Aurora on the airwaves pt 3- Birds of a feather.
An endless path, setting down for breath from flying, but missing a friend she never had before troubles struck those under her care. But she has been sent back to the path, away from friends and connections.
As a spirit of wandering she had not the deep connections she was forming in Natare, the will and purpose inside her focussing on the travelling and helping those that she came across for the moments that she came across them. But Nincho missed the lady of the radio and her weird mages with their peculiar habits. She missed those men with their birds, some who started inventing problems just to come by and talk to her – not creepily, just intent on chatting with someone who gets how their brain works. Especially the one named Douthy.
Nincho looks to the path, little slats grown like a winding snake up the side of the rocky hillock, laying a hand on a eucalyptus as she begins to hopping walk up the side to find some sort of clear line back to the sky. Smaller birds chirp to her, calling to the skies about journeys that they have made, at the strange and weird things they have seen – men and women of rock, up north and to the east. New nests and new hot friends, though the new friends can help open the seed pods of the fire-trees for the small birds to eat, and how they bring back worms in return, for hot friends need worms for energy.
Nincho chirps back to bird-friends, telling them of the wonders of Natare that the birds might enjoy – the sweet nectar of the hanging vines, the nuts that spread themselves in the marketplaces, the perching spots and nests that are so aplenty for a place so filled with people. She sighs behind her breath, missing Silence again – who would have teased her for talking to the birds, still not used to the inner lives that birds have and so focuses on those with mouths to express recognisable talkings.
The tak-tak of her claws on the vines is soothing, reminding her of those plantlike floors of the last month or so, and time spent wandering through the arboretum as the Grand Sakura tree gets misted with water to keep its massive blossoms vibrant among the smaller pink and purple blossoms. The mist had felt wonderful on her feathers, like a light dew of the early morning, just before the wet season.
She reaches the scrubby top of the hill, seeing the span of trees and the go nowhere brook that slips up from the water table beneath the ground to span a short patch of land before dipping down into some cave somewhere. Spirits see less of the taboo of the rock, and often make contact with the hidden spirits of stone that lie around the expansive realm of Levis, though this area is more for the spirits of dry wonder and swift journey. So Nincho takes flight.
Fog welcomes her up, summoned from somewhere, but laying the bushland in a welcome haze of lazy restlessness, as animal sounds start to resonate but muffled by the fog that makes them all artificially brave. Nincho brushes a wingtip over a passing branch, magic and will carrying her aloft as her body goes practically translucent in flight, feathers and logic for birds and not the spirits they summon.
Everything feels full of promise, of taking risks and seeing where they lead and maybe that’s why her path takes her south, towards the town they mark as Vertus, and having one last go with someone on her radio problem before purpose hangs around her neck and pulls tight.
She marvels at the paintings on each of the buildings as she circles the town, looking for something obvious that might tell her that this is the right path before she is forced to give it up for longer than she wants to, but shorter than she knows she needs to.
On the wing now she can feel that the city-witch was right, even if it rankles to admit it to herself. It was her want to stay that left more and more bird-friend tense and agitated the compulsion to move coursing through their blood, and her own skin had itched at the staying, even if the company had made her feel those connections that keep rising to the surface of her mind. Each painting on the walls of Vertus reminds her, faces sliding and shifting in her mind to be replaced with people she might call friend were her life that-way inclined.
She’s found her life much more mortal shaped, with their emotions and experiences staining her mind and thoughts since she met Silence. She would change nothing.
Nincho lands in the town circle, the settlement spoke-ing out from the centre, still invisible but watching the faces of those that pass. The energy, the magic of those that pass in the foliad form is too bored – too set in life to feel the need to help a spirit in need. Trolls would help, but all the technomagic and human-tech would make them as helpful as Nincho is at times with this stuff. The spirit of restless birds needs a new perspective with new vitality and Vertus almost looks awash in failure when an energy passes sparking with bright colours and loud sounds. The spirit just has time to focus back with normal sight before the energy disappears into the crowd.
They’re headed towards the tower in Vertus that serves the same function as the one Silence worked back in Natare, except this was its own separate building, where Luna was a building attached, growing like a lump off of something living.The Vertus tower was a leaning thing, its top too heavy and curled back to the ground where it tries to build support but just seems to drag the tower into a slant as the growth continues upwards. Balconies and platforms grow off the longest side, aimed to the sun like shelf mushrooms.
