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The Silent Brush of Wings
by Steve Toase
The Touring Car
by Cody Goodfellow
Scales +
by Jaq Evans
The Virtue Retreats from the Land of Snow and Sky
by Kali Wallace
Ringing the Changes
by Kyle E. Miller
Beast Do +
by Alexandra Munck
What remained of the Virtue's army marched into the Gates of Ice at sunset. In their red uniforms, the soldiers were a trickle of dirty blood on the flank of the mountain. A few rode skinny, stumbling horses. Others rested in clattering mule carts, with bandaged-wrapped limbs steadied between sacks of moldering grain. The army had once been tens of thousands strong, but now there were only three or four thousand hollow-cheeked survivors.
Pareetha and her daughter watched from atop a flat boulder midway down the pass, where the path from White Bear met the road. A few hundred paces along the path, past a grove of gnarled ancestor trees, her guards lingered outside an abandoned longhouse. It had been easy to find volunteers; more difficult had been convincing the rest of the villagers to stay away. Pareetha had chosen the young women and men with the steadiest hands and coolest tempers.
The wind shifted, carrying with it the stench of rotting wounds, rancid food, and unwashed bodies. Sevi coughed and covered her nose.
"If just one of them trips, they'll all topple down the pass in a heap," she said, her voice muffled by her glove. She was thirteen years old. She had never known a life without war. "Then we'll be smelling them forever."
"Hush," said Pareetha. The soldiers plodded only a few feet from them. She looked over the tops of their heads, very few protected from the cold, and tried not to meet their eyes.
Sevi dropped her hand and sighed. "I just want them gone. I want them gone forever."
Pareetha's heart ached to hear the weariness in her daughter's voice. "As do I."
A pause, then Sevi added, more quietly, "I want him gone forever."
They turned, as one, to look up the road.
On a switchback above the junction, a tall red carriage tilted precariously as it rounded the bend. The Virtue's seal, a white heart inside a yellow moon, glared from the broad side. The Virtue's flags, the same symbol upon a field of red, whipped and snapped in the wind. In the mountain twilight, the red paint was fading to muddy black. It towered over the soldiers and carts, its wooden wheels rattling on the rough road, the leather straps of its suspension creaking with every bump. A team of eight buffalo, their horns filed to nubs, plodded in harnesses of red leather and tarnished silver. The creatures were so skinny their ribs made washboards of their flanks.
Pareetha had been watching the carriage since it had lumbered over the first pass and began its precarious journey into the valley, a drumbeat of expectation in her chest. Excitement is not so different from fear, her mother used to say, words Pareetha had not understood until her mother died and the war began. A thread of smoke rose from a chimney on the carriage's roof. The Virtue had always been too thin-skinned to endure the cold of this land he had tried to conquer.
Her thoughts uncoiling like a whip, Pareetha imagined the carriage tipping, the carriage toppling, a slow fall that would scatter the soldiers around it like ants. The stove or brazier within would spill its coals into curtains, into cushions, into extravagant silk robes. The mountains would echo with the deafening crash. Fire would engulf the splintered red box.
The man inside would scream.
The air would smell, briefly, of cooked meat.
Snow and rain would eventually wash away the smear of greasy black ash.
Be careful of your dark thoughts, her mother would have said, for the ancestors might hear you. When she was young and curled at her mother's feet, wide-eyed with wonder as the wise woman talked and laughed, Pareetha had believed the warning. But if the ancestors in their ancient trees had heard her pleas these past twenty years, they had not seen fit to answer.
She stepped to the edge of the boulder and raised her hand. The nearest soldiers stopped so suddenly they bumped into one another. Murmurs and whispers carried along the line, a tremulous ripple. Pareetha heard them say witch. She heard them say nightfall. She hated the rough sound of their southern language. On the fields outside Kint's mud-plastered walls, the soldiers had been stunned. They had been angry. They had been defiant. They had not understood how they could have been defeated by mountain nomads, barbarians, squabbling family clans, knotty-haired hedge-witches, savages.
Now their faces showed only weariness, or nothing at all.
A woman riding horseback, dressed in a captain's uniform, drew her horse alongside the rock where Pareetha and Sevi were standing. Her hair was the same dull, dirty gray as her mount. Her face was broad, her jaw as square as the butt of an ax. She had to look up to address Pareetha.
"We regret to you this imposition on your peace," the woman said. She was clumsy with the Sufa tongue, carefully stepping her way through the formal constructions like a drunkard picking through the aftermath of a tavern fight. "We are the one who is Ona. We ask to you grant us pass your lands on this way. We ask to you read to us what would be read."
To her credit, Ona did not sound like she had grown bored of making this request, although she must have made it half a hundred times before, in every village and town the army had passed on its long retreat, before every clan elder or witch council. They had been marching south for three months. This cold, lonely valley, called the Gates of Ice by those who lived here, was their last stop before they left Sufa for good.
"Over there," Pareetha said, pointing to the building where the young guards waited. Earlier they had cleaned the old chimney to light a fire. The longhouse had been empty since its previous inhabitants had died in the prison at Blueswallow at the hands of the Virtue's torturers. "That is where your master will hear us."
Ona looked. "There?"
Pareetha could not tell if it was fear or distaste that passed over her face. "There."
The captain did not answer for so long Pareetha began to wonder if she was going to refuse and risk punishment. The witches of Halap Peak, far to the north, had woven a binding of obedience over the Virtue and his commanders while he remained within Sufa. Pareetha did not know what the binding would do should he test it, but it was unlikely to be pleasant. Halap women wore rattling armor fashioned from the bones of their ancestors and trained mountain cats to carry their minds on long-ranging hunts. Two hundred and thirty-seven of their sisters had been burned alive when the Virtue's army sacked a temple in the Qista Valley. Those who survived were neither squeamish nor forgiving.
Finally Ona said, "I will bring him."
She tugged on the reins to bring her horse about. She paused when her gaze fell on the grove of the ancestors. These were ancient trees, so twisted by wind none was much taller than a man, so gnarled their dark bark had long ago enclosed the bones buried within. Nobody knew the names of the ancestors who rested in this grove, only that they had been the first to settle in the Gates of Ice, the first to make the shores of White Bear Lake their home, the first to call upon the power of the mountains and glaciers and cold winter wind to weave spells of protection and strength over this lonely valley.
The valley's nine wise women had known their names. But that knowledge, and so much more, had been lost when they were murdered. Sometimes, in quiet moments late at night, Pareetha whispered nonsense syllables to herself, trying in vain to echo her mother's cadence, trying to draw what was lost from the darkest folds of her childhood memories. It never worked. She could not recall the sound of her mother's voice.
"I do not know what promise is kindly offered by this place," Ona said.
She was not looking at the ancestor trees anymore. She was looking at Pareetha, and the words might have been a taunt, but there was no mockery in her voice. Sevi, at Pareetha's side, was holding her breath. The soldiers around the captain pretended not to listen.
When the treaty negotiations had begun on the plains of Kint, The Virtue, surrounded by his cardinals, had spent days demurring and debating, repeating and reneging, never agreeing, never conceding. One day he would thank the people of Sufa for their mercy; the next he would promise to rain fiery retribution upon their heads. He made outrageous demands, refused reasonable compromises, and required a new silk pillow to cushion his chair every morning. It was not long before the clan and family leaders began to despair. They had cowed the Virtue's army, but he had no intention of retreating. He did not believe he had been beaten.
Then one morning the mother-witch of Kint, a bird-like old woman with thin white hair and one blue eye, had stepped forward to offer her city's terms for the Virtue's surrender. The cardinals had looked upon her delicate frame and patched clothes, and they had laughed. They had laughed with the snorting certainty of men who did not believe an old woman could harm them. They had laughed and ordered her taken away. They had laughed when she spoke her name, her title, her ancestry. They had laughed and laughed until the muddy ground opened beneath them and one cardinal vanished into a damp, crumbling pit, his screams cut away by a wet sucking sound. The laughter stopped, but the mother-witch did not.
The Virtue did not plead for the lives of his cardinals until eight more had died. Then, only then, was he willing to negotiate.
The wind turned again. The boughs of the ancestor trees scraped and rasped.
"Bring him," Pareetha said. "You will hear our terms inside."
Ona nodded curtly and urged her horse up the road, toward the red carriage.
Sevi shifted her weight from one foot to another and ducked her chin into her fur collar.
"Mefi told me the slickrock clans pelted them with clumps of dung," she said. She sniffled and rubbed at her pink nose. During the signing of the treaty, the slickrock elders had demonstrated their terms of surrender on a man who had been found wearing the hair of Sufa children in a braided sash. It had taken three days for his flesh and blood to turn entirely to stone, but less than half that long for him to stop screaming. "They didn't even lift their heads. They're afraid of being turned into piles of rubble."
"You needn't wait with me," Pareetha said, not for the first time.
Sevi sniffled again. "They'll have to stop in the valley, won't they? I don't want them to stop here."
"It's too late for them to safely cross the second pass," Pareetha said.
The first snowflakes began to fall, whirling down from the low gray clouds in lazy spirals. Sevi held out her hand to catch one. "What do we care if they're safe? Can't you make them keep going?"
"I will not deny them a night in the ancestor's forest. I do not think they will linger much after dawn."
Sevi gave her a questioning look. "But you can't do anything. Can you?"
Her daughter's question—asked not hopefully, but doubtfully—struck Pareetha like a punch to the throat. Sevi had never known a time when her people were powerful.
Pareetha said nothing, and Sevi turned away. Her gaze skipped over the soldiers and settled on the carriage, where the captain had dismounted to approach the door. There had only been one awesome power in Sevi's young life, and he rode in that fire-warmed box while his army stumbled in the cold.
Pareetha ought to have said, "Bring him quickly."
With the agonizing slowness of empty ceremony, eight soldiers formed twin lines outside the red carriage, flanking its narrow door. They were empty-handed; some did not even have swords in their scabbards. They waited, shivering in their boots and threadbare uniforms, as the scant gray daylight bled from the valley. Pareetha had sent Sevi into the longhouse to alert the guards and warm herself, and she was beginning to wish she had gone as well. She could not feel her nose.
Some time passed before the carriage door opened and smoke billowed out, obscuring a soft orange light. Pale hands emerged, grasping the shoulders of the closest soldiers. A short, slight man with papery-white skin and a shaved head stepped from the carriage onto the metal steps. A second man, nearly identical, followed.
The Virtue's cardinals all looked the same, no matter their age or land of origin. Pareetha had seen dozens of them over the years. She had even killed two, once, so long ago she had not yet known how long the invasion would last nor how many clans and tribes and towns would fall. When she had still believed they might drive the Virtue away before winter, before spring, surely before the end of summer. Helping with her deadly mission had been a pair of brothers, skilled witches from the western canyonlands. Both men had died.
