Post by Joliette Thorne on Feb 1, 2009 2:05:32 GMT -5
-- A Family Reunion...Or Two---
-- Near The Old Camp--
Whether they'd lost a few of their number along the way or not, it was a strange and motley party of travellers that finally wended their way through the foothills of the mountain, the long trek from the peaks at last coming to its foreseeable end. Tenebrae walked through the light snowfall, beside the mare that, strapped in to a makeshift harness of saplings and rope, hauled the trapper's high-packed sled laden with meats and furs the party had hunted along the way. The old woman walked alongside Sanmichel some distance behind, the pair talking quietly. Pausing to wipe wet, white flakes from her eyes, the necromancer swivelled on the heel of fur-lined boot, her pale gaze sweeping the snow for the shape of her mate.
Leoxander was not much the socialite. He stayed to himself, kept off the path, not bothering to ride the wild frost stallion, who wouldn't submit to the burden of a pack. The beast wouldn't wander far from his mate, neither equine nor wolf, so when Tenebrae's eyes picked through the storm she might catch a glimpse of him hovering near the trees, patiently waiting to see whether they would stop, or forge ahead. He hadn't said much since the night Tanaraq first found them and seemed to be avoiding eye contact. Could someone as emotionless as the rogue was truly be so humiliated? A slow turn, and that white-clad silhouette moved, doing the usual rounds of the boundaries to check for potential predators, or threats. Flecks of snow suddenly dusted the Necromancer's dark hair when the arrogant, aggressive animal came trotting in front of her and the frost mare, attempting to impress the female with a shiver of that glossy, blue-gray coat. It looked very unlikely that creature was going to let anyone else but Leo ride him, but Tene' could always try...
"Out of the way, you great lump.." It was spoken with good humour, but the necromancer meant it, shooing the stallion away from her mare, who was doing her best to turn around and give the male a thrill. Or, she tried. The big horse seemed to sneer as he jostled Tene aside, in his passion for Bonnie, to which the woman responded with a slap to the stallion's shoulder. "Leo...." her voice sounded petulant across the wind. "Your horny horse is upsetting my mare." Low chuckles came from those who followed the sled, and even Tene herself couldn't help one. Spirits were high-- or were, at least, in Tenebrae, who was both less prone to embarrassment than the Cap'n, and eager to discover whether the stray mutt Tiglikt, adopted by the trapper, was the same beloved dog they'd come so far to find.
Tanaraq hurried forward, a light of amusement in her dark, small eyes, to instruct Tene to go on to the camp without her and Sanmichel, who had some important things to discuss. The elder was confident the questers were mistaken about her canine 'son', but had come to appreciate their company-- even that of Mahri and Leo-- along the way; though whether the wickedly amused glanced she cast on the latter lycan for the last leg of their journey had contributed to Leo's sulking, as he was, it was difficult to tell. "Very well," Tene replied to Tanaraq, "I'll make a fire. You sure the dogs won't attack?" Tanaraq shook her head as she wandered back toward the giant, pausing to point toward Desna and Pakak, who were racing even now far ahead, vanishing into the snowfall. "The boys will prepare them for your arrival.""
In the midst of the camp, subtly beginning to belie the bickering and amusing conversation betwixt lovers and haters, an eerie silence begins to fall in thin veils around the vicinity. The wind has by now died out, the air itself standing still with the chilling feel of goosebumps and snow falling so delicately in straightened path. No longer to rabbits run freely across the snow, nor the occasional call of a frost wolf seeking its pack. All that stands is the silence, broken unceremoniously by the group gathered.
Isen appears, his only concession to the biting cold a fur-lined, white cloak, the color blending in with the wintery landscape. In his hand is his trusty spear, and spikes of carved bone just from his ears. He catches sight of the others gathered here, and he stops, eyeing them silently.