Nincho hops over slowly, stopping at a little stall to trade three moulting feathers for a piece of spiced nut-wafer. She holds it delicately in one hand nibbling on it as she lets crumbs materialise behind her invisible form. Nincho opens her senses again as she nibbles, looking around for the being that has the right energy for her problem and sees a trace of them behind the lopsided tower. She hops after the joyous energy, stepping lightly so her claw marks don't disturb the soil of the city and leave her mark where those with selfish plans can take root. The journey picks up pace as energy and bird spirit head past the tower, streaking right for the forest.
Moving around with that tak-tak gait, she sees the shadowy figure she’s been pursuing. They are hunched, hands in the light as they push soil and dirt aside, getting down to the task before them. Her lead’s head is down, but the spattering of feathers at the wrist has Nicho narrowing her gaze in confused excitement. “Strange spirit, what brings you this way?” She utters, coming from translucency and still nibbling the last of her wafer.
Corvid eyes look up, on a face with more skin than feathers. “I am no spirit, though I am honoured you’d think so, bird-girl. Are you from Brambleberry?” the voice of the other calls to Nincho, casual and full of humour.
Nincho steps more into the light, letting the loose outfit fall around her to reveal more of her own feathered form. Her long fingers rub away the crumbs from her meal as she rotates her head and neck just short of the horizontal. “I am not from a place, I am of a concept. I am the spirit you are obviously not.” She lets out a pleased chuckle creening in the back of her throat, watching her lead with more curiosity than anything else. There’s hope there but right now she’s in the getting to know you phase of meeting someone.
“I am from a little town called Sentis,” the creature-kin starts, as they move their head to reveal the dusting of scales over their cheeks – their voice masculine, but that might just be what Nincho is used to from Natare and how its people talk and act. Before Silence Nincho did not really interact with those who could talk, sure there were moments of invisible watching, but that was more curiosity than actual interest or concentration.
“The name I respond to is Nincho, the restless folk of wind and wing are my purpose, and the birds call me kin.” Nincho often finds herself teasing over the greetings, her name a story she enjoys teasing the mortal folk with.
“I am Sophis Windblown.” Watching Sophis slowly stand and give a bow of respect to a spirit, even if Nincho has found that for the most part Spirits are seen as a hypothetical thing to such a world based on unbelieving.
“Sophis of Sentis, a massive undertaking seeks you out. The spirits of restless flight seek your assistance in a grievous problem.” Nincho watches Sophis process this, their forked serpentine tongue flick out to wet the edge of their beak, short but with its curved overbite tip.
The creature-kin nods, taking a step towards the spirit. “And what is the problem I will be helping with? To the best of my ability.”
Nincho smiles and rights herself, pleased that Sophis’ energy matches the way they behave, that she might find a pair of useful hands to assist her.
While explaining the problem had been easy, Sophis had seen dazed avian around the ether lines, explaining the experimentation that the mages had performed had been harder. Most of the communication between mage team and spirit had been handled through Silence, and Nincho keeps trying to use their own syntax to explain something that had a word Nincho keeps forgetting.
“So the ether lines are a nothingness. A colourful nothingness, but the magic just keeps being not there when they keep making radio sounds. Or talky sounds. And the birds use the realm’s magic to fly as one of their senses, and the absence just makes the flying harder. But pushing magic into the lines just makes everything overflow for a bit before being absent a bit. If that makes sense.”
“A bit, but why come to me and not one of the mages in town? I’m not magic orientated, just a bit ecology-seeded.” They had gone inside the tower, and then up, onto one of the outside platforms. Sophis had discussed that he was the tower caretaker, keeping the building and surrounds safe and healthy so that those working the ‘network’ would not have to manage or care for the place, just send and receive information when it arrives.
“Because mage-ery alone is not working, and I found a friend and I want to be able to return to them and I can’t do that if when I return I’ll get distracted by the problem until it’s time for me to go again. I love to travel, deeply, deeply love it, but not being able to enjoy time with Silence has ruined this journey I’m taking now.” Nincho pulls her knees up, talons scraping the ground as she clicks her beak with nervous energy. There is no point in hiding emotions, especially from someone who seems to want to help.