It was not a fair price, the lives of two good men for the lives of two scuttling, sneering sycophants. When they died the cardinals had smelled of wine and piss and overripe plums.
Outside the carriage, the old men unfolded a long length of red cloth and held it high above their heads. They waited. Their arms trembled. Snow escaped the gray sky, the flakes whisking sideways rather than collecting on the ground. The northern pass was shrouded in clouds. The army's ragged trailing end of carts and mules had cross the summit while Pareetha was not watching.
Finally: the cardinals' arms straightened, the soldiers' attention sharpened, and a solitary figure emerged from the carriage. The red cloth hid him from view: Pareetha could see only the jutting peaks of a golden headpiece. The crown bobbled the cardinals shuffled along, their slippers scraping over gravel and stone, the red cloth snapping in the wind, with the eight soldiers behind them. The procession moved awkwardly down the road and up the path to the longhouse.
Pareetha waited with Ona until they had passed, then followed. They did not speak as they walked side by side to the longhouse. Ona glanced at Pareetha and her guards before stepping through the doorway. The cardinals had accompanied the Virtue into the warmth, but the eight soldiers remained outside in the cold.
Noises came from within: low voices, the clatter of logs, the elegant swish of folding silk. Another stretch of time passed. The mountain twilight deepened. The sky was now the color of steel. Snow whirled on the restless wind.
"Come in," said a voice from inside. It was little more than a whisper, that voice, but the gray evening stilled to listen, the ice-edge snowflakes suspended a moment in the air. The wind itself trembled like a cowering hare for the space of a breath. "Come in, come in. Join us."
One of Pareetha's guards huffed. "You need an invitation?"
Pareetha gave the girl a quick smile and hoped it was reassuring. "Wait here. This won't take long."
One of the Virtue's soldiers, a boy, made a small, animal sound in his throat. A companion comforted him with a touch on the shoulder. Pareetha stepped into the longhouse before her smile turned to a grimace and frightened the children more. The warmth was sudden and startling; Sevi had added fresh wood to the fire. She stood now beside an empty stool, her expression anxious, her fingers twitching nervously at her sides.
The Virtue was seated on another stool in the center of the room. His two cardinals stood just behind him, their hands folded into their long sleeves. Ona stood by the hearth. Beneath the smoke, Pareetha smelled strong, flowery perfume over the sour stench of an invalid near death.
She sat on the empty stool and folded her hands in her lap and she thought: So. So, this frail, sickly creature was the conqueror of a hundred realms. Here was the nightmare who had swept through Sufa with bone-rattling speed. Here was the man who had set his eyes upon the lands of snow and ice, the savage lands, the witching lands, the mountains of whispers and death, the valleys of memory and blood, the realms where stone touches sky, untamed and unconquered since the beginning of time—but he had not conquered them, and he had not tamed them, and his reign was over.
"Greetings, gentle mother," said the Virtue. He spoke in a high, whispering voice, like wind passing through an empty house. "You are kind to receive us."
He had aged decades in the three months since the Treaty of Kint. He was even shorter than he had been before, as though his bones were crumbling into themselves. His scalp was bare except for a few lonely white hairs, and the elaborate crown of glittering rubies and gold cut into his skin so deeply Pareetha wondered if he could remove it at all. His eyes were watery blue surrounded by jaundiced yellow. He had no eyebrows. His hands, resting on his knees, were so brittle the merest slap might shatter them.
"You find me revolting," said the Virtue.
Pareetha looked at him, looked and did not flinch. She could see how his countenance might bear artifacts of long-faded beauty: sharp cheekbones, strong nose, lips curled into a pink pout. As a young man he would have glittered as he rode before his army and roused crowds with his speeches, gathering followers as a corpse gathers flies. He must have shone so bright it stung the eyes.
Pareetha said, "I find a plague of boils revolting as it sweeps through a city."
The cardinals sneered and hissed.
"I find a blight revolting when it turns crops and trees to rot."
The Virtue laughed. A string of spittle dripped from his lips.
"I find a festering wound revolting when it leaks poison into the blood," she said. "But you, you are no more than a moth smashed beneath a thumb, easily brushed away."
"Ah! Ah, gentle mother, I have tasted your pain before," the Virtue said. There was wonder in his sibilant voice, as though he did not quite know what to make of her words. "I have tasted it from others like you and not like you. Has this been your home always?"
"This has always been my home," Pareetha said.
"It is so very unlike what a home should be." The Virtue looked around the longhouse curiously, examining the rough wooden roof beams, the crumbling sod ceiling, the crooked fireplace, the dirt floor. "Does the wind howl so all the time? Do you burn the dung of your animals? I have heard that it is the favored fuel in barbaric places."
Pareetha did not answer.
The Virtue's eyes narrowed. "You would begrudge me even my curiosity, gentle mother. I come from a land very far from here. You do not know of it. It is a land so splendid the sun itself is envious of its glimmer. We have cities of golden towers. We have hills so rich and green the milkmaids grow as fat as their cattle. We have such wealth even the poorest beggar collects gold coins in his cap." The jewels on the cardinals' rings caught the firelight as they tittered. "I have been very long from home. It is a beautiful land. You cannot imagine. You do not have a mind such as mine, that can know what others can never comprehend. I pity you for that. I could have gifted you a home like that. Such goodness, to save you from this cold, bleak place."
"We do not need your pity," Pareetha said. "And what you offered was neither gift nor goodness. We want nothing from you but your absence."
With a flash of anger, the Virtue's face was transformed. No longer was he an sickly old man, pale and spotted, but a creature of rage, loosely held together by skin as thin as mayfly husks, and pressing from behind where his bones ought to be there were instead the jagged corners of trembling anger. The red silks, the golden crown, the simpering cardinals, they were players on a traveling stage, pieces of an act performed to convince this sickly, pathetic, crumbling wreck of a man that he was still powerful.
"You will beg for me to return," said the Virtue. "You do not know how great you can be. You will plead for my help. You are mere savages and—"
"Be quiet," Pareetha said. The shock on his face gave her a perverse pleasure. "You are not here to bore us with your delusions. You are here to listen."
The Virtue's scowl was mulish, like that of a child called before his mother to tell-tale of his own misdeeds. "I have heard the treaty a hundred times, woman. The dirt shall swallow me, my skin shall rot, an ugly crone will make my cock shrivel and drop off. Get on with it and let me be on my way."
It was what Pareetha had wanted for years. The Virtue before her, and a chance to speak. She could not make him hear the screams of those who had died on battlefields or the wails of orphaned children. She could not make him hear the wet wheeze of a last breath. The thump of a body falling to the ground, and another, and another, so many they became a drumbeat of horror in her nightmares. She did not have that power, but she had her voice, and she had intended to tell him of the wise women his soldiers had murdered, her mother and eight others, and the knowledge that had been lost. She had meant to rail at him, to thunder, to rage. She had imagined holding a knife to his throat, or a spear to his heart, until fear came into his weak, watery eyes. She would demand he acknowledge all he had destroyed. He would shrink into his robes, shamed and defeated.
Those intentions had been a daydream born of summer storms, when every new term laid upon the Virtue by other villages and clans had been a thrill, but the thrill had grown hollow as the days had passed. Pareetha could not know what her mother and the wise women would have chosen, had they lived. She could not remember her mother's voice, and she was tired. She was tired of this man, tired of his silks, tired of his stench, tired of his petulance. She had been tired for twenty years. There was a knotty core in her center that had not slept since the first time the Gates of Ice had trembled beneath the boots of the Virtue's army and she had fled into the woods with blood on her face and screams in her ears. The ash of her burning village had never cleared from her eyes. She did not want to endure his presence one moment longer.
Pareetha stood. "You will leave now."
"Will I?" the Virtue said, surprised but smiling. "You have drawn an old man from his warm carriage to be insulted and abused, and you do not even have your own terms to add to the treaty? Will you not threaten me with a witch-weaving of your own?"
"Your terms are this," Pareetha said, speaking slowly to hide her cold rage. He had no right to speak of the magic he had taken from them. He had no right to breathe even a suggestion of her mother's great, lost power across his vile tongue. "Your army may camp in the forest tonight, because your soldiers are weary and need rest. You have until midday tomorrow to cross the summit of the southern pass and leave the Gates of Ice and the lands of Sufa forever."
"And if I do not?"
She had no threat for him, and he knew it. She wanted to claw the smile from his face.
"You will," Pareetha said.
She turned and strode from the longhouse, Sevi right behind her.
When they were several paces away, another set of footsteps followed. It was Ona. Both the Virtue's soldiers and Pareetha's guards watched warily as the women faced each other.
Ona said, "You need not our presence endure much longer."
"Midday tomorrow," Pareetha said.
But what she wanted to do was grab the other woman's shoulders and shake her until she rattled and ask: Was it worth it? Is this what you expected when you left your home to follow a liar and a thief? Have you glory enough to fill your belly and bring your friends back from the dead? So many among the Virtue's army had offered their fealty to him willingly, even as he conquered their lands, even as he slaughtered their families and neighbors. It was said their belief in his righteousness was fueled by madness and magic and a desolate fear of defeat that was stronger than both. So many had believed his promises of riches and safety, basked in his praise, reveled in the scraps of glory he offered like a butcher leaving entrails for street dogs. They were of an age, she and Ona, and she wanted know: Why? Why do you serve him? Why did so many have to suffer?
These were not questions on Pareetha's tongue but rust, brittle and bitter.
Ona was looking at her, waiting.
"Is it your home too, the city of golden towers?" Pareetha asked.
A long pause, then Ona said, "It will be our home. This the good one has promised."
The yearning in her voice was simple and painful. Even now, she believed the name he had given himself. Even now, she clung to the tapestries of triumph he wove and blinded herself to the lies rotten him from within. What would it take to make them see, Pareetha wondered, but it was not a question so much as a sigh. They had nothing but their belief in him. He had destroyed everything else.
Pareetha turned away. She walked with Sevi toward the village. The air smelled of roasting meat and woodsmoke and, for a moment, her stomach turned. She did not watch the Virtue's pantomime of ceremony as he returned to his carriage.
Later, lying alone in her bed, Pareetha felt the storm change. The wind slackened; the snow thickened. Where before there had been icy pellets scouring the mountains, there was now a hush filled with expectation. The mud-and-log walls of the longhouse were thick, the earthen roof solid, but Pareetha felt as though there was nothing between her and the sky.
She rose from her pallet and dressed quietly in boots and furs. Sevi was a tangle of curly brown hair peeking from beneath the thick quilted blanket. Pareetha reached for her but did not touch. She let her daughter sleep and slipped outside. The village was quiet. The animals had been brought in for the night, the fires banked, the doors and shutters latched. A fire still glowed in the longhouse by the road. The guards emerged to see who was passing, then nodded and returned to the warmth.