Leoxander couldn't even conceal the crunch of frozen over snow under his booted feet. Hearing Tenebrae's complaint, he paced a few steps in, barking an abrupt 'Hey' at the stallion, which spooked him into a quick kick and canter away from the mare and her guide. The creature took off aimlessly into the trees, while his mismatched gaze trailed after the dogs, as they rushed headlong into a noticeable presence of danger. Isen's scent would draw the rogue's attention briefly, a silent look offered while he waited the Necromancer to draw closer to his side. Both arms wrapped over his torso to hug himself against the chill, and to the rhythm of the frost mare's steps, he grumbled words under his breath. A spoken song. "Pull me in... drag me down.." No need to conceal their approach, now. The guardians of Tanaraq's camp already knew. "Always down." Every breath escaped his overcast hood in a visible vapor, which would fade as his exhale would freeze. "Go slow..." To himself, yet. Sulking could be the right definition, but the term doesn't really describe Leo. Brooding would be far more appropriate. "On the torture show..." This low key hum continued, while the storm and wildlife just seemed to... die away.
Tenebrae would own a slightly bewildered look, catching up the harness-reins in one hand to settle her nervy mare. Bonnie, already stirred to high pitch by the stallion's advances, had made a sudden startle, all four legs splaying suddenly in fear while its eyes rolling wildly. The last thing any of them needed was the sled being bolted away with, so the necromancer had unharnessed her mount, letting it follow Clyde where it willed. The air was abruptly still, like a terrible lull at sea when the waters go dead and threaten to strand thirsting sailors to a desert of salt water, and the cold crept on shivering feet to paw at her flesh. Tene's turn to cast an unnerved gaze about, the woman shifting hurriedly toward Leo. A familiar form closeby had her stop to offer silent greeting with hand-wave, but she could not stop for more because she'd seen the way Leo was moving, that anxious pacing, the expression he wore.. she'd seen it before, in feverish states. Just as twice before she had felt this gloom descend like a great black carrion-bird casting a pall of shadow and misery across all in its path. "Leo..." It was a whisper, an admittance she might explain when the darkness passed-- if it did. "Hold me, I am afraid."
The slighted marionette of the forlorn events seems to unfold in the most peculiar of fashions, a woman seeking comfort in the arms of a man, horses sensing the nearby looming threat and quite anxiously carrying out their master's commands without the slightest of hesitation. The darkness itself, looming in the night sky alongside bloated stormclouds temporarily holding in their downpour to guise the pregnant moon from glowing a discernable path, seems to creep along their peripheral to outline vague shapes and movements, only to remain blotted splotches of shadow as one turns their focus upon them. It is an altogether funereal feeling, ravaging them with the plague of chilling anxiety and acute awareness. Something is definitely wrong here.
Isen 's gleaming golden gaze fixes on Tenebrae for a moment, and at her words a faint curl shows on his lip, then vanishes, leaving the same blank expression as before. Without a word of inquiry, Isen draws closer to Diiroehn, glancing around warily as knuckles whiten on the spear's shaft. His hand lifts to touch his chest, the empty space there causing an almost pained look to cross his face, as though whatever had hung there is now sorely missed.
Leoxander grit his teeth as though annoyed by her words. "No..." He paused in song only to say this, giving her an intense, but far from angry look from the corner of his eyes. If this darkness fed upon fear, in the rogue's presence he was certain it would starve. He concealed his emotion, even from his voice, and his arms around his torso kept him from shivering. All he would offer his worried mate was a rough nudge, a terrible way for anyone to react, but he knew that seeing them huddled and nervous would only amplify the threat. He kept singing, or speaking at any rate. To disturb that deafening silence. "Always down..." Words meant to express what his features will not. "Fear not what you can't see..." But his eyes would move, then, roaming the outline of living, wicked trees that would petrify beneath his stare, again. "A hollow space..." ...and his pace would slow. Joliette might notice his billowed breaths, slightly more erratic. "An empty grave..."
Leoxander looked in Isen's direction again, wherever that may be. He could not see the grim bearer, yet, only feel the arrival. He was only whispering, now. "...and sixteen men... on a dead man's chest."
Yes, something was wrong and yes, the necromancer -- long time the mistress of many a bloody demise, countless ghouls and revenants-- was afraid. That she had admitted it so openly would speak to her terrors owning a source beyond a mere patch of dolour in the snow. If she felt any hurt or dismay when Leo rejected her gentle plea she'd keep it to herself, arms clutching her cloak more tightly about her. "It's the Lich," she said, softly, and most likely to herself since the rogue's senses seemed employed in keeping him focussed. She at least understood that tactic. "Something is wrong; something very wrong with Diiroehn." She was half-expecting another apparition of the Lich, half-dreading the expression of whatever agons that undead ancient was experiencing. Only herself for comfort, she huddled into her concern for her old friend, ward against his terrible missives.
