It had been 38 years since the great hero Heimel died.
Frieren’s journey had taken them to a hamlet named Holstrup, in the northern Kühl. Just a crossroads and a bridge over a river and three dozen houses.
“We’ll stay here a few days, at most,” Frieren said.
Fern and Stark went to stock up on supplies. They had secured a fine sum of money to cover travel expenses at their last stop, and so Fern gave Frieren a strict budget to stay within for her leisure shopping after securing them lodgings at the inn.
That was what she had come to understand: as annoying as it was, Frieren was unfit to be a party leader. Stark was a fine vanguard, and an even finer husband, but the role of party leader fell to Fern. Frieren was reliable in her wisdom and experience and sheer magical power, but not when it came to responsible decision-making.
Years ago, that had bothered Fern. Now it did not. She sent Stark to buy dry goods for their field rations, and went herself to the herbalist’s stand.
“Hello, young lady — are you a mage?”
“I am.”
“I’m afraid I don’t carry much but the standard herbs.”
“That’s quite fine. Syphium?”
“Ah, terribly sorry. That is shipped from the south and there’s been a delay. If you’re looking for a contraceptive, there’s our local potion-brewer who lives up the hill west of town. They’ll have an elixir for you.”
“Oh? Why thank you then. I’ll take an ounce of lavender leaves.” She handed over her lavender pouch and a silver piece.
The herbalist scooped up the dried flowers on a scale and meticulously weighed it against two half ounce references.
“But be careful, now, young lady. The potion maker is an elf.”
“An elf?”
“Yes, a rare thing. They’ve lived here in town for as long as anyone can remember.”
That was both curious and unusual, and Fern was very much in need of a contraceptive. It would not do to be with child while on the road, and her husband was quite irresistible whenever they had a room and a bed to themselves.
So west she went down the street, and up the hill — a preamble to the forested mountains that bounded the duchy to the west.
The house there was strangely built, and had a vast fenced-in herb garden with dozens if not hundreds of cultivars — many of which Fern did not know. This deep in summer, there was a ferocious amount of insects gathered here.
She went to the door of the house and read the sign. The witchdoctor is and hung on a piece of string was a small board that read ‘IN’.
“The witchdoctor?” Fern wondered. She tapped thrice on the door with her staff.
Moments later, the door was opened by something stranger still. Frieren and Kraft were both graceful beings, this elf was not. They looked unkempt and awkward in their own skin, if dressed quite well. On their head sat a strange set of several spectacles.
“Can I help you?”
But what was more, the elf was a mage — specifically their mana signature was under heavy suppression, and not with the finesse and skill that Fern and Frieren had developed.
And what was yet more, that suppressed mana had the tinge of demonic mana.
Fern was not as brash as Frieren in proceeding directly to violence, and kept her wits about her. “Hello. The herbalist in town is out of syphium — he directed me to you. Can you brew a contraceptive elixir?”
“A contraceptive? That should not be a problem; though I prefer to work that into boluses — aids in dosing. When do you need them?”
“The day after tomorrow at the latest. We’re leaving town.”
“Are you intolerant to anything? Weak heart?”
“No.”
“Come back tomorrow at noon, I’ll have it for you. We’ll discuss cost and dosage then.”
The awkward elf grabbed their coat and slung it over their gangly shoulders, then with a quiet ‘excuse me’ stepped outside, and flipped the ‘IN’ sign over to ‘OUT’ before heading down into town.
Fern was left standing there, looking after the strange being. Something wasn’t right here.
She decided to take a look around — without trespassing, mind — and noted that behind the house lay several big work-sheds on the other side of the hill, out of sight from the village. A few of them had chimneys. There were no locks on any of the doors, and no magic wards to Fern’s senses, but she was not bold enough to burglarize. There was also a large chicken coop.
Instead she went back down into town, extending her senses to locate Frieren as quickly as possible.
Finding her in an old bookstore as always, Fern pulled her aside and cast a silencing hex around them. That mere act caused Frieren to go straight to high combat awareness.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just went to the local ‘witchdoctor,’ who lives up the hill. I thought he was an elf, but something is off. I suspect they may be a demon in disguise.”
“What proof do you have?”
“Their mana signature is suppressed and it seemed slightly demonic to me.”