Specks of light dotted the valley below. The campfires of the Virtue's army were made hazy and soft by the falling snow, winding through the forest like a snake made of stars.
When the Virtue first came to the Gates, Pareetha had been a woman of twenty-three, with a good man for a husband, strong and respected parents, one child clinging to her otter-skin boots, another growing in her womb. By the time the army had crossed the northern pass and roiled into Sufa, she had nothing. Her father and husband and child were slaughtered. Her mother and the other wise women had been dragged to their deaths behind stomping, frenzied steeds. The packed dirt pathways of White Bear had been churned into a bloody quagmire. Pareetha's bare feet, when she fled, had tracked blood all the way down the hillside and into the ancestor forest below.
She followed that same path now. Her mouth filled with the metallic taste of fear, never forgotten. The sky had been black with smoke that day, and arrows and flames had chased at her back as she tumbled and tripped down the rocky mountainside. Her chest ached from ragged breaths drawn and released decades ago. She remembered, briefly, the flutter in her womb: the final kicks of a child who would be stillborn before the next day dawned.
The ground leveled. The creek calmed. Beneath the dusting of snow, tufts of moss replaced the tumbling stones beneath her feet, and the echoes of the long-ago massacre faded. A thick mist rose from the ground, twisting through the trees, meeting the snow as it fell. In the heart of the forest was the grove where the wise woman of the Gates had been buried for centuries. The trees were smaller but older, gnarled twisted and so close together their branches formed a canopy of braids.
At the grove's eastern edge were nine wise women in nine trees, and the last was her mother.
Pareetha's knees cracked as she sank to the ground. She remembered the scent of flesh boiling from bones, mingled with the acrid smoke of the smoldering village and the cruel, taunting promise of early spring. The rite should have taken days, but there had been so many to bury and so few left to bury them, and they had hurried. The tree's rugged black bark was pale with frost. In the crevice that split its trunk, her mother's skull was collecting soft snow in its eye sockets.
"I named her for you," she said finally. "I haven't told her yet, but I think she knows."
Be careful how you speak to the ancestors, her mother used to say, because they hear what you mean more than the words you choose. It had been a long time since Pareetha had believed the ancestors were listening.
"She's going to be as tall as you were," Pareetha went on. "She's thirteen now."
Pareetha felt exhaustion in every limb, down to her bones. She felt herself sinking closer to the ground, her shoulders slumped, her head hanging. The skull's empty eyes were watching her.
"I don't know what promise you would have laid upon him," she said softly. "I don't know if you would have chosen mercy or pain. If you would have made his blood turn to ice if he did not leave, or his heart turn to stone—as though it isn't already. You might have asked the winter wind to scour the skin from his bones. I have imagined so many punishments, but I have no way to weave them. I cannot protect us. I cannot even make a threat that he won't dismiss with laughter."
The only answer was a whirl of mist and whisper of wind, and in it Pareetha heard not a promise of vengeance, but the gentlest scold. It was the scold of a mother, not a wise woman. A reminder that the Virtue may sneer at Pareetha's mountain home, he may revel in all he had taken from her and so many others, but he had not taken everything. She had a daughter who grew stronger and wiser every day. She had outlived the war that had taken parents, husbands, lovers, friends, children. She had food to fill her belly, furs to keep her warm, and strong walls to stop the wind. The people of Sufa had, in the end, triumphed. The invaders were leaving.
She did not understand the balance of loss and gain over the course of a woman's life, and she had no wise women to whom she could direct her questions. She still could not remember her mother's voice. She had, in this moment, only the quiet of the ancestor grove and winter's first snowfall, and in that quiet, in that peace, she breathed, and she listened.
Her mother's skull was wholly hidden by snow now. The tree could have been any tree.
With a sigh, Pareetha rose to her feet, knees cracking once again. She brushed snow from her coat and from her gloves. She turned away. She was not going to enjoy the long climb back to White Bear. She would take the road rather than the creekside trail.
When she came to the edge of the camp, she walked along the road until she found the Virtue's carriage. She only wanted to look upon it one more time, she told herself, but it was a feeble child's excuse behind a woman's dark impulse. Smoke still rose from the chimney. Snow dusted the pelts of its buffalo, resting in their harnesses, and the driver slept wrapped in a blanket on the bench. The only sign of motion was Ona, mounted upon her gray horse, plodding a quiet circuit around the carriage, down the line, back again.
Pareetha watched the woman make two full circuits. As she began the third, the horse balked suddenly, snorting and stomping at the frozen ground. The horse shied away from the edge of the road, and Pareetha's heart thumped. She stepped back, deeper into the shadows, then again. The mist had thickened while she was walking, but she had not noticed before now how densely it surrounded her, obscuring the trunks of the trees and wrapping the lowest branches in drifting, shifting shrouds. The wind had stopped. The snow fell lazily, without hurry. But the mist was restless with motion.
From the corner of her eyes, Pareetha saw a figure form to her left, a silhouette in the mist that dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. She stopped breathing and her heart stuttered. Another figure swirled to her right, and another. She turned, and they both vanished.
The fog stilled, and began to sink. On the road Ona's horse steadied.
Pareetha faced forward again. Her heart thumped so powerfully she felt it in her ears, her neck, her fingertips. Her eyes burned from the cold and her refusal to blink. She did not let herself look to the left or the right. Her neck ached with the effort of holding still. Snow gathered on the ground. A soldier coughed. A log settled on a campfire.
And finally, silently, the faceless figures returned. She did not look this time. She felt them as motion at the edge of her vision, as cold breaths of air at her back, featureless but for hints of what they had once been, always just out of sight. They crowded behind her. She was a line they would not cross.
She extended her hand to the side—slowly, slowly, as she might reach for a fox caught in a snare. A cold touch caressed her fingers. She dare not look at it directly. She would never know if it was gnarled from years of spinning wool or calloused from chopping wood. It might have been chubby and soft and small and yearning for comfort she could not provide. It might have been any hand. It might have been a trick of the air and light.
Be careful what you ask of the ancestors, her mother used to say. In Pareetha's thoughts her words were a whisper of pine needles trembling before a coming storm. Be careful, she had said, because they might answer.
There was a pain in the center of Pareetha's chest that tasted of laughter and tears. The cold slipped from her fingers. She closed her hand into a fist and pressed her knuckles to her mouth. A single sob escaped—a gasp, nothing more—and it was immediately echoed by a loud crack. It was the sound of wood breaking, loud enough to carry.
By the campfires, soldiers woke, startled by the noise. The buffalo snorted and stamped their hooves, waking their driver from his slumber. Heads turned; voices murmured. Nobody wanted to leave the warmth of the fire. They would have been telling stories of this wood as they made camp, if they had the strength for it. Ona's horse pranced and snorted. She soothed the startled beast, dismounted, and peered warily into the trees.
Pareetha held her breath, but Ona did not see her. She saw trees and mist, darkness and snow. She saw a forest like any forest, thick with fog, filling with snow, its ancient history hidden from her eyes. She did not belong here. She would not see anything else.
And because her attention was on the forest, she did not see what was behind her.
On the side of the red carriage was the Virtue's seal, a white heart wreathed in a golden sun. Pareetha had watched it rumble down the road all afternoon. She had watched it blot out the sky for twenty years. But now, through the gently falling snow, the Virtue's seal was no longer an unbroken circle of paint.
It had been sliced through by long dark lines that reached and splayed like the branches of a tree.
No. A fresh well of laughter filled Pareetha's throat. No, those dark lines were the branches of a tree. They had split the side of the carriage; firelight shone through small cracks. In that scant yellow light, Pareentha could see that the branches were dotted with small fresh leaves, so delicate and pale they trembled in the restless air.
The door of the carriage slammed open. One of the cardinals stuck his head out and barked an order at Ona. The words were frantic, the language ugly, but Pareetha understood enough.
Send for the camp physician, he said.
The Virtue was ill, he said.
He breathes, he said, but he won't wake.
Before Ona had even finished nodding, the cardinal vanished into the carriage and pulled the door shut. Ona pointed, and a young soldier raced to obey.
Pareetha pressed her fist to her lips again. She would cry. She would wail. She would yelp with joy. So many times she had imagined spilling the Virtue's blood. She had imagined wounds in his flesh, fear in his eyes, ice in his blood. She had imagined his skin turning waxy and pale with frostbite. If only she had her mother's power, she had told herself. If only the wise women had lived. If only their knowledge had not been lost. Twenty years of occupation and war, and Pareetha had never been able to imagine their power as anything but violence, its goals as anything but fear. She had been so certain, and so wrong. The laughter Pareetha had swallowed before threatened to burble up now, as hot and bitter as a mountain spring. She was a child again, giddy with all she did not know. The nine wise women were dead, their words lost, their voices silenced. But their blood had nourished this wood, and there was nothing, no army, no emperor, no violence, no invasion that could wash it away. The ancestors had been here all along, waiting for her to find a new way to hear them.
The camp physician hurried into the carriage. The guards were roused. It would not do to be caught lurking. Pareetha drew back into the shadows of the forest.
The Virtue still lived, but he would not wake. He was an old man. He had no successor or heir. He was defeated. He was ill. The knot of his power would fray with every mile the army marched. By the time they reached the golden city in its green hills—if there was such a place—his empire would be in shambles.
Pareetha could see it all as though it had already happened and her memories were fresh. She walked through the forest until the trees thinned and the canopy parted, and the wind stung her face, and the mountains loomed above her. A bank of clouds clung to the hanging valley where White Bear stood. The road, crooked and cold, would take her home. She began to climb.
The ancestors had chosen. Whether it was punishment or mercy was not for Pareetha to judge. Do not, her mother had once said, try to argue with them.
For the first time in years, her mother's voice was clear as starlight in Pareetha's memory.
© 2019 by Kali Wallace, all rights reserved
Kali Wallace studied geology and earned a PhD in geophysics before she realized she enjoyed inventing imaginary worlds more than she liked researching the real one. Her first novel for adults, the science fiction horror-thriller Salvation Day, is now available from Berkley. She is also the author of the young adult novels Shallow Graves and The Memory Trees and the middle grade fantasy City of Islands. Her short fiction has appeared in Clarkesworld, F&SF, Asimov's, Tor.com, and other speculative fiction magazines. After spending most of her life in Colorado, she now lives in southern California.