Sophis places a hand on Nincho’s shoulder, turning them to watch the aurora of the ether lines, watching the base of the line closest to the tower pulse when a bird flies too close to the aurora and fly away dazed. “They say there is a little bit of magic, of the well of possibility in everything in some of the weirder, more cultish bindings around the place. Could, in this instance, there be any form of fact to the phrase?”
Nincho thinks, wondering if any of the mages thought to look to faith or the spirits, even as Sophis is putting his head into the tower behind them. “Bef! Can you ask the network if there’s any old myths on lack of magic and how it affects animals? Mostly birds, but any animals will do. See if Brambleberry has anything. Or Saburra.”
Bef calls up with a sing-song voice that is deep but feminine. “I ca-an, but you owe me some cook-ing tonight. Do you want to co-ok?”
Sophis rolls his eyes and looks to Nincho with a clicking of that beak together. “I am sorry, spirit, but I will be indisposed tonight with my very demanding mate. I bonded a stone-bound hellion.” He leans over the door of the tower for that last word, shouting down.
She hears a joyous cackle, loud and proud coming from the woman who was working this tower; feeling the annoyed love that burns like wildfire between them.
The next few hours are filled with thoughts and requests, Bef always pleased to help, and sometimes pulling them down to have Sophis record what Bef’s coworkers communicate back. Each request takes at least an hour, a dozen experts rushing to physically look at bindings and scrolls on the other end, and Nincho marvels at the sheer effort that takes place as the three of them descend into this research.
Bef often has to stop as she receives her own requests, and due to the nature of things, Nincho and Sophis help her out, meeting people from the town as the bird-spirit delivers these messages. The townsfolk remark as if Nincho is a long lost cousin or tutor-sister of Sophis and after the first long explanation, the spirit soon stops resisting and just responds with a simple ‘yes’.
Debron slides beneath the surface and one of the men of the market pass Nin a grown basket filled with those wafers she had earlier, a couple of fruit, and a small sealed cup of honey. “To get you through the next couple of days. For your hard work.” She feels the blue feathers on her cheeks come up, like fake ears as she feels a sticky feeling between alarm and fear with a little joy – even as she wants all within the basket.
She flies up to a tree, more floating than flapping, sitting on a branch as Bef and Sophis have their night together, leaving Nincho with her basket, her binding and her thoughts on the journey so far. Even if this binding leads to a success, all it means is that the next return will be in her own time and energy and not bound to her purpose – just as her purpose must not be ignored in the now.
Night birds fly past her, visiting the city as she pulls out one of those delicious wafers, this one filled of dozens of tiny seeds that she plays over her tongue and roof of her beak in a delicious crunch, filling the air with sounds of pleased avian delight.
The sounds of early night, and slowly retiring town mingle and curls around her; a thick blanket of stars and glowing vines draped over her shoulders and bringing warmth into her hollow bones. Bard-song and bird-song mingle in this interstitial place, lulling her to relaxation as even those of wing and worry need to rest from time to time on their eternal journey; and until recently her journey has been long indeed.
The local birds chirp to her as she rests, chatting of news – of the new hawk that one of the townsmen brought to Vertus and to be careful not to be too slow around it, of how the ether lines make them dizzy but with time they’re learning to avoid them, though the young ones are the ones getting caught now. How it will be getting warmer soon and the insects will get restless and easier to eat, that she with the lanky body should take note of that. Just saying.
That the realm is healing, adapting and overcoming does not stop the problem, or give her an easy solution, but does heal the tiny part of her magic that feared this would never solve that excuses to form connections would fall into reasons she had to stay away.
Morning comes and the last moments of information from the day before. She spends the morning and the next two days helping the town and the local birds, spending much of the day drifting invisible above it all and just taking in the splendour of the town and how its community all drifts together. It reminds her of flocks of Zuma birds, their masses of colour painting the sky as they travel.
Still, all things end, and soon Bef and Sophis are giving the goodbye salute, sending Nincho away, a care-package of local goods strapped to her belly for trade or snacks where-ever she goes. They suggest making a turn into Solaris or Saburra, and Bef had teases that Nincho should see Sophis’ parents before Sophis does. “Be a good daughter to them.” Bef had cackled, and she trilled a laugh in support. She’d add these two to the people she would miss, and wondered if mortals ever stopped missing people, and as she takes wing the journey that always felt so liberating feels so endless as she begins to ache for the people she calls home.