“I’m not going to go vaporize an innocent person on your suspicions. We’ll investigate, and once we have evidence, we will confront them.”
Fern nodded. “I was thinking the same.”
“Find your husband. We’ll split up and ask for signs of demon activity. I’ll check the graveyards and woods.”
Those signs were disappearances, robbed graves, mysterious deaths, cattle vanishing, and so on. Tell-tale signs that a demon had moved in and started feasting on the locals. Fern found Stark carrying a sack of beans, a sack of flour, a bushel of salted fish, and one of potatoes.
She greeted him by way of a kiss and spoke softly: “I suspect the witchdoctor who lives out west of town is a demon, Frieren agrees we should investigate.”
“I’ll get this back to the inn, then I’ll ask the smith and the leatherworker while I’m there, and head to the alehouses after.”
“I’ll ask around the market and visit the night watch.”
And so she went back to market and allocated a bit more spending money to frivolous purchases — Frieren would be envious — in order to strike up conversation.
“Disappearances? No, not recently. Last time someone vanished was Martha’s son. Most think it was with his suitor — old Martha wasn’t so good with boys loving one another.”
Fresh fruits — nice for dessert.
“Strange happenings? Well the Northern Lights were here just last month. They usually never show themselves south of middle Ende, or so I hear. Most people took it as an omen, but that’s superstitious nonsense. My wife and I stayed up late to watch. It was lovely!”
An embroidered handkerchief and a hand of canvas patches and thread — they were running low anyway.
“Oh yeah, last week farmer Jolli lost three heifers to a bear, can you believe that? We went out there with dogs and scared ’er off. It had two cubs — very risky.”
Goosefeather pens and ink.
“Back in late winter, we had a terrible malady affect two families. The Oglafs lost their three-year-old. The witchdoctor was the only one who dared tend to them. She made medicine for them and helped the parents care for the kids when they couldn’t themselves. All free of charge.”
“Wait,” Fern said to the portly basket weaver, “the witchdoctor is a woman?”
“No-one knows for sure. I think only a woman’s wisdom and intuition could make her act that way.”
Nothing was really adding up. Come evening she went to the night watch’s office — there were only two guardsmen in the town, and they were getting ready for the evening patrol. She caught them on the doorstep.
“Fern Heitersdaughter, First-Class mage, my badge,” she said, showing off her official emblem.
The older of the two men had an impressive moustache. “Why, young madam, a First-Class mage is awfully important. What can we help with?”
“I’m investigating possible demon activity in your town. Are you familiar with the signs of demonic activity?”
“Yes, of course we are. Disappearances, murders, grave robbing, dead animals, arson, chaos… None of that in our fair village, madam. So I swear.”
Fern nodded. “Very well. Thank you, gentlemen, and have a pleasant patrol.”
“And to you,” the watchman said and tipped his hat.
Returning to the inn, she met up with Frieren and Stark, and they ate the supper as served by the innkeeper’s wife, before retreating to Fern and Stark’s room to discuss.
“I’ve got nothing,” Stark admitted, hanging his cloak and coat, then taking Fern’s. “Everything seems perfectly in order, no signs of foul play. I even asked about the witchdoctor and while nobody can quite agree on his or her gender, they all agree he is a quirky character but ultimately reliable.”
“Nothing’s been disturbed in the graveyards, all the corpses are accounted for, and I found no signs in the forests,” Frieren said. “I even did a flyover of the witchdoctor’s house, and while she is definitely conducting some strange crafts there, I also saw all the amenities needed for a flesh-and-blood elf to live there.”
“I spoke to people at the market and the night watch — the head watchman knows what demon activity looks like and vehemently denied it. At the market nobody seemed to know anything, but…” Fern said, loosening her corset.
“But?” Frieren asked.
“But there was one story about the witchdoctor treating patients with a contagious disease. Maybe it’s nothing, but demons can’t get sick.”
Frieren considered that for a long time. “When are you going to pick up your medications?”
“Tomorrow at noon.”
“Then Stark and I will come along. What did you order?”
“Contraceptives.”
“Aha.” Frieren got up from where she had been sitting on the floor. “Aren’t you using a lot of those?”
“I suppose?” Fern answered.
“I should track down a spell that can fix that. I’ll retire for the night; you two enjoy each other.” She gave a smile and a wave as she left.