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The Red/Blue Tribal Civil War: Weimar Republic or Star Trek vs. Star Wars? Reply
by Keith Preston • Uncategorized
By Keith Preston
The statistical data that has been gathered on present political divisions in the United States indicates that the divide between Democrats and Republicans is the highest it's been at any point since the Civil War. In addition to the mainstream partisan divide, there has also been growing violence between extremist groups on the margins of the Right and Left. Some have invoked comparisons with the violence between the Nazis and Communists during the period of the German Weimar Republic between the two world wars. Others have compared the election of Donald Trump with the rise of the Third Reich after the failure of Weimar.
Yet, it would appear that such comparisons are a manifestation of the hyperbole that has come to dominate political life in the USA of the early 21st century. Germany during the 1920s was a nation that had been ruined by its defeat in World War One, with burdensome reparations having been imposed by means of the Treaty of Versailles, and having been stripped of most of its territories in Central Europe and overseas colonies. One of the conditions of the Versailles Treaty was that Germany was prohibited from having an army larger than 100,000 troops. Nearly four percent of the German population had died as a result of the Great War. The Great Depression was also very severe for the Germans with there being millions of unemployed and starving people. Democracy was also a brand new form of government for the Germans during Weimar, having only come into being at the end of World War I after the end of the traditional monarchy.
Political and economic conditions in the United States at present do not even remotely approach those of Weimar Germany in the 1920s. There has not been a war found on American soil since the 19th century, and there has not been a foreign war using conscripted soldiers with deaths numbering in the five figures or six figures in nearly half a century. While the military outcome of recent US wars has not been particularly successful, the actual number of American casualties has been merely a drop in the bucket compared to past wars, a mere 7200 in 16 years. There is some evidence that Trump's electoral victory was due in part to high rates of war casualties in the Rust Belt states, in addition to the problems these regions face economically. However, for most Americans the recent wars have been barely noticeable, and have been more of a nuisance than a major burden for the nation as a whole. It is other societies that have experienced genuine destruction because of recent American wars. It is also true that neither the Left nor the Right seems to have opposition to war as a primary issue of concern in the same way that opposition to the war in Vietnam was a major public issue in the late 1960s and early 1970s.
While the Great Recession of 2008-2009 was significant, it hardly compared with the Great Depression of the 1930s when people literally starved to death. The United States remains one of the wealthiest nations in the world in terms of overall economic development and living standards. It is certainly true that class divisions are now the widest they have been at any point in the past century, but most poverty in the US involves relative poverty, and not the absolute poverty that characterizes many underdeveloped societies. While absolute poverty is indeed growing in the United States, it continues to exist only in pockets, and has yet to reach the level of a national crisis. Far from being populated by a nation of starving people, the USA currently maintains the highest rate of obesity in the world.
As for questions involving claims of oppression, every leading indicator demonstrates that social groups that have traditionally been oppressed in the United States are now better off than ever. For example, while there are still significant disparities between white Americans and African-Americans in terms of wealth, education, and other factors, it is also true that the evidence indicates that African-Americans now a more successful population group than ever, and are more successful than any other nation with a large black population. The status of women, gays, and other traditional outgroups has also improved enormously in recent decades as well. This is not to say that there are not problems in these areas but it is also true that movements to oppose traditional forms of oppression have been so successful that the concept of "oppression" has come to be redefined in increasingly bizarre and implausible ways.
It is not only the Left but also the Right that is increasingly prone to assert claims of having been oppressed. For example, it is not uncommon for affluent, upper middle class whites to complain about their alleged serfdom imposed by means of taxes, even though tax rates in the United States are among the lowest of any industrialized democracy. There are persistent claims by 2nd Amendment advocates that the "right to bear arms" is under attack even though the United States clearly has gun laws that are among the most liberal in the world. There are constant claims of oppression being made by representatives of various religious communities of a more conservative bent. Yet the United States continues to have among the most liberal laws pertaining to religious liberty in the world. Conflicts regarding freedom of religion in the United States normally involve conflicting claims of civil rights, usually involving state run institutions, and not oppression in the traditional sense. For example, Russia recently banned the Jehovah's Witnesses, something that would never happen in the United States.
In recent times, there have been increased claims of denial of free speech rights. However, the United States continues to have among the most liberal free speech laws in the world thanks to thanks to the First Amendment. With one notable exception involving a situation where a foreign lobby has been able to exercise an excessive amount of power over US law, most threats to free speech and academic freedom in the United States come from the universities and the corporations, normally involving professional or economic sanctions being imposed on persons with disagreeable views, with both leftists and rightists being the victims. While this situation is indeed problematic, it is hardly comparable to the norm in traditional police states where dissidents are simply rounded up in the middle of the night, and imprisoned, tortured or executed without trial, and often in secret.
Probably the closest thing that currently exists in the United States to traditional forms of oppression such as slavery, genocide, religious persecution, ethnic persecution, the oppression of women and gays found in more traditional societies, etc. would be the system of mass incarceration that exists at present. It is interesting that the United States has only 5% percent of the world's population but 25% of the world's prisoners. There are also growing concerns about police militarization, police killings of civilians, and police brutality on a general level. Both the Left and Right have criticized growing trends towards overcriminalization in US law. However, these have remained only peripheral areas of concern for sectors of the Right, and not an issue of concern at all for much of the Right. The Left has generally criticized these developments only to the degree that there are racial disparities involved (hence, the development of the Black Lives Matter movement).
Given that recent wars have had very little impact on the lives of most Americans, the high living standards that continue to exist in the US for the most part, the ongoing improvement of the conditions of traditional outgroups, the relative absence of more traditional forms of oppression on a significant scale, and that mass incarceration and related issues remain an issue of only peripheral concern, one has to wonder what Americans are so divided about. What is the real source of the political division that currently exists in the United States?
The issue is clearly not economic frustration. The most recent polling data gathered by Gallup indicates that only about 20% of Americans cite economic issues as their primary issues of concern down from 80% during the peak of the 2008-2009 recession. Unemployment (7%) and the state of the economy generally (6%) are the only economic issues that any noticeable percentage of Americans are primarily concerned about. This data hardly reflects Weimar-like economic conditions. Issues such as the national debt, income inequality, or taxes barely even make the charts as issues of genuine public concern. Over 80% of Americans currently cite non-economic issues as their primary issue of concern. The most significant issue of this kind at present is "dissatisfaction with government/poor leadership" with 20% of Americans reporting this as their primary issue of interest. Healthcare is a close second at 17% percent with immigration and race relations tying for a distant third at 7% percent, and political disunity coming in fourth at 6%. Seemingly major issues such as the situation with North Korea, poverty, education, crime, terrorism, national security, and the environment were all cited by less than 5% of the US population as their primary issue of concern.
In other words, there is no single issue that a majority of Americans even come close to recognizing as a priority. The closest is the one-fifth of Americans who cite "dissatisfaction with government" on a general level as their primary social or political grievance. The fact that Americans express such an astounding lack of consensus concerning the issues they find to be the most significant could be explained in two possible ways. One of these would be that most Americans simply do not have that many problems, or at least none of a social, political, or economic nature that are all that serious. The other possible explanation would be that there are indeed many Americans with very serious problems, but the kinds of problems involved vary so widely among individuals and groups that there is nothing even remotely approaching a consensus on which problems are the most important. It is also quite likely that there are substantial numbers of Americans, perhaps even a majority, who really do not care about any issues at all as evidenced by the fact that nearly half of eligible voters, sometimes more, decline to participate in elections for major offices.
This data hardly indicates that Americans have reached a political situation resembling the Weimar Republic, or that they are inclined to do so at any point in the foreseeable future. The situation in Weimar Germany was one where a new democracy was being attempted in a nation that faced military and economic ruin, along with national humiliation. The Weimar regime was characterized by political instability and inertia to the point that imminently serious problems could not be effectively addressed. Consequently, the political Center was unable to hold, and otherwise moderate politicians began reaching out to the far fringes of the Left and Right in order to build constituencies for themselves. Additionally, avowedly revolutionary movements developed on the far right and far left that promised to abolish the failed republic and create an overtly authoritarian state which was more in keeping with the monarchist and Prussian military traditions of the Germans. Eventually, both the Nazi and Communist parties grew to the point that they were larger and more popular than the pro-republican parties. At this point, democratic government became an impossibility in Germany.
In very limited way, political conditions in present day America do resemble those of Weimar in the sense that the Center is very unpopular, and that centrist politicians continue to court elements among the cultural extremes as possible constituents. For example, the GOP since the 1970s has simply been about trying to create a constituency for the right-wing of the ruling class by inciting the most retrograde sectors of American society against all kinds of bogeymen (e.g. the kinds of people who seriously believed that Obama was a Kenyan with a transexual wife, and a liberal, a Communist, a Muslim and a fascist all at the same time). The Democrats response has been to reach out to the far fringes of the cultural left while moving rightward on foreign policy, economics, law enforcement, and all the things that actually matter ("Vote Democrat: Bombs, Poverty, Mass Incarceration and Transgender Restrooms").
It is also true that in more recent times violent fringe groups have emerged on the margins of U.S. society as evidenced by the conflagrations that have occurred in Charlottesville, Berkeley, Portland, and Washington this year, as well as lone nuts that have assassinated cops, attempted to murder Congressmen, or murdered African-Americans during a church service. However, the leadership of both political parties has been very quick to distance themselves from and marginalize extremists of a violent nature. However divided the political class may be over partisan interests, there remains a sharp consensus among elites against disruption on the margins. There is no evidence that this will change, and unlike Weimar, the United States has a centuries-long tradition of civilian democratic government.
It is very unlikely that significant numbers of either the elites or the general public would ever be receptive to the message of revolutionary totalitarian extremists such as neo-Nazis or neo-Communists. The United States at present is not a nation of restless youth, starving peasants, or demobilized soldiers driven by desperation but an aging population of fat and lazy people who think that managing to visit a gym once a month constitutes tremendous exertion. Not exactly revolutionary material. And in spite of the histrionics coming from the leftward end of the political spectrum over the supposed "fascism" of moderate Republican Donald Trump, the "Calexit" movement for California secession has thus far gained only very marginal support.
The present day Red/Blue tribal civil war in the United States would seem to be less of a case of a repeat of the failures of the Weimar Republic, and more analogous to the rivalry between the fans of "Star Tek" and "Star Wars," or the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox. People appear to choose their political affiliations on these basis of reference group influences, personality type and psychological makeup, admiration or dislike of individual personalities, and single issues of personal significance or interest such as health care, gun laws, or animal rights. People tend to purchase their political allegiances in package deals sold to them by their favorite websites, cable news networks, or radio personalities. Many fans of the Republicans no doubt base their position on trade policy on what they last heard coming out of the mouth of Sean Hannity or Laura Ingraham. If Sean were to come out in favor of a stereotypically liberal position (such as increasing subsidies for the treatment of people with HIV infection in Africa), he would likely be praised by his fans as a good Christian man who wants to help the unfortunate. If Michael Moore were to advocate for the same position, he would be lambasted as Communist who wants to waste the tax dollars of Americans on undeserving foreigners. Many fans of the Democrats will no doubt their positions on criminal justice reform on what they heard from Rachel Maddow or Trevor Noah. If Trevor were to call for more lenient criminal justice policies one week, his fans would be on board. If he called for a crackdown on crime three months later, his fans will likely do an about face on the issue as well. No doubt many people feel compelled to take positions on issues they know nothing about, and in their heart of hearts don't care about, on the basis of team loyalties ("Okay, this is what Colbert said about US-Cuban relations so my position is…"). This kind of groupthink functions in the same manner among more extreme political tendencies, and often with a much higher level of intensity to the point that people are willing to engage in violence over their respective tribal affiliations.
This is not to say that the fans of various political teams are not sincere. Fans of Star Trek and Star Wars have engaged in very sincere disputes with each other as well. Fans of rival sports teams can be very intense in their commitments. Our recent wave of "statue warriors" have nothing on sports fans in terms of their capacity for lethal violence. Still, with the exception of tiny fringe groups such as the neo-Nazis and Antifa, these conflicts are not existential in nature. They do not involve rivalries between cults offering competing visions of other-worldly utopias as was the case in Weimar, where the options presented were between a vision of a eugenically-engineered master race and that of a classless world of superabundance where poverty and suffering have been eliminated. Arguments about policies pertaining to voter identification requirements just don't have the same sex appeal. So not to worry, civilization will survive. In the meantime, break out the beer and popcorn, and enjoy the show.
A Blue Texas? Keep Dreaming
'Designating' Antifa a Terrorist Organization Is a Bad Idea