Something wavers, some shadow in their peripheral, flickering slightly to draw attention to itself. Vaguely, but only so, can one manage to begin the outline of a humanoid shape, wearing thin against the backdrop of shadow and trees. Eventually the approach brings the person into the light, a bare-chested Drow with tattoo's of runes and power inked across his body; quite peculiar in similarities betwixt itself and Isen, the latter in a direction further into the darkness. Ebon-skinned flesh is taut across rippling muscles, lean and slender in figure. Those eyes seem blank, yet radiantly crimson as the legs weave their path straight toward Joliette; straight toward Lady Tenebrae. No hesitation, no faltering, yet hands bare and unarmed. Only to allow the unthinkable; with movements too fast for a reaction, too swift for a halt, hands grasp her arms, and his mouth is wrought down upon hers. It is eerily passionate, this kiss, dancing his tongue about in the flourish of fancywork and eloquent practice, yet something is still aloof. After all, who is this man? Where did he come from? Yet, that is the least of Joliette's problems. Or Leoxander's.
Isen 's movements suddenly seem more animalistic, as if he is hunting, or perhaps readying himself for a fight. He stares at the drow, eyeing the runes, reading them and searching for any sort of weakness. The spear lowers, keeping the point between himself and the stranger.
Leoxander crinkled the bridge of a sun spotted nose, hearing death's name. So the pirate was superstitious. The attributes of creation all had their souls. It was just possible they could partake in existence, only briefly, to learn. Lady Luck was like a guardian angel, of sorts, ironically granting a wolf a set of nine-lives. Now, they walked into what could only be the Reaper's domain, side by side. "I need him..." This growled through his teeth, where the tips of canines shown barely longer than the rest. He knew something was coming but couldn't determine where until it was too late. With hands already locked to the hilts of two separate knives, his eyes swept after a blur of shadow that he could focus in on only after he was wrapped up with Tenebrae in a heated kiss. A curious situation... if he'd been holding her perhaps he'd have stepped in the way more easily, but since his hands were free, weapons cut the cold air with a gasp of sound, no more than a whisper of forged dark-steel against its leathern sheath. One arm would lock around the dark skinned figure's throat, the other aimed the tip of a dagger into the side of it, prepared to end that kiss even if it meant filling his lover's mouth with a victim's blood. No matter Isen's threatening aim, the doppleganger would be assaulted without warning from an angle behind. This time when he repeated that word, it was a vicious, grated snarl, boiling in his throat. "NO."
"NO!" The cry was echoed, from Tenebrae's own lips, still chilled from that illusory kiss, her mind reeling as she dodged the silver flash of a blade that whispered its deadly promise far too close to her face, passing right through the drow to snick her cheek-- though this fact escaped her, clenched as she was in that ghostly embrace. The figure that'd assaulted her so passionately drew back, then, and she could see its form properly. "Oh dear gods... Leo, don't...." She'd have her hands up, backing away, her face a mask of confusion and dismay. It couldn't be.... It couldn't, but there Caste was, her lover's knives aimed toward him as the drow Lord stalked toward his former fiancée once more. Caste... but how? It didn't matter. Whatever faux pas he'd committed here, Castellian D'Onri had in his time suffered enough for Joliette's sake, his stoic devotion costing him only pain and in the end... "Death..." she spoke it with a tremor, pressing a palm against the cut marring pale skin with welling blood. "Not an empty grave. He's dead, Leo." The lycan might hear that realisation dawning in her words. "Caste is dead, and none of this is real!""
Where Leoxander touched would leave the tingling sensation of something unnatural, some nerve-ebbing horror that dawns upon them as if a stricken disease; Castellian D'onri. Dead, and yet here. Kissing. Blade would pass right through him, and upon the point of the steel's contact, the image wavered and fretfully vanished. A kiss for a kiss. The mocking reality of the situation might as well haunt the two, warping the air about them in thick rivulets of doom impending, yet dispersing in the chill of an eerie thin, alternating betwixt the two paradox' as if some sort of unearthly hell. 'Snickt!' is the sound of rope against tree, the grove surrounding them in these icy escapades suddenly dropping nooses in perfect synchronization; men's necks snapping. There are sixteen, at least one upon every surrounding limb, hanging with the sway of an empty husk.
Isen , quite simply, begins to laugh, the rasping sound echoing around the four, peal following ugly peal. On and on he laughs, though his grip on the spear never once slips, and his watchful gaze includes Leo and his knives along with the drow. The lycan can see the dark elf's importance to Tenebrae, though he obviously doesn't know the man himself. After a time his merriment ceases, and he takes a few steps back, relaxing enough to lean upon the ash spear. He continues to watch, seemingly curious as to how the strange drow handles himself. But then, the dead men fall, and the waves of paranoia return, causing the lycan to drop into a crouch, head whipping about as if trying to look in all directions at once, golden eyes glowing eerily in the dark, like the wolves with which he runs.
Tenebrae left the darkling Lord to his own phantasmal devices, as one by one, the bodies fell, faces choked black, tongues swollen like fat, blue slugs spilling over broken lips. With a cry of sheer frustration she'd dash for the nearest tree, tugging on a low-slung and frost-sodden branch which, not too long before, she might have snapped cleanly away on first try. But that was then; now, she had to bear all her weight down upon it, skewing the timber round to break tenacious shards of living wood. At last, it came free in her hands and Tene, huffing with exertion, lifted it like a club. "Not real!" Then she'd stomp toward the nearest 'dead man', the branch swung back like a sportsman's bat, and let the rough weapon fly. Though it passed through the body with an audible swish, the corpse would swing and sway as if in response. "Mind games, Leo. He's either in some very bad trouble, or he's going mad, and wants to take us with him."
Despite the coercing nature of Tenebrae, who inadvertently seemed to be spot on with her observations, Leo's scream manages to belie the fact, resonating high and low amongst snow-capped mountaintops and brushes that, contrary to usual circumstance, did not yield any fleeing animals. The echo is thick in the air, folding in upon itself, and hanging like sacrilege to some sanctified, despite evil, area. Several torturous moments adhere after, followed by a subtlety turn blatancy. The darkness surrounding the troupe, the group of faithful cabalists, seems to creep closer, steadily; hinging upon their peripherals and moving inward as if in the eyes themselves, until only scare and vague semblances of outlines can be deciphered by immensely dilated pupils. What was once the shadow of a tree, stricken in pose in this night, moves, the raven-hue of its shadow blending with robes of the deepest black -limbs to appendages, roots to feet. As if the shadow itself became the Lich. With hands cloaked, the hood is pulled back ever so slightly, to reveal the vicious and malevolent grin of death's head. A terrible expression; an infinite sadness; a wicked malice.
Isen nods again as the Lich reveals himself, and again he approaches his master, ignoring the manifold illusions that surround him. "What game are you playing," the lycan asks, half to himself. "It does not do to anger them so. They are best kept placated and happy."
Leoxander was a sinner. Where evil existed, opportunity was never far. So this was how the plan came to be. Coordinated as his eyes narrowed to slits of fire; one side mixing intense blues and yellows, the other a deceiving amber glow. They witnessed the eerie ascension of the corpse from the fossilized tree, and he ignored the instinctive want to take a step back. Tenebrae's reminder was reinforced, her words trusted, carried through to the core of his mind. He heard Isen, too, but that wicked laugh had said enough, and he -nearly- cut his First Mate off. "You've played your games, Lich..." Clenched jaws remained thus, so the more quiet words to follow were forced through on a breath. "Now... you play mine." The threat in his posture would slowly relax, despite that he only felt colder, more vulnerable, the closer this creation would get. He'd lift his jaw and look Death boldly in his spectral eyes. "...I've a job for you."
Tenebrae's tremulous voice caught in her throat, emerging as a silent, visible breath, when the Lich appeared to her for the second time. Having ascertained, from the prior time, that Diiroehn was not a physical presence in it, the necromancer suspected wholly that he might not be one in this either. "Forgive me..." Whether this was to the possibly spectral Lich or the men speaking with him, wouldn't be clear-- but the cause of the apology would become so, as Tene offered the undead's decrepit frame the same treatment as the hanged apparition she'd struck. Of course, the branch sluiced through it with no resistance, and she'd turn to face Isen and Leo both, her features set in a grave mien while her words came with a cool authority that demanded reason. "He isn't here. And it really is not like Diiroehn to cause mischief like this... "She frowned. "Not among Cabal, anyhow. Something's very wrong. I think he's trying to tell us in his own .. special way."
Isen frowns, brows knitting in consternation. He looks back to Tenebrae, and says, "Then we must find him. WE must right what is wrong, and we must do it quickly." He turns back to the apparition, staying silent for a moment in thought. "Have you any ideas, Tenebrae? Leo?" He adds, under his breath, "I have now learned all I need, as yet."
Leoxander turned aggressively toward his mate. Not at her, but his mood was getting darker by the minute, subjected to those visions. "I need him!" He repeated, resisting the urge to chuck a tree limb of his own. Isen would relay the important, concerned translation of Leo's greed, and suddenly the pirate turned, staring down the lycan almost in challenge. The pupils of his eyes dilated and somehow, between wolves, this changed the outlook entirely. The stare was concentrated, now. The tread of his boot twisted in the snow and headstrong, the rogue approached the one-time alpha, almost too quickly. "Then we'll get him. And I'll be damned if I don't mean we." He was equal with the other male, that much was apparent by how he faced Isen, now. Leo would never hold himself above Isen, beyond the separate control of their ships. To each, their own. "You're wandering too far. Even for a rogue..." Proof, further still, that this fellow sailor was in the same class, even if the runed 'ranger' would never accept it. "Get back at my bloody side where you need to be."
Tenebrae would more resemble her histrionic horse than anything, when a soft 'thud' behind her caused her to startle and nearly to slip up in the snow. The branch was dropped, and by the time she turned about to discern the cause in fear of yet another traumatic vision, all of the apparitions would be suddenly gone, leaving the trees blessedly nude of noosed corpses and the snow field free of the Lich's permeating gloom. Instead, she'd find Tanaraq's walnut-textured frown and beady eyes, and a bundle of kindling on the ground. "Girl, that wood's too green for the fire.." The elder pointed at Tene's fallen 'weapon'. "Even a citybred princess ought to know that." The mire of terror fled, under Tenebrae’s indignance at the comment, and she might've explained about the corpses-- except, she realised, that would only make her sound petulant. "I'll find drier stuff. Meet you at the camp." She'd look to Leo, then, and if he wasn't too engaged in his discussion with Isen, would raise a hand to a small wave, before following the stoic mountaineer toward the faint sound of barking dogs.
-- A Little Later, At The Old Camp--
Leoxander had a task at hand, whenever they should return to a camp that Tanaraq had somewhat described. More tranquil than the environment Diiroehn's lost spirit had presented them. This troubled him - them, as they sought wood, a talk with Isen having separated them briefly. But he would make amends by following the scent of snow dogs, arriving with a handful of lumber suitable for a well built fire, likely started by the durable necromancer, in her fur-lined gear. The moment he stepped into the area, his eyes were searching. For the source of that smell. Where was...?
Tenebrae's eyes held a brimful of sadness that she'd turn aside from her mate after observing that questioning look. She had hoped, with not a lot of hope behind it, that they'd get a few peaceful moments before her discovery would come to light. "He's not here." Tene's voice was soft, apologetic. "There was only the two sleds dogs, when I got here. Tanaraq’s missing a white female, and the bl..." She stopped herself. "A darker male." She poked the fire absently with a stick. "Love, it doesn't mean it might not be..." But she faltered again, unable to turn her gaze up and see the expression she knew must be on his face.
Leoxander maintained a somber expression, but he was getting fed up. That last bit of hope, that Jack could have possibly survived, that he could outlive his numbered years, died inside him. There was a very slight flinch in his eyes, because it hurt, but this, too, was contained inside the mystery that the rogue had become. "This isn't worth freezing for." He'd state, more flat than his disheartened mate.
Tenebrae stood, then, very quietly, tossing her stick into the flames and watching it catch fire before she spoke. "We can't know that." She'd finally riase her eyes to him, flinching inwardly at what she saw; but that pain gritted some buried determination, and her eyes would flicker, greenly reflecting the flames below. "I searched the world for you, I went to h... everywhere. And I gave up, and you..." Tene took a step toward him, her tone softening. "You showed up like the stray you are, after all. If we give up now...." Ebon locks, freed from their braid, tossed loose waves as she shook her head. "If you were Jack, you 'd want to be found by those who love you."