Stark went to bar the door for them to have privacy before he undressed. Fern sat on the bed, enjoying her husband very much indeed. “You know,” he began.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking…”
“A dangerous thing to do.”
“When are we going to stop traveling with Frieren?”
Fern shrugged. “Are you not having fun?”
“Oh, no I am. I love traveling with you, and her. I kind of never want it to stop, but…” He stood there, folding his arm wraps. “I kind of want to have a family, too. With you.” He looked up and smiled.
Now Fern had to cross her legs. “How about we put a date on it? We’ll save some money, and in two years time, if there’s not a pressing reason why we need to continue, we’ll head south and find a nice place to settle down. I’ll find some work with the Continental Magic Association, and we’ll have… shall we say four kids?”
“Two is fine.”
“Three, final offer.”
“Throw in a dog, and you have a deal.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
He came over to the bed and bent down to kiss her. She put her arms around his neck, and he picked her up in a bridal carry like she weighed all of nothing — oh he was so wonderfully strong. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she replied.
“Let’s get to bed.”
And true enough they went to bed, but they did not go to sleep until well past midnight.
In the morning Frieren joined them for breakfast, and they prepared for battle. Stark put on his armor, Frieren went over some of their more defensive spells, and Fern cleared her mind and exercised her focus.
So west they went down the street, and up the hill, with the sun hung overhead — not knowing if they’d encounter violence or a misunderstanding there.
The sign by the door said the witchdoctor is ‘IN’ and so Fern knocked. There was a few heartbeats before footsteps could be heard from inside, and then the door opened.
“Ah, you,” they said, recognizing Fern. “I have your prescription ready.” They looked from Frieren to Stark. “Are you just here to pick it up or are you hoping I’ll invite your entourage for tea?”
“Tea won’t be necessary.”
The witchdoctor stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. Inside was quite an ordinary domicile. There was a fireplace in the kitchen, a bench for seating, and a cabinet with basketweave panels in the doors.
“What is your name?”
“Faustin.”
“I’m Fern.”
Faustin went to the basketweave cabinet and opened it to retrieve a simple earthenware jar with a wooden lid. “I took at guess at your bodyweight, but I’m rarely wrong. Take one per day, eventide is best they may make you sleepy, and starting from a week from now, you should suffer no unwanted pregnancies wile keeping to this regiment. Do not take it while you have your menstruate, and should you forget a dose do not take double to compensate. There’s a hundred pills in the jar, and I’ll sell you a copy of the recipe for twice the price. Three gold crowns and two silver shillings. The jar is packed with straw, but do not worry, it is steamed sterile; avoid letting it get too warm, or the wax in the pills might melt.”
They handed the jar to Fern. It had some heft to it. She took out her purse and counted out the coins before remembering why they were here.
“Doctor Faustin, my name is Frieren,” she said.
“I know who you are, Frieren the Slayer, and I appreciate you didn’t just vaporize me when I opened the door.”
“He’s a demon?” Stark asked, drawing his ax.
“Yes,” Frieren said.
Faustin held up a finger. “One moment, before you kill me.” They went back to the cabinet again. “There’s an old woman, Madam Glanni, who lives down in town with her nephew. He’s supposed to come by today to pick up her heart medicine.” They returned with another earthenware jar, and handed that one to Fern as well. “You’ll also find my last will and testament in my butler’s desk over in the corner.”
Frieren raised her staff.
Faustin took a deep breath and closed their eyes. “Make it quick, please; try not to damage the house too much.”
“Frieren?” Stark asked.
“Demons lie,” Frieren said.
Fern put the two jars down. She’d held a firm grip on her staff from the moment Faustin had admitted their true nature, and could have killed them faster than Frieren.
But too many things were not adding up. Demons fought back. Always. There was signs of demon activity. Always. They lied and slandered and ran away when they could — this one had admitted to being a demon and accepted their fate.
Faustin opened one eye. “Well? Are you going to kill me or draw it out for your own sick amusem*nt?”
“It’s a trick,” Frieren insisted.
“Just bloody kill me already and move on, woman!” they snapped. Whatever disguise spell they’d used flaked away revealing much the same face and even ears, but with a set of segmented horns and a long prehensile tail terminating in a third hand.