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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Vic Roads On-Ride: Evaluation of a large-scale trial of an on-road assisted ride program for newly licensed motorcycle riders
Home » Our work » Vic Roads On-Ride: Evaluation of a large-scale trial of an on-road assisted ride program for newly licensed motorcycle riders
This project evaluates a rider coaching program that is being trialled in Victoria for newly licensed riders. It will cover outcome, process and economic evaluations in order to inform road safety policy decisions on the implementation of a behavioural program for motorcycle riders.
VicRide is an on-road focused coaching program developed, on behalf of VicRoads, by the Monash University Accident Research Centre in conjunction with Honda Australia Rider Training and Learning Systems Analysis. It is a group program delivered on-road, as opposed to traditional classroom delivery. Two to three riders go on rides with an experienced riding coach trained by Honda Australia Rider Training on routes with both metro and rural riding environments.
There is one hour of discussion spread over the total four hour session. The rides are followed by group discussions to enable the riders to reflect on their own riding behaviour and to obtain feedback from the coach. The coach acts as a facilitator for the riders to learn and develop safe riding attitudes and behaviours through their direct experience by the riders. The trial was endorsed by the Victorian Motorcycle Advisory Council.
The project will ensure that interventions that are shown to be effective and cost-effective can be available for the community to reduce road trauma. This is not limited to saving lives but also saving the emotional grief associated with road injuries and death.
Lead(s):
Dr Chika Sakashita
Professor Rebecca Ivers
Honorary Professorial Fellow, Injury Division
Professor of Public Health, Faculty of Medicine, UNSW
Honorary Professor, Sydney Medical School, University of Sydney
Professor, Flinders University
Visiting Professor, Faculty of Health, University of Technology Sydney
External investigator(s):
Soufiane Boufous
Transport and Road Safety (TARS), UNSW
http://www.tars.unsw.edu.au/staffdirectory/boufous.html
Teresa Senserrick
Transport and Road Safety, University of New South Wales
http://www.tars.unsw.edu.au/staffdirectory/professor_teresa_senserrick.html
Jane Elkington
Liz de Rome
Partner(s):
Honda Australia Rider Training (HART)
http://hart.honda.com.au/
VicRoads
http://www.vicroads.vic.gov.au
Monash University Accident Research Centre (MUARC)
http://www.monash.edu.au/miri/research/research-areas/transport-safety/
Survey Research Centre, Edith Cowan University, Australia
http://surveyresearchcentre.ecu.edu.au
Evaluation of VicRide On-Road Coaching Program
Vic Roads pedestrian and cyclist crashes
A world first for motorcyclists safety
The Forgotten Road Users