As a spirit of wandering she had not the deep connections she was forming in Natare, the will and purpose inside her focussing on the travelling and helping those that she came across for the moments that she came across them. But Nincho missed the lady of the radio and her weird mages with their peculiar habits. She missed those men with their birds, some who started inventing problems just to come by and talk to her – not creepily, just intent on chatting with someone who gets how their brain works. Especially the one named Douthy.
Nincho looks to the path, little slats grown like a winding snake up the side of the rocky hillock, laying a hand on a eucalyptus as she begins to hopping walk up the side to find some sort of clear line back to the sky. Smaller birds chirp to her, calling to the skies about journeys that they have made, at the strange and weird things they have seen – men and women of rock, up north and to the east. New nests and new hot friends, though the new friends can help open the seed pods of the fire-trees for the small birds to eat, and how they bring back worms in return, for hot friends need worms for energy.
Nincho chirps back to bird-friends, telling them of the wonders of Natare that the birds might enjoy – the sweet nectar of the hanging vines, the nuts that spread themselves in the marketplaces, the perching spots and nests that are so aplenty for a place so filled with people. She sighs behind her breath, missing Silence again – who would have teased her for talking to the birds, still not used to the inner lives that birds have and so focuses on those with mouths to express recognisable talkings.
The tak-tak of her claws on the vines is soothing, reminding her of those plantlike floors of the last month or so, and time spent wandering through the arboretum as the Grand Sakura tree gets misted with water to keep its massive blossoms vibrant among the smaller pink and purple blossoms. The mist had felt wonderful on her feathers, like a light dew of the early morning, just before the wet season.
She reaches the scrubby top of the hill, seeing the span of trees and the go nowhere brook that slips up from the water table beneath the ground to span a short patch of land before dipping down into some cave somewhere. Spirits see less of the taboo of the rock, and often make contact with the hidden spirits of stone that lie around the expansive realm of Levis, though this area is more for the spirits of dry wonder and swift journey. So Nincho takes flight.
Fog welcomes her up, summoned from somewhere, but laying the bushland in a welcome haze of lazy restlessness, as animal sounds start to resonate but muffled by the fog that makes them all artificially brave. Nincho brushes a wingtip over a passing branch, magic and will carrying her aloft as her body goes practically translucent in flight, feathers and logic for birds and not the spirits they summon.
Everything feels full of promise, of taking risks and seeing where they lead and maybe that’s why her path takes her south, towards the town they mark as Vertus, and having one last go with someone on her radio problem before purpose hangs around her neck and pulls tight.
She marvels at the paintings on each of the buildings as she circles the town, looking for something obvious that might tell her that this is the right path before she is forced to give it up for longer than she wants to, but shorter than she knows she needs to.
On the wing now she can feel that the city-witch was right, even if it rankles to admit it to herself. It was her want to stay that left more and more bird-friend tense and agitated the compulsion to move coursing through their blood, and her own skin had itched at the staying, even if the company had made her feel those connections that keep rising to the surface of her mind. Each painting on the walls of Vertus reminds her, faces sliding and shifting in her mind to be replaced with people she might call friend were her life that-way inclined.
She’s found her life much more mortal shaped, with their emotions and experiences staining her mind and thoughts since she met Silence. She would change nothing.
Nincho lands in the town circle, the settlement spoke-ing out from the centre, still invisible but watching the faces of those that pass. The energy, the magic of those that pass in the foliad form is too bored – too set in life to feel the need to help a spirit in need. Trolls would help, but all the technomagic and human-tech would make them as helpful as Nincho is at times with this stuff. The spirit of restless birds needs a new perspective with new vitality and Vertus almost looks awash in failure when an energy passes sparking with bright colours and loud sounds. The spirit just has time to focus back with normal sight before the energy disappears into the crowd.
They’re headed towards the tower in Vertus that serves the same function as the one Silence worked back in Natare, except this was its own separate building, where Luna was a building attached, growing like a lump off of something living.The Vertus tower was a leaning thing, its top too heavy and curled back to the ground where it tries to build support but just seems to drag the tower into a slant as the growth continues upwards. Balconies and platforms grow off the longest side, aimed to the sun like shelf mushrooms.