Leoxander dropped the heavy but dry branches from his arm with a clatter. Most of it landed in a mess not far from her fire pit. There was that significant pause between them, and he found the largest log, which had a considerable, uprooted stump on it, to sit upon. Sleeved arms rested across his legs before he dared to ask. "...You gave up?" A valuable lesson learned, right then, even if he wouldn't admit it. How could he give up on Jack? The damn mutt dragged him out of the ocean... when he could have easily walked by.
Tenebrae's eyes prickled, and she'd turn away gain before he could see why. "I... you were gone such a long time..." he might hear that heartbreak in her voice. "I looked..." She'd never tell him, she thought then, of exactly where, and for how long, and what it had cost her. ".. I will never forgive myself, for doubting you'd come back to me. I never will, again." Arms crossing before her, as if she sought to comfort herself, Tene stared at snow dirtied by the activity of booted feet, and her last words were more for herself, it seemed, given their low-pitched tone. "Not ever. And not Jack, either."
Leoxander didn't know what to say. He looked down at his hands as callused fingers interlaced, and as much as he'd already beaten himself up for the absence before, the guilt rushed back like a wave of sickness, then. Grim, overall, in his expression, his unshaven features were cast in firelight as the sun fell, and the fire blazed higher. An apology just seemed lame, so he resorted to silence, and looked between his feet. Wondering what he could ever do to make Tenebrae understand his commitment.
Leoxander whispered, "We'll find him..." As though it sufficed.
Tenebrae didn't need proof. She needed... "Will you forgive me?" It came out of her mouth in a blur of words not intended to be spoken aloud, but there it was. He'd catch a glance from the corner of one eye, as she turned her head in profile, over one shoulder, just a glance before he'd be looking at her back again. She took brief comfort in that whisper, though, catching only the first word, 'we'.
Leoxander countered, with a question of his own. Not right away - mind you.. there was a moment when he stopped breathing, and actually considered what he was about to say. But there was also a rare trace of innocent conviction, his emotion pure and his guard let down for that unexpected moment. He looked though his hair, through hers, into her eyes. An arctic green vision he'd had dreams about, for years now. "...Will you marry me?" Altogether too serious, there is no breathlessness, no nerves or stammered syllables. Only resolution, and that anticipated silence, where he expects an equally unpredictable answer.
Tenebrae had only resolved to turn about and face Leo half a second before he spoke, her mouth already open to add something to her prior comment. The rogue's question caught her like a broadside blow, sucked the air and will to speak out of her lungs and brought her to a rapid and unsteady seat on a fireside log. Though really, it was only Luck that the log was there to catch her. She hadn't closed her mouth yet, when peridot eyes sought upward again, for his, and only a soft noise emitted from her throat before she thought to close it. "Marry you?" It was a squeak, the words spoken quickly, and then she'd clear her throat, stop doubting her hearing. "I..." Hands trembled in her lap, and she might chide herself later, for acting like such a ninny. " I... should like nothing, nothing in the world, better than to.. marry you.. Leo." She was all out of air, again, then.
Leoxander sacrificed a moment of humility then... for her, alone. He stood up from his place across the fire, rounded it cautiously, his feral eyes never leaving her. And then, as he should have done from the start, he lowered to his knees in front of her where she found a convenient seat. His hands still rested between them... because he had no ring to offer. No love poem or romantic surprise. Just himself... the same leather-clad outcast that started following her around, forever ago. "I mean it, Joli..." as though warning her what she was about to get into.
Tenebrae nodded, hardly able to speak through her smile, hardly able to meet the intensity of his eyes upon her. "I know. Me too." Their years together had schooled her in the rogue's dislike of words, when an action would do just as well, and she took his lead now, falling quiet, her ungloved hands rising to settle on either side of his whisker-rough cheeks. They'd stay there, while she leant in and pressed her lips softly to his, where they'd linger, Tene allowing this tenderest kiss to speak all her assurances for her.
Leoxander rarely betrayed emotion, and this moment was hardly different. Intense was a subtle word when it came to describing that animalistic gaze, blinking out a fiery glow that washed away his pupils, each time his lids flickered, which wasn't often. A brief catch of her lower lip when she kissed him, and then he took one of her hands from his jaw to kiss her fingers. He was reverently quiet, to let it all sink in. This was that 'speak now or forever hold your peace' opportunity, and Leo didn't say a word.