or maybe check out the world's first "National Toilet Map" published by the Australian Government at www. Banks and lenders are refusing millions of would-be borrowers at the drop of a hat as lending restrictions become tougher by the day and less buyers with less money to spend equates to less chances of selling a home, at any price. This means effective use of the engine at all speeds from zero to one hundred miles per hour. Another, you might not just be aware of this but really, you will be able to aid of the reduction environmental and health hazard, which was certified by EPA or the U.
If you are looking for something subtle, but which can also have a certain striking element about it, then one thing to consider is the simple white picket fence. If that pig is meant to sing God will lead him to sing without your help. 1 Earth 4 Energy review refutes claims created by the developer relating to the price for completing the projects, namely the solar panel and the wind turbine, as well as the costs involved in acquiring the raw supplies and other components.com puts the dangers of rebound romance in perspective: "Many people who date on the rebound, unless you are highly conscious and are aware of the emotional dangers, pose the risk of causing hurt to yourself and to others you become involved with. It is often best to remove the doe to separate quarters to give birth, especially if she normally forms part of a colony.


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IYALOJA Comes Alive At Book Launch
Hon Kehinde Bamigbetan representing His Excellency Gov Akinwunmi Ambode
Chairman of the occasion Hon Yakub Balogun,Member Federal House of Representatives
Hon Lola Akande, Commissioner for Women Affairs and Poverty Alleviation making a remark
Representative of Her Excellency Mrs Abolanle Ambode, Mrs Ronke Adele making a goodwill message
Prince Jide Kosoko coordinating the launch
Cutting the posthumous 101 years birthday cake for Alhaja Abibatu Asabi Mogaji
Hon Adedamola Kasunmu flanked by his Dad and Prince Kosoko
Hon Adedamola R. Kasunmu rendering a special birthday song for his grand-mum to admiration of Prince Jide Kosoko and other attendees
Hon Adedamola Kasunmu making the Chief Host's opening remark
Iyaloja Book author flanked by the Launch Organizing Committe
Comrade Tayo Aderinola answering questions from media at the occasion
Author of the IYALOJA Book Comrade Tayo Aderinola in chat with the occasion's Chairman
Hon Kehinde Bamigbetan representing Gov Akinwunmi Ambode
Chairman of the occasion Hon Yusuf Balogun making his opening remark.
Iyaloja Book reviewer Otunba Tunji Sotimirin
Iyaloja of Ikeja Alhaja Adiat Apena, Hon Adedamola Richard Kasunmu and Comrade Tayo Aderinola
Yesterday 23rd October at the Eko FM Multipurpose Hall, Agidingbi the Iyaloja playlet was launched. The book was written by actor and dramatist Omotayo Aderinola.
The book is an academic approach to immortalize a worthy amazon and conceived to engender generational transmission of the good virtues of Alhaja Abibatu Mogaji for the youths of today to learn from in an intellectual entertaining manner.
The launch opened with the National Anthem and prayer from the Very Reverend Ayo Oyadotun, Chaplain of the Chapel of Christ The Light, Alausa, Ikeja. The chairman of the occasion Hon. Yakub Balogun who is representing Lagos Island at the Federal House of Representatives noted that Late Alhaja Abibatu Mogaji was a true amazon of the people, her kindness and virtue extended beyond market women and men.
The Special Adviser to the Governor on Communities and Communications, Hon. Kehinde Bamigbetan representing Governor Akinwunmi Ambode, eulogized the virtue of the late amazon whose role during and after the military era has influenced and given birth to so many leaders that are producing more leaders. He also made it known that late Alhaja Abibatu Mogaji at 31 years of age was a great grassroots mobilizer which she was tutored by the great leader of that time Madam Alimotu Pelewura, that shows that leadership requires apprenticeship which youths of today must embark upon before aspiring for leadership role.
Mrs. Aderonke Adele, who represented the First Lady of Lagos State, Mrs. Abolanle Ambode was also on hand to extol the virtues of Alhaja Mogaji and urged everyone present to buy at least one copy of the book. The Honourable Commissioner for Women Empowerment and Poverty Alleviation, Hon. Lola Akande described the late Iyaloja as an icon of women empowerment and appreciated the author for displaying ingenuity in identifying a creative approach to honouring the Iyaloja. Other dignitaries that graced the event include the Yeye Sewa of Lagos, Chief Mrs Kemi Nelson represented by Hon. Dayo Gbajabiamila, the Iyaloja of Ikeja and the Lagos State Chairman of the All Progressives Congress Otunba Henry Ajomale was represented by Chief Funso Ologunde, the Vice-Chairman of the APC Lagos-West.
The chief host, Hon. Adedamola Richard Kasunmu the grandson of Alhaja Mogaji, a member of Lagos State House of Assembly spoke at great length on some virtues he learned from the late Iyaloja and very happy to be part of the book launching because he believes the book will impart the world greatly and disclosed that mama life story must be dramatised to inspire generations to come. He also used the occasion to eulogize Asiwaju Bola Tinubu, espousing his qualities as a father, a leader, a great and distinguished mentor, and also his birthday mate.
The author, Mr. Omotayo Aderinola explained that the greatest virtue he will personally adopt to his life from mama's virtue is to be a voice to the voiceless because mama stood for the voiceless Nigerians when Nigeria needed one. He also promised to have the drama version of the book developed into a movie very soon.
The compere, veteran actor Prince Jide Kosoko, was in his element as he spoke glowingly of the late Iyaloja and brought the hall alive with his characteristic humour and enjoined the audience to embrace every effort to promote the virtues Alhaja Mogaji stood for. Another veteran dramatist, Otunba Tunji Sotimirin who reviewed the book, could be reported to have rendered a solo performance of the play as his review was not only complete but he captured the essence of every act in the play as he led the audience through the scenes. He particularly commended the playwright for deftly blending fiction with real life occurrences to heighten the drama effect.
Alhaja Abibatu Mogaji was born on the 23rd October 1916 in Lagos State, Southwestern Nigeria. She was the mother of the National Leader of the All Progressives Congress and former governor of Lagos State, Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Prior to her appointment as the President-General, Association of Commodity Market Women and Men of Nigeria, she was the vocal leader of the market women's association in Lagos State. In recognition of her contributions to trading in Nigeria, she was bestowed with National awards by the Federal Government of Nigeria. She also received several Honorary Doctorate Degrees from recognized Nigerian Universities, such as Ahmadu Bello University and the University of Lagos. She died on Saturday, June 15, 2013 at the age of 96 in her home at Ikeja, the capital of Lagos State and was buried at Ikoyi Vaults and Gardens in Lagos State.
A posthumous 101 birthday cake was cut on behalf of Mama by special guests and the book was unveiled by the Governor's representative, Hon. Kehinde Bamigbetan.
3,280 retirees approved to receive benefits in Q1 – PenCom
The National Pension Commission (PenCom) has approved 3, 280 applications for payment of retirement benefit under life annuity…
Sahara Reporters and a test of ethical journalism
The attention of Zamfara state Government has been drawn to a jaundiced crap called a story by Sahara Reporters where the medium alleged that His Excellency Governor Bello Mohammed (Matawallen Maradun) has given 15 Hilux vans and 'millions of naira' to repentant bandits who in turn, are now using the same vehicles to attack innocent communities in the state.
Chief Of Staff ' Tayo Ayinde' attends son's graduation in London
Wednesday 15th Of September 2021 was a day of celebration for the family of the Chief Of Staff To Lagos State Governor, Mr Tayo Akinmade Ayinde as one of his sons ' Taiwo Ayinde' who studied 'LAW' graduated from the Prestigious University of Hertfordshire, Hertfordshire England.
Police arrest 'mentally unstable' man for disguising as nurse in Lagos Hospital
The man who was arrested dressed in nursing uniform at the Maternal and Child Hospital in the Gbaja area of Surulere has been identified as 26-year-old Olamilekan Adeoye