Nincho hops over slowly, stopping at a little stall to trade three moulting feathers for a piece of spiced nut-wafer. She holds it delicately in one hand nibbling on it as she lets crumbs materialise behind her invisible form. Nincho opens her senses again as she nibbles, looking around for the being that has the right energy for her problem and sees a trace of them behind the lopsided tower. She hops after the joyous energy, stepping lightly so her claw marks don't disturb the soil of the city and leave her mark where those with selfish plans can take root. The journey picks up pace as energy and bird spirit head past the tower, streaking right for the forest.
Moving around with that tak-tak gait, she sees the shadowy figure she’s been pursuing. They are hunched, hands in the light as they push soil and dirt aside, getting down to the task before them. Her lead’s head is down, but the spattering of feathers at the wrist has Nicho narrowing her gaze in confused excitement. “Strange spirit, what brings you this way?” She utters, coming from translucency and still nibbling the last of her wafer.
Corvid eyes look up, on a face with more skin than feathers. “I am no spirit, though I am honoured you’d think so, bird-girl. Are you from Brambleberry?” the voice of the other calls to Nincho, casual and full of humour.
Nincho steps more into the light, letting the loose outfit fall around her to reveal more of her own feathered form. Her long fingers rub away the crumbs from her meal as she rotates her head and neck just short of the horizontal. “I am not from a place, I am of a concept. I am the spirit you are obviously not.” She lets out a pleased chuckle creening in the back of her throat, watching her lead with more curiosity than anything else. There’s hope there but right now she’s in the getting to know you phase of meeting someone.
“I am from a little town called Sentis,” the creature-kin starts, as they move their head to reveal the dusting of scales over their cheeks – their voice masculine, but that might just be what Nincho is used to from Natare and how its people talk and act. Before Silence Nincho did not really interact with those who could talk, sure there were moments of invisible watching, but that was more curiosity than actual interest or concentration.
“The name I respond to is Nincho, the restless folk of wind and wing are my purpose, and the birds call me kin.” Nincho often finds herself teasing over the greetings, her name a story she enjoys teasing the mortal folk with.
“I am Sophis Windblown.” Watching Sophis slowly stand and give a bow of respect to a spirit, even if Nincho has found that for the most part Spirits are seen as a hypothetical thing to such a world based on unbelieving.
“Sophis of Sentis, a massive undertaking seeks you out. The spirits of restless flight seek your assistance in a grievous problem.” Nincho watches Sophis process this, their forked serpentine tongue flick out to wet the edge of their beak, short but with its curved overbite tip.
The creature-kin nods, taking a step towards the spirit. “And what is the problem I will be helping with? To the best of my ability.”
Nincho smiles and rights herself, pleased that Sophis’ energy matches the way they behave, that she might find a pair of useful hands to assist her.
While explaining the problem had been easy, Sophis had seen dazed avian around the ether lines, explaining the experimentation that the mages had performed had been harder. Most of the communication between mage team and spirit had been handled through Silence, and Nincho keeps trying to use their own syntax to explain something that had a word Nincho keeps forgetting.
“So the ether lines are a nothingness. A colourful nothingness, but the magic just keeps being not there when they keep making radio sounds. Or talky sounds. And the birds use the realm’s magic to fly as one of their senses, and the absence just makes the flying harder. But pushing magic into the lines just makes everything overflow for a bit before being absent a bit. If that makes sense.”
“A bit, but why come to me and not one of the mages in town? I’m not magic orientated, just a bit ecology-seeded.” They had gone inside the tower, and then up, onto one of the outside platforms. Sophis had discussed that he was the tower caretaker, keeping the building and surrounds safe and healthy so that those working the ‘network’ would not have to manage or care for the place, just send and receive information when it arrives.
“Because mage-ery alone is not working, and I found a friend and I want to be able to return to them and I can’t do that if when I return I’ll get distracted by the problem until it’s time for me to go again. I love to travel, deeply, deeply love it, but not being able to enjoy time with Silence has ruined this journey I’m taking now.” Nincho pulls her knees up, talons scraping the ground as she clicks her beak with nervous energy. There is no point in hiding emotions, especially from someone who seems to want to help.
Sophis places a hand on Nincho’s shoulder, turning them to watch the aurora of the ether lines, watching the base of the line closest to the tower pulse when a bird flies too close to the aurora and fly away dazed. “They say there is a little bit of magic, of the well of possibility in everything in some of the weirder, more cultish bindings around the place. Could, in this instance, there be any form of fact to the phrase?”
Nincho thinks, wondering if any of the mages thought to look to faith or the spirits, even as Sophis is putting his head into the tower behind them. “Bef! Can you ask the network if there’s any old myths on lack of magic and how it affects animals? Mostly birds, but any animals will do. See if Brambleberry has anything. Or Saburra.”
Bef calls up with a sing-song voice that is deep but feminine. “I ca-an, but you owe me some cook-ing tonight. Do you want to co-ok?”
Sophis rolls his eyes and looks to Nincho with a clicking of that beak together. “I am sorry, spirit, but I will be indisposed tonight with my very demanding mate. I bonded a stone-bound hellion.” He leans over the door of the tower for that last word, shouting down.
She hears a joyous cackle, loud and proud coming from the woman who was working this tower; feeling the annoyed love that burns like wildfire between them.
The next few hours are filled with thoughts and requests, Bef always pleased to help, and sometimes pulling them down to have Sophis record what Bef’s coworkers communicate back. Each request takes at least an hour, a dozen experts rushing to physically look at bindings and scrolls on the other end, and Nincho marvels at the sheer effort that takes place as the three of them descend into this research.
Bef often has to stop as she receives her own requests, and due to the nature of things, Nincho and Sophis help her out, meeting people from the town as the bird-spirit delivers these messages. The townsfolk remark as if Nincho is a long lost cousin or tutor-sister of Sophis and after the first long explanation, the spirit soon stops resisting and just responds with a simple ‘yes’.
Debron slides beneath the surface and one of the men of the market pass Nin a grown basket filled with those wafers she had earlier, a couple of fruit, and a small sealed cup of honey. “To get you through the next couple of days. For your hard work.” She feels the blue feathers on her cheeks come up, like fake ears as she feels a sticky feeling between alarm and fear with a little joy – even as she wants all within the basket.
She flies up to a tree, more floating than flapping, sitting on a branch as Bef and Sophis have their night together, leaving Nincho with her basket, her binding and her thoughts on the journey so far. Even if this binding leads to a success, all it means is that the next return will be in her own time and energy and not bound to her purpose – just as her purpose must not be ignored in the now.
Night birds fly past her, visiting the city as she pulls out one of those delicious wafers, this one filled of dozens of tiny seeds that she plays over her tongue and roof of her beak in a delicious crunch, filling the air with sounds of pleased avian delight.
The sounds of early night, and slowly retiring town mingle and curls around her; a thick blanket of stars and glowing vines draped over her shoulders and bringing warmth into her hollow bones. Bard-song and bird-song mingle in this interstitial place, lulling her to relaxation as even those of wing and worry need to rest from time to time on their eternal journey; and until recently her journey has been long indeed.
The local birds chirp to her as she rests, chatting of news – of the new hawk that one of the townsmen brought to Vertus and to be careful not to be too slow around it, of how the ether lines make them dizzy but with time they’re learning to avoid them, though the young ones are the ones getting caught now. How it will be getting warmer soon and the insects will get restless and easier to eat, that she with the lanky body should take note of that. Just saying.
That the realm is healing, adapting and overcoming does not stop the problem, or give her an easy solution, but does heal the tiny part of her magic that feared this would never solve that excuses to form connections would fall into reasons she had to stay away.
Morning comes and the last moments of information from the day before. She spends the morning and the next two days helping the town and the local birds, spending much of the day drifting invisible above it all and just taking in the splendour of the town and how its community all drifts together. It reminds her of flocks of Zuma birds, their masses of colour painting the sky as they travel.
Still, all things end, and soon Bef and Sophis are giving the goodbye salute, sending Nincho away, a care-package of local goods strapped to her belly for trade or snacks where-ever she goes. They suggest making a turn into Solaris or Saburra, and Bef had teases that Nincho should see Sophis’ parents before Sophis does. “Be a good daughter to them.” Bef had cackled, and she trilled a laugh in support. She’d add these two to the people she would miss, and wondered if mortals ever stopped missing people, and as she takes wing the journey that always felt so liberating feels so endless as she begins to ache for the people she calls home.
Non-diagetic, but something that I think suits the evolving Nincho's mindset.
Also I guess this is a 5?? parter?
Thank you for reading, feel free to give feedback.
Comments