And still, Frieren didn’t do anything, but Fern felt the spell coalescing in her mind.
Fern put her staff to Frieren’s, pushing hers aside. “Let’s not, for the moment. This feels far too much like murder.”
“What part of ‘demons lie’ is it you do not understand?” Frieren snapped back at her.
“The part where one of them just asked us nicely to kill them,” Stark said. “Listen, mister — or miss — Faustin. One wrong move and my wife will reduce you to ash, but for now, you’ve earned a stay of execution.”
“No thank you. I think I’d rather you just kill me.”
“Why?” Stark pressed.
“Because either you kill me now and I get to skip answering your inane questions, or I answer your inane questions and you kill me anyway on principle. All things being equal, I prefer not to fear for my life longer than necessary.”
“Demons don’t feel fear,” Frieren said.
“Yes we do, it’s the operating principle of how demon society operates. Weak demons fear strong demons, that’s how the Demon King could be king in the first place: all power is fundamentally derived from the threat of violence. Without fear, no threats, without threats, no hierarchy of power, and no Demon King.” Faustin spoke quickly and with a harsh tone. They held onto the back of a chair, claws digging into the wood. “We also feel anger, disgust, pain and pleasure, which can again be derived logically as consequence of observed fact, if you care to do so, Frieren. Now come on, please get it over with.”
Frieren watched Faustin for a moment. “Show me the true extent of your mana.”
Faustin sighed, and let go. Fern sensed a tenfold increase, but even that only put them at about twice Fern’s power. Utterly dwarfed by Frieren’s might, and no match for the three of them together.
“There, satisfied that I’m a threat to humanity now?”
“Why do you insist we kill you?” Fern asked.
“Because all demons are liars and every action is an act of trickery, therefore there is nothing I can say or do to convince you that I am not currently deceiving you, and therefore the only possible outcome is that you kill me. As previously stated, I’d prefer it happen sooner rather than later.”
“If you want us to kill you, all you needed to do is attack us,” Stark said.
“I abhor the use of violence unless necessary, and I’m bequeathing my house and property to my apprentice, so best if it remains standing. Any other questions or can we get on with the part where you put me out of my misery and congratulate yourselves on one less demon in the world?”
“Sit down,” Frieren said.
Faustin obeyed promptly.
Fern took a seat across from the demon. Stark stood next to her with a hand on his ax, and Frieren stood off to the side, brandishing her staff.
“Talk,” Frieren commanded.
“For goodness sake, she-elf!” Faustin yowled.
“We’re getting to the bottom of this. Fern, you ask the questions.”
She wasn’t so unkind as to not let Faustin gather themselves a bit before she began asking questions. They fiddled with a necklace they wore, a string of heavy beads, seemingly made of metal.
“How long have you been here?”
“Hundred and fifteen years.”
“There’s no record in the town of disappearances or murders. Where do you hunt?” Fern asked.
“I don’t. I keep poultry for when I get peckish.”
“Lie,” Frieren said. “She’s just clever enough to not hunt where she lives.”
Faustin looked to Frieren, almost relieved. “In that case, I flatly refuse to tell you where I hunt; now you have reason to kill me.”
Frieren stood there almost vibrating with fury.
“Let’s continue,” Stark said.
“Okay, let’s suppose you’ve been living peacefully in this village for almost a hundred and twenty years and you don’t actually eat people. Why?” Fern asked.
“I like being alive. I don’t eat people because first of all, it’s not actually necessary for us demons to eat the sapient races for sustenance, they just taste the best, and second of all, eating people tends to get one noticed and once one gets noticed one ends up dead. And as previously stated, I like being alive.”
“Wait so you’re deliberately laying low?” Stark asked.
“Tell us what your endgame is!” Frieren commanded.
“Ensuring the maximal number of demons survive, worldwide.”
None of them knew quite what to say to that, even Frieren seemed taken aback.
“I’ll admit I’m still working on the details, but if you ask me with a staff in my face what my noble ambition is, hoping for my sinister plan, I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of saying what you expect.”
“So you want the demons to win?” Frieren asked.
“No, I want us to not go extinct. Something you elves could also aspire to. The Demon King’s project was always doomed to fail, and his efforts have cost the lives of more demons than any other single factor, by showing the entire world just how destructive demons can be at their worst, and rallying the entirety of humanity against us. Anyone who can exercise even basic logic could have seen that happen.”
“You did?” Stark asked.
“Of course, why do you think I’m a witchdoctor instead of a lieutenant in the Demon King’s army? Mankind’s knowledge and technology evolves orders of magnitude faster than demon society can change to keep up. The number of human mages and warriors needed to defeat a median demon has only gone down as the decades have passed, and pretty soon I think we’ll see the ratio flip. Give it half a century and someone will get the brilliant idea to wipe demons out entirely; and succeed.”
Faustin seemed to relax as they talked.
“And what makes you different from other demons?” Frieren asked.
“I’m smarter. Are you aware how congenitally incurious, uneducated and terminally violence-obsessed most demons are?”
“Yes,” Frieren answered with venom in her voice. “Intimately aware.”
“Apologies, stupid question, of course you are.”
“Don’t think you can buy mercy by politesse,” Frieren countered.
Faustin regarded her. “Do you know why we are polite to each other? It reduces friction in social interactions with strangers, and provides a script of modes of interaction that both parties are already familiar with, and familiarity breeds a feeling of safety. The purpose of apologies is to defuse conflicts by making a sacrifice of social status sufficient to convinced the aggrieved party that the offense was not a power play. Ergo, I really am sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.”
“All demons mimic human behavior. It’s how you hunt,” Frieren continued.
“A three year old can talk, but for that we do not call them orators and rhetoricians. Most of my kin drift through life on raw intuition and brute strength alone — and for that you should be glad.”
“So what actually makes you different?” Stark asked. “Why are you like this?”
“If I knew, I would be working on how to cram it into the skulls of my fellow demons, now wouldn’t I?”
“And why do you care about your fellow demons, then, if they’re so stupid?”
Faustin shook their head. “A world without demons is a world where demons have been systematically driven to extinction. It is a world where I am in danger, if not already dead. I’d like demons to continue existing in general, because I am one. I thought this was obvious.”
“We’re not quite as smart as you, it would seem,” Fern admitted. “Why this town?”
“Primarily the size. It was easier to move in and form connections, observe and adapt. I’ve since come to love this place quite fondly.”
“Demons can’t feel love.”
“Why not?”
“Love is an emotion only mankind experiences.”
“Love is a word. It would cause me distress if this town was to be destroyed. My efforts to protect it would be in vain, which is a displeasure to me personally, and my plans for its future would be ruined which is always disappointing. The people I’ve come to depend on for my daily routine would be gone, and I would have to expend much labor to build a new life elsewhere, which is bothersome. Additionally it would also put me in danger. Conversely if the town was to prosper, it would directly benefit me in many ways, and if it was to prosper because of my personal efforts it would cause me no small amount of personal satisfaction. How is that different from love?”
“Let’s leave the philosophy of emotion aside for a moment,” Fern said. “What do you actually do, here?
“Science. I research magic and medicine. In the short term I am trying to expedite the human militaries in breaking the demon forces amassing in the north, and prevent a repeat of the Demon King—”
“Wait, wasn’t your plan to avoid demons dying?” Stark asked.
“—Let me finish, boy. The faster the gathering host is broken, the less of a chance that mankind will band together and start a genuine effort to render demons extinct. The longer demons remain spread and disorganized, the longer they remain pests rather than threats, the better.”
Stark nodded. He looked to Frieren. “I mean, this guy is talking a lot of sense.”
Frieren shook her head. “If you’re so clever, why didn’t you open with all this?”
“Because all demons lie. That truism renders everything I say untrustworthy, and recursively any argument I make against it also becomes untrustworthy. I’m still not trying to win your graces, by the way. If at any time you want to put a spell through my skull, I’ll appreciate it.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Frieren said.
There was a knock on the door, and Faustin reached across the table, snatching up one of the two jars — the heart medicine — and went to the door. They opened.
“Hey dad.”
“Oh, I thought it was Madam Glanni nephew. Now is not really a good time, Marco, I’m having guests—”
The young man, Marco, was obviously human. Lanky, dark-haired, and armed with a sword at his hip. He cast a glance past Faustin inside and Fern saw his hand come to rest on the pommel of his sword. “Lovely weather we’re having today, dad, do you need help around the house?”
“I’ve a pest of snakes in my garden, why don’t you deal with it, Marco?”
The exchange was stilted and clearly some kind of code.
Slowly, Marco nodded, then turned and left. Faustin closed the door, visibly shaken. “He’s my apprentice and adoptive son. He has nothing to do with any of this, please don’t hurt him.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Stark said immediately.
“What did you tell him to do?” Frieren asked. “Sent him to fetch a mob with pitchforks and torches?”
“He asked if I was safe, and I lied to him. If I hadn’t, he would have come to my defense, and you would have hurt him. He represents a significant investment of time, effort, and resources on my part. Another example of ‘love,’ if you’re keeping count.”
“How does a demon even know what it means to be a father?” Frieren spat.
“You can look it up in a dictionary,” Faustin replied deadpan.
Fern stood. “I’ve seen enough. Faustin, I am sorry we came here and caused you grief. You are either speaking the truth or such an elaborate deceiver that we have no hope of ever learning what is true and not. We have no evidence that you are actually preying on the villagers here, and much evidence that you are actively a boon to them. I’d even go so far as to trust your craft as an apothecary.”
“Fern—” Frieren began.
“Frieren, this demon here understands more about the purpose of love, if not its nature, than I did when I came into this room.”
“So what if she’s clever, she’s still a demon. She can’t be trusted.”
“Everything they say is logically self-consistent and ties back into their self-interest, aversion to fear and pain, and pursuit of pleasure. Faustin is not some exception, they are fully and completely consistent with demons as we understand them — just, as they say themselves, smarter.” Fern turned to Faustin. “I think if you can find some way to teach this enlightenment you have obtained, we could be standing on the precipice of a real shift in the way the world is.”
Faustin shook their head. “I do believe the Demon King was as smart as I am, or perhaps slightly less; though I don’t believe he ever reached the final conclusion, or perhaps we ultimately disagreed on the facts. Couple that with his being hundredfold stronger, and you have… well, the Demon King. If I start trying to teach this, and I don’t get it perfect in one go, every time, we’re going to have demons that plan ahead and act rationally running around. My kind’s impulsivity and shortsightedness is currently a boon — again, pests, no threats.”
“But you already achieved it, so it must be possible for it to happen again,” Fern said.
“True. Just unlikely. I appreciate your optimism. Now, I would really like you to leave so I can crawl into my basem*nt and recover from the terror of having Frieren the Slayer point a staff at me for this entire conversation.”
Fern gave a bow, then she turned to leave and grabbed Frieren’s sleeve as she walked by. She stopped in the door. “Oh wait, I still owe you for the pills.”
“It’s on the house.”
“I insist. Also I need the recipe.”
Faustin fetched a piece of paper from their butler’s desk, and took Fern’s six gold crowns and four silver shillings.
Down the hill, Marco was waiting for them. He saw them exit and immediately came up to meet them. But instead of even saying a single word, he walked right past them, heading to Faustin’s house.
“Frieren, what do you think?” Stark said, addressing the elephant in the room.
Frieren walked on for a long beat. “As Fern said, either she is harmless, or she’s so much of a threat we have no choice but to flee.”
“She wasn’t that much of a threat, though,” Fern said.
“I make it my business to deceive demons. Imagine if a demon had my dedication to the art of deception, do you think they wouldn’t have a way to deal with a couple of First-Class mages that walked in their front door?”
“I still think they weren’t lying,” Fern said. “There were too many corroborating details, their axioms were simple, and their logic sound.”
They left the topic aside and spent the next two days pass, staying on guard, but ultimately having nothing eventful happen. A delivery boy came by with a spell book on the day they were about to set out from the town.
It contained A Spell to Detect Poison, and A Spell to Accelerate Small Objects to Extremely High Speeds by Skin Contact.
The former of course proved Fern’s new contraceptive supply to be safe and she took the pills to no ill effect, indeed to less ill effect than her normal dose of syphium.
The latter had Frieren take a small rock in her palm and plant it eighteen inches deep the trunk of an oak tree.
Faustin had been wearing a large string of metal beads for a necklace. In other words, ammunition for that very spell.
In the end Stark managed to up-sell her on two dogs. She made a strong counter-offered on a house in the city. Three kids was quite enough, though.