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Q: Export test result in html file with selenium I use selenium to create my test then i export it to PHPUnit file and i use those commands :
java -jar selenium-server.jar to start server RC
and
phpunit test.php to run script
I need now to save the result into an HTML file.

A: phpunit test.php --testdox-html test.html
And more at PHPUnit Logging

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


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Българска тайна революционна организация "Братство" е първата българска тайна революционна организация, тя се създава в 1825 година в гр. Сливен от Иван Селимински привлякъл видни свои съграждани в нея.

Селимински, запознал се през пътуванията си с организациите за националноосвободителни действия на италианци като Карбонарите  в тяхното Рисорджименто, на унгарците, на славянските народи в Австрия (чехи, словаци, хървати, словенци, сърби и др.), с дейността на "Сръпската матица", сам член на гръцката "Филики етерия" чрез структурата на организацията "Братство" започва да привежда в изпълнение стратегическия замисъл за общи и съгласувани действия на българския народ срещу османската власт в случай на нов военен конфликт между Русия и Портата.

Учредители, програма и структура на българска тайна революционна организация "Братство"
Членове-учредители на "Братството" са: Иван Селимински, Добри Желязков фабрикаджията, хаджи Нойко хаджи Божилов, Коста Топракчиев, хаджи Христодул Топракчиев, Цено Коньов, хаджи Люцкан, Пасхал хаджи Кутьов, Бяно Абаджи, Мавроди Коджакара и Иванчо Куртев.  След Сливен организацията прави своя структура и в Шумен, създадена от Селимински в октомври 1827 г., нейни членове резидират и развиват дейност в Букурещ, във Виена, в Цариград, в Русия и естествено в България.

Програма на тайната организация "Братство":

 "Братството" написва и приема своя официална, затова и безобидна на пръв поглед, програма в която се определя, че всеки член на Братството е длъжен:

1. Да бди за личната безопасност на членовете на "Братството" в какъвто и да е случай.

2. Да обезпечава и покровителства в случай на смърт на някой от членовете неговото семейство до навършване на пълнолетие от децата му или до създаването на добро положение на непълнолетните.

3. Да съдейства за увеличаването на имота и повдигането на авторитета на всеки един с помощта на другите членове на "Братството".

4. Да се създаде една обща каса от помощи на братствените членове, чиито капитал да се увеличава постепенно; тя да се управлява от членовете на "Братството", като се сменят всяка година по решение на "Браството".

5. Даже привличането на какъвто и да е друг гражданин да не се прави без общо решение.

6. Който брат издаде тайните като Юда, да бъде зачертан от списъка и кодекса на "Братството" завинаги и вече да не го поздравлява.

Дейност
В първия период от дейността му "Братството" не излиза извън нейните рамки. Това дава възможност за развитието на организацията като централизирана структура с възможности за мащабна дейност в социално-икономическо направление.

Във втория период се минава съвсем скоро като Ив. Селимински открива пред членовете на "Братството" истинските подбуди за създаването на тази особена и тайна организация. Полагайки клетва за вярност, членовете фактически образуват и първото българско революционно съзаклятие. С това започва и вторият период в дейността на организацията, която междувременно е успяла да овладее ръководните постове в еснафските организации (лонджи), изтласквайки по този начин обществено активните дотогава чорбаджии-гръкомани и нелоялните към българския народ заможни граждани-проповедници на фанариотското влияние в културно-духовния и обществен живот на българите в град Сливен. За целите на организацията Иван Селимински отваря в града и училище с преподаване на естествени и хуманитарни науки. Главната му цел при учебните занятия е да даде на младежта "известно нравствено образование според преобладаващите в света тогава свободолюбиви идеи". Това е крайно наложително предвид състоянието на народа за което руския дипломат Фонтон, който заедно с щаба на генерал Дибич прекосил българската етническа територия пише:

"Не може да се разбере как такова състояние е могло да трае така дълго, особено ако се обърне внимание на това, че турското народонаселение е малобройно и, така да се каже, е разпръснато между християнското. Това се обяснява само с туй, че българските племена, разделени едно от друго с естествени граници и разклонения на Балкана, нямат още чувство за обща народност, нито силата, която дава единството. Българите от Добруджа, Румелия, Софийския и Видинския пашалъци сякаш съставят отделни области, които нямат помежду си преки сношения. Дори във всяка отделна част не се е още родило съзнанието, че независимостта може да бъде добита с общи усилия. ... Чувството за общо въстание, чрез което да се освободи от омразното иго, като даде временни жертви, още се покои в неговото (на българина) простодушие. Но ще дойде време и за това. От преселилите се в България от по-рано българи мнозина са получили солидно образование в Одеския лицей и в Московския университет. Други от Казанлък са били дори и в Европа и са се заселили в недрата на балканските клисури с чувство за народност и независимост. От тях ще зависи разпространението на тези мисли сред народните слоеве и следователно, техният успех.".

В навечерието на Руско-турската война (1828 – 1829) организацията на "Братството" започва въоръжаването на хора за създаването на въоръжени отряди, складове за оръжие и храни из Балкана. Организира се разузнаването на решенията на турското правителство. Активизират се и българските политически лидери в Дунавските княжества. Дейността и структурите му в Сливен, Шумен и други населени места се поставят в услуга на руското военно командване.

Председателя Селимински и членове на организацията са сред най-активните в Букурещ, станал пак център на политическата емиграция. Взаимодействат с Димитър Попски и Александър Павлович Некович – племенник на арестувания през 1828 г. в Цариград сподвижник на Софроний Врачански и негов пратеник при руския цар Атанас Некович. Александър Павлович Некович е определен български княз от планиращите антиосманското въстание през 1821 г. на българи власи и гърци при успех на въстанието , а в 1828 г. за пълномощен представител "депутат" на българите от българската емиграция и дошли от поробените предели. В качеството си на такъв той оглавява депутация явила се във военния лагер в Шумен, където бил отседнал Императара, който не пожелат да ги приеме, и затова връчила на 30 юли 1828 г. на главнокомандващия руските войски в България молба до Царя да се дадат на българския народ същите права и покровителство, с които се ползват Сърбия, Влашко, Молдова и Гърция, но царското правителство дори не я разглежда. Въпреки това политически активните кръгове от емиграцията и във вътрешността на страната поставят ударението върху помощта на настъпвашите на юг руски войски, надявайки се този съществен принос на българите за победата във войната да бъде зачетен.

Когато русите и съпровождащите ги българи щурмуват на 30 юли 1829 г. средоточения в Сливен 20 000 османски корпус, турците най-неочаквано са ударени съкрушително от български отряд въстаници, въоръжени с укрито оръжие и боеприпаси от несъстоялото се Сливенско въстание през 1821 и от тукашния комитет на освободителното тайно "Братство" на Иван Селимински, противника бързо е разгромен от общия напор на руси и българи.

 След подписването на Одринския мирен договор на 2 септември 1829 г. Селимински, макар привърженик на въстанието като метод за освобождение, се противопоставя на подготовката на въстание от кап. Георги Мамарчев, неговата част и дейци от Сливен, Котел и околните им села и пише доклад срещу тях до руското командване защото преценява, че липсата на подготовка, средства, оръжие и боеприпаси и храна е предпоставка за разгром на въстаническите сили и при липсата на споразумение с други градове на България за общо действие, както и на закрила от Велика сила или съседска страна локалният характер на въстанието ще доведе едниствено до кланета и разоряване на въстаналите селища.

Действия за създаване на Автономно българско княжество в Добруджа в 1830
Въпросът за автономията на България намира израз в Проекта за създаване на автономно българско княжество в Добруджа в началото на 30-те години на ХІХ век, чиято цел е да послужи като база и импулс за по-нататъшните усилия на българския народ за разширяване на неговите права и самоуправление. Иван Селимински пише: "По това време (1830 г.) мнозина от нашите сънародници въодушевени от един и същи дух, гледаха да използват тогавашното състояние на Турция за общото благо на народа. Едни мислеха едно, други – друго, а сънародниците ни и ревнители за славата на нашия народ господата Васил Ненович, Михаил Кифалов, Васил Елихер, хаджи Христо хаджи Жеков, Йордан Дебелеев, Радо Сарафов, Симеон Априлович, Васил хаджи Михаил, Анастас Стоянович Кипиловски и др. се обединяват около идеята за образуване на "Българско княжество в Добруджа".

Тази идея е в резултат от промените на Балканския полуостров след Одринския мирен договор. Политическата инициатива е демонстрация на собствените възможности на българските водачи за самостоятелно разрешаване на националния въпрос посредством поставянето на българските искания пред Високата порта. Проектът е представен на Дивана (държавния съвет) на Влашко и той не възразява. С него е ангажиран и княз Стефан Богориди, който представя идеята пред турските власти, от които сам е част. Подозренията на Цариград, че тази българска инициатива е инспирирана от руския двор, както и недостатъчната настойчивост и идейно-политическа мотивация на Богориди, усложняват ситуацията около подготвяното от българската емиграция в Букурещ пратеничество за Цариград и в крайна сметка не довеждат делото до успех.

Резултати
Инициативите на членовете на "Братството" след военния успех при Сливен и политическитата активност пред русите не успяват да извоюват пряк политически резултат, тъй като дейността ѝ в периода около войната – 1825 – 1831 не е насочена към подготовка за общонародна широкомащабна революционно-освободителна борба на българския народ, а има по-скоро актуалната тогава в Европа форма на съзаклятие и преклонение пред благоволението на чужди.

Действията на политически активните кръгове от емиграцията и във вътрешността на страната постепенно поставят ударението върху развитието на революционно-освободително движение вътре в България, но активността е непосредствено ограничена и във връзка с тогавашната руска политика и военна кампания на Изток. Станалите политически действия обаче са основополагане на политическа борба, тъй като до тая война нито българските обществени дейци са подготвили всестранно въпроса за освобождението на България пред руското и западноевропейското обществено мнение, нито ръководните руски военни и политически кръгове са разбирали добре ситуацията, в която се намират поробените българи, а и те самите едва сега започват да формулират достатъчно ясно своите искания и програма. Израз на това е "Молбата на християните от с. Факия", връчена в декември 1829 г. на Феликс Петрович Фонтон, дипломат към действащата армия, от стопанина на къщата, в която е настанен. Тя съдържала шестнадесет точки, разкриващи най-важните искания на българите от този край: "Да будем сами волни. Да мы сами себя да судимо. Да мы черкви правим, когда и где захотим. Субаши да няма нигде. Да мы оружие носимо..."

Кипежът, предизвикан от българите след събитията в първата половина на 19 век, в който Българска тайна революционна организация "Братство" заема своето място, закономерно довежда до подема в националното съзнание и в освободителното движение, довел до разгръщането на просвещението, създаването на Българската Екзархия и революционната борба, поставила спрямо това от началото на века Русия и Европа в качествено ново положение за българското освобождение и в крайна сметка постигнала го с Освободителната руско-турска война 1877 – 1878 и Сан Стефански мирен договор.

Вижте също
 България под османска власт
 Руско-турска война (1828-1829)
 Български доброволчески корпус и отряди на кап. Георги Мамарчев, полк. Иван Липранди, Стойко Маврудов и пр. 1928-1829 г.
 Въстание в Тракия 1829

Източници и литература

Български въстания срещу Османската империя
Българско възраждане
Руско-турска война (1828 – 1829)
Тайни общества
История на Сливен
Български революционни организации
Организации в Сливен
Основани в Османската империя през 1825 година

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


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Once seated the light was immediately absent. Completely absent. The only thing Ash could see was the flashes of white dots dancing around his eyes from having been in the light moments earlier. What utter and stark contrast to the room he was in. The sound... or lack of sound... in this room was astonishing. It was though sound itself was being sucked out. He could hear nothing but a ringing for the first few minutes. After a while, the ringing subsided and he could hear the beating of his own heart, and the sloshing of bodily fluids throughout his own body.
Eventually, after what felt like an hour, but it was probably only minutes, he found that even these sounds faded into the background of his attention. He could almost hear his own thoughts. As though that voice in his head, that was always present, telling him what to do, and where to go, and how to act, watch out for that... don't say that... oh man, why did you do that for? It was as though the inner voice became almost audible. As though he could hear himself think. Or rather as though his thoughts could speak to him audibly. It was an odd sensation, but occupying his mind was the only thing he could do. He'd never admit it to a captor, but solitary confinement was his favorite part of being a prisoner of war. He enjoyed self time, and silence. Accusation follows on the heals of this. Anytime he's alone, it starts. What you should have done differently.
His concentration snapped into focus suddenly with the feeling that he was not alone in this room. He'd known before he entered the room that camera, most likely equipped with monitoring capabilities were on him, and he was being observed... but that wasn't it. He felt the air in the room change, as though someone had entered the room with him. He could hear breathing in the room. He wasn't tied to the chair, he could get up, but where to? He couldn't see, he'd memorized the layout though. He knew the entrance he came from, and he didn't see any other known entry ways. Ash slowed his breathing, and observed with his four remaining senses for any clue as to the whereabouts and intention of the new participant.
Good, good... let's see how he does. The previous test subjects had no where near the discipline that Mr. Ashlund does. This should be an interesting observation.
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John Michael, (after) Rysbrack
John Bluck
A View of the Royal Hospital at Chelsea & the Rotunda in Ranelagh Gardens / Vüe de l'Hopital Royal des Invalides à Chelsea et de la Rotonde dans les Jardins de Ranelagh Auprés de Londres
Thomas Bowles (1712 - 1767)
Elizabeth, Queen of King George VI, The Queen Mother (1900-2002)
Sir Gerald Festus Kelly (1879 - 1972)
The West View of the Tower of London
Coronation of H M George IV: The Recognition 1821
Matthew Dubourg
James Stephanoff (c.1788 - 1874)
Hypurotila Urocherysia (Humming Bird Series)
Sir Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640) Artist and Diplomat: Self Portrait
Peter Paul, (After) Rubens
Edwin La Dell (1914 - 1970)
Balanced Battle
Alan Oram
Farmyard Birds in a Landscape
Clown and Cat
George Campbell (1917 - 1979)
Gondola II
Margret Kroch-Frishman (1897 - 1972)
Woman and Cat Sleeping at a Table
Neil Shawcross (1940 - )
Mary of Teck (1867-1953) Queen Consort of King George V
William, (After) Llewellyn
Euchephala Caeruleo-Lavata


FERMT3 (kindlin-2) role in proline synthesis and tumor growth.Kindlin-2 regulates proline synthesis through PYCR1.
Title: Kindlin-2 links mechano-environment to proline synthesis and tumor growth.
kindlin-3 is dispensable for integrin-mediated T cell progenitor adhesion and signalling at low and indispensable at high shear forces.
Title: Differential requirement of kindlin-3 for T cell progenitor homing to the non-vascularized and vascularized thymus.
Title: IL-1β Induces Pathologically Activated Osteoclasts Bearing Extremely High Levels of Resorbing Activity: A Possible Pathological Subpopulation of Osteoclasts, Accompanied by Suppressed Expression of Kindlin-3 and Talin-1.
Structure and lipid-binding properties of the kindlin-3 pleckstrin homology domain has been reported.
Title: Structure and lipid-binding properties of the kindlin-3 pleckstrin homology domain.
Mice expressing as little as 5% of kindlin-3 were viable and protected from spontaneous bleeding and infections. In vitro platelet functions, leukocyte adhesion, extravasation, and bacterial clearance were diminished. Bleeding time increased.
Title: Minimal amounts of kindlin-3 suffice for basal platelet and leukocyte functions in mice.
The accumulation of HSPCs in the circulation of leukocyte adhesion deficiency type III patients, who lack Kindlin-3, underlines the conserved functions of Kindlin-3 in man and the importance of our findings for human disease.
Title: Kindlin-3-mediated integrin adhesion is dispensable for quiescent but essential for activated hematopoietