quill, the child of her heart. And when she looked into the water again, it was to see a dark head surface only to be pulled under once again.

Heedless, Doe followed. She knew that she must not interfere, but all of the sudden she could not stand the injustice of it - that her daughter should face a fate that Doe had not yet weathered. So Doe jumped and fell like a swooping gull, nose slicing into the water without fear. She must not interfere, but she would swim beside her girl, show her that she was not alone, that it could be done, that they were Cairns, and they would always be strong enough.

Plunging into the icy depths, Doe could not bring herself to regret her rash descision. Even as her nose stung and the current dragged her, and her lungs began to beg for air. The woman fought against the Wickedness, knowing that any relent in her struggle would show unwanted weakness to their deity. Doe fought and soon breach the surface, and in her first breath, offered a rallying cry.

"To papa, lamb!" she gasped, turning her nose toward the blurry white shape on the shore and pumping her legs hard. She could not see the dark form of her daughter, but knew that it would change nothing if she could.

They must not interfere.

"Just swim," sang the mother, paddling faithfully as each swell of the waves seemed to bring her one step back and two steps forward. Would the wickedness offer their foundling girl the same help? "Just keep swimming, Qilaq - Don't stop until you get to Appeh!"

It goes on a few more times. The up and down, inhaling water, limbs flailing. One second she can see—if she's lucky—but mostly she's blind to her surroundings. On one particular buoy, she sees a glimpse of Appeh but his words are long drowned out by the water rushing around her. She quickly becomes tired with each attempted stroke and she doesn't know where to go from here.

The word swim becomes apparent in the back of her mind, but lost in the mix, she doesn't know what she's doing wrong. Qilaq tries to fight against the panic with even more furious swings of her legs but it only causes her to drop into the water again, this time for several seconds longer than before.

She doesn't know how, or when, but it is with a big wave outstretching across the shore that rolls her upon wet sand. Enough of her weight goes forward, albeit limp, onto the beach to prevent her from being dragged back more than a foot or two. Her breathing is ragged and spittle pools at her nose, disappearing into the retreating water while she dare not move, too afraid the water might come back and wash her away into its depths once more.

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Szymon watched in disbelief as the woman who carried his children flung herself headlong into the depths to swim to shore alongside their daughter, and although his scarred lips curled first in a kneejerk wave of fury — how dare she interfere? — he could not fault her for her ardor. His long, tattered ears fanned out to the sides of his narrow skull like the wings of a soaring gull, lending him an expressly displeased air, but he was marginally mollified when he noted that Doe was not interfering. Still, this was not the way things were done — he would have to impress this upon the witch doctor before the Drop fell to their own young. On that note, Szymon was unsure as to whether leaping from that great height would harm the young still growing inside her — above all things, he was peeved that she should so risk herself — but reasoned that if the babes survived this impromptu Drop they would almost certainly survive the real thing.

Still, he was a Cairn — and by default, kind of an asshole — and his expression grew stony, settling into a craggy collection of sharply drawn lines as he awaited their return to shore. They were near enough now that he was assured of their safety, but the triumphant excitement had gone out of him, leaving him cold. He did not allow his stiffened musculature to melt into relief or complacency. Doe had taken a great gamble by offering herself again to the Sea. Perhaps this time, the great goddess would not give her back to him. The fear that that thought engendered drew him like a powerful magnetic force, his paws carrying him forward before he forcibly stilled himself. Throwing back his head, he backed up to free his toes of Her touch and howled again for them — his low, resonant timbre carrying an added command: come back to me.

Qilaq was first to splash to shore, her gangly limbs and lean body splaying out as saltwater and spittle streamed from her muzzle and nostrils. “My Qilaq,” crooned the patriarch, leaning down gingerly as his muzzle parted. His aim was to grip the girl’s scruff and gently tug her some inches from the water so that she did not aspirate on the blood of the goddess who had given her back to him. He was unperturbed about her weakened state; it was natural that cubs needed time to recover after successfully completing the trial. He felt not sympathy but triumph — not sorrow but fierce, possessive joy. That is, until he turned his attention back to the woman who carried his children. Stepping away from the little sea urchin, his fangs flashing as he thrust his ears forward upon his skull, Szymon gave the one true love of his life his nastiest glare. “How dare you,” he hissed, as serpentine as the sea king himself. His guttural bass timbre scraped the bottom of its register with a virulent rattle.

How dare she risk herself?

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The Wickedness delivered her faithfully to the sandy shores, and though Doe aided her with each stroke of her paws, she still got the feeling that it was all the work of the waves that returned her to her family. With a murmured prayer of thanks and supplication, Doe's thin paws finally touched sand, and she hardly stumbled as she took her weight back from the buoyant surf and followed after her daughter.

When Szymon took hold of her scruff, Doe came from behind and nudged their girl's bottom gently, lovingly from the water, her thin, wet tail lashing like a whip and sending water droplets flying all around them. Quill had survivied the Drop, had joined the family completely. It was a moment of great joy...

Until it was not.

Doe did not hear the words - only the challenge in her lover's voice. At other times, she was willing to listen to him, to allow him to lead her. He was her mate, and though she held the title of Atoll, Szymon still had the right to rule her. Despite this, the man had never raised his voice to her, had never spoken harshly in her presence, had been content to allow her to take the lead, offering his strength for her wills. Doe loved him for it, and she loved him even with a snarl twisting so angrily across his maw. But she would not be spoken to like this; would not be condemned for her actions.

The woman narrowed her eyes and stalked toward her salt-colored love, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Though she was small, there was a glimmer of menace about her that she'd inherited from Hind. 

Doe did not deign to answer the question he spat. She advanced silently, waiting, her message clear without words: I dare.

The girl does not even realize she is being pulled further up shore, away from the water that tried to take her life. It's hard to think around the violent coughs that shake the water loose from her lungs, coming out in drops off her nose and lips. She crawls the remaining distance and rights herself into a sphinx position with her head hanging below her shoulders. With neither Amayo or Appeh tending to her, she feels a heaviness in her eyelids that reminds her of sleep. It makes it easy when she listens to what her body wants to do in its weakened state in order to repair.

Appeh's voice lazily and suddenly draws her head into his direction, nearly tumbling over in the process. She pretty much looks like a drunk toddler as she tries to hold herself up without trembling. It takes a good, solid moment for her to work up another own of strength to pull herself in the wet sand closer to her two caretakers.

Rusty. Getting back in the swing of things! Posts may be clunky for awhile. ;-;
Sorry for Szymon. He is grumpy. x__x;

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Szymon’s ginger-laced tail took up an agitated flickering as salt-damp hackles spiked along his spine, shoulders, and hips; his eyes, as golden as his mate’s, widened at her promise of defiance. He was irritated with her impetuousness and only just recovered from the panic engendered by the thought of losing her — but beneath his current of bad temper ran a steely thread of pride at how utterly fierce she was. He was determined that no other would have her, not even the Sea Herself. He stood his ground whilst the Atoll made her approach, his bristled tail curving high above his back and his narrow skull assuming a position of dominance greater than Doe’s own — out of habit, he kept his muzzle tucked to protect his throat, but his tall, tattered ears were thrust boldly forward upon his crown and his carriage did not bend for her. The voice of reason that so often curbed his tongue and pulled his punches was crushed within the monster’s grip as he curled his lips and growled his displeasure, an undulating, guttural current of ire that emptied his lungs.

Doe had chosen Szymon to be her mate, and to the naturally submissive seawolf, this meant she called the shots. Moreover, she was the pack’s witch doctor and Skellige’s Atoll. She outranked Szymon in every way a wolf could outrank him — but in this situation, on this matter, he would not yield. He would willingly hunt for her, provide for her, kill for her, and die for her — but he would not tolerate anything that could be deemed interference during The Drop, especially if he felt her life or the lives of their unborn children might be harmed in the process. Even Szymon couldn’t put into words what he wanted from Doe in this moment — or what he expected from chastising her so boldly. He was just…angry. “Then you are foolish,” he spat, answering her unspoken reply. The rumble in his throat was unceasing, rubbing each syllable raw so they emerged from him like barbed, abrasive things aimed to draw blood. “I know very little about p-pregnancy,” he admitted begrudgingly, his tongue tripping inconveniently, “but at least I know you are not supposed to jump off cliffs.”

It made him angry all over again, recalling the silhouette of her small, infinitely precious form as she leapt headlong after Qilaq — and he knew it wasn’t the babies he worried about. It was Doe — only Doe. They could — and likely would — have more litters; the process of creating them was worlds away from repugnant and just next door to intoxicating. But there would never be another female as magnificent as Doe, who fit him so well and brought him such joy. Allowing himself to get so angry was dangerous, but he was past the point of cooling off and walking away — though he knew it to be a mistake, he took a single threatening step toward his odd-eared love against his better judgment and rumbled venomously, displaying every tooth in his mouth. Movement out of the corner of his eye let him know that Qilaq could hear him and was responding to him, but he could not draw his eyes away from the petite, defiant seabird.

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For a moment Doe's eyes flashed with hot, red anger, and the little shewolf imagined lunging at the salt-toned male and burying her fangs wherever they landed. It was only the presence of Qilaq that held her back, and later on, Doe would be grateful for the fact.

For now, she tore her glare away from her mate's ire and flattened her ears in begrudging submission. This was not the time or place for a fight, and deep down, Doe knew that Szymon's anger was not unfounded.

"We're okay," she said, voice cold - devoid of anger and affection both. The woman turned away from her mate and attempted to wrap herself around their daughter, not yet sure she'd spoken the truth. Qilaq had surived the drop, but Doe didn't know if she'd been hurt, or if she would grow sick in the coming days.

When Appeh’s voice sounds between them, Qilaq shrinks back. Her ears droop against her head as she tries to follow along. They weren’t supposed to jump? Her brows knit together at the new information, looking toward Amayo who doesn’t give her any more answers but instead approaches and curls around her trembling form. She closes her eyes after a moment and sinks into her equally wet fur, feeling the heaviness of her lids.

As much as she wants to go to sleep, she finds herself wavering back and forth until finally she opens up her grey eyes once more—what has likely only been a few seconds—and murmurs into Doe’s fur, “did I do bad?”

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The black-banded Cairn continued to regard his wife with stubborn defiance, seeing in her golden eyes the promise of malice — but it was Doe who submitted, flattening her oversized ears and glancing askance. The rumbling within his breast died down to a murmur before fading fully into silence, though his lips crimped downward in frustration as she turned away from him completely and wrapped her equally damp body around their daughter. “You are both wet,” he reminded her crossly, his tone as icy as hers. “Wait.” Turning, he sprinted the short distance back to the den to retrieve the spotted hide, taking a moment to whip it furiously back and forth — as much to vent his frustration as to get the sand out of it. Qilaq’s voice echoed in his ears — “did I do bad?” — and he bit down harder on the fawnskin, peppering its edges with new punctures to add to the multitude that Doe had produced. He added to his bundle two rabbits from Doe’s favorite cache, and lugged the three items back to the shore with him. “You did good, Qilaq,” he said finally, his timbre taut with tension. “You are a good cub. A good daughter. You did good.” He emphasized the word, willing the girl to believe him, and settled the rabbits between the girl and the woman without looking directly at his willful bride.

Hesitantly, fully expecting to be snapped at, Szymon pulled the spotted hide up and over Doe’s hips and flank. “You are wet,” he muttered by way of explanation. He didn’t particularly feel comfortable playing big spoon to her little one after their altercation and settled on Qilaq’s other side so that she was nestled between them both. Then, leaning forward, Szymon began to groom the darkling child — his child, blessed by the Sea; he allowed a whisper of that fierce joy to work its way to the forefront — but his ministrations were thwarted by a sudden chuff that burst weakly from his lips. Why he had the urge to laugh, he couldn’t rightly say — it was a completely inappropriate time — but laugh he did, all the tension and worry spilling out of him as he choked out a bone-weary chuckle. “My whole life,” he muttered, forcing himself to begin grooming his girl once more, “I just watched my whole life leap off that fucking cliff.” He didn’t say it to anyone in particular — it just…spilled out of him, and he couldn’t explain the sudden tightness in his throat. His ministrations weren’t as gentle as Doe’s, and they weren’t meant to be. He licked the moisture from Qilaq’s fur with a vengeful air, using the rough strokes of his tongue to encourage blood flow and help warm her until she was ready to walk back to the den. “If she cannot walk,” he said to Doe without looking at her, “I can carry her. Just put her on my back and keep her steady.”

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She did not like to be questioned, but the voices of her family broke the red mother's heart. Szymon, so dedicated and true, could've been broken as surely as herself if she'd landed wrong or sunked deep instead of breaking the surface of the water. Qilaq would have been in the same place either way, except left without a mother once more, if the ocean had seen fit to keep her instead of setting her free - and the Sea was their god, but sometimes, in the dead of the night, Doe knew that it was not.

Doe knew that this family of hers was what she worshiped, and what she would follow if it came down to one or the other. Deep down, Doe knew that her husband felt the same.

"You were wonderful, Qilaq," she was quick to reassure, giving the girl a gentle kiss on the cheek. Nestled under the blanket and beginning to feel warm again, the shewolf finally felt fear churn in her belly - had her young ones survived? Surely, surely... "Amayo was bad, but she will not do it again - and it doesn't matter, because we are both now blessed - and we will never have to do that again," she explained, looking shyly toward her husband with contrition in her eyes. I'm sorry, she said, though her lips remained sealed. Can you forgive me?

But she knew that he would.

She was god.

It is quiet for a long time and Qilaq thinks she’s gone to sleep. It takes a few seconds, but she forces her head up and her eyes open to realize that… maybe she hadn’t. Appeh is behind them, draping the hide across them both and finally speaking words of encouragement directed upon her, followed by Amayo’s own. The worry subsides, for a moment, as her tail thumps once upon the ground. Her whole body trembles in short bursts and she tries to morph herself as much as possible between the two of them.

When Appeh begins to groom the water from her fur, her being gravitates in his direction—his fur is dry and warm and she slowly snuggles up closer to him instead. “Never,” she mumbles to herself in his fur.

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Doe’s voice, low and warm, rounded out Szymon’s praise — “you were wonderful, Qilaq,” — and there it was again: that fierce, heady rush of triumph and pride. Though he continued to roughly groom their girl, shifting his weight more comfortably onto his opposite shoulder to let the girl nestle her quaking body against his torso and abdomen, he sneaked a peek at his willful wife. The demure repentance that rested upon her sharp, coyote-like features and colored her affectionate timbre was something he had never witnessed before — and there was something about it that pleased him on a deep, instinctual level. Szymon was no tyrant, but he was a Cairn — and an insecure one at that. Perhaps as he aged, he would continue to gain confidence and therefore not require reassurance when it came to his place in the pack and in Doe’s esteem; however, in the wake of Qilaq and Doe’s Drop, he needed it badly. Over their daughter’s trembling back, Szymon paused his ministrations to stretch his muzzle toward Doe’s, his tongue seeking to caress the tapered angle of her jaw. “Never, Qilaq,” he reassured the shivering child, his eyes locked fervently on his mate’s. “You and Amayo are my life.” He returned to his task, slicking saltwater from the newly blessed girl’s coat.

After a beat, Szymon furrowed his brow in thought, then paused long enough to mutter, “I love you both.”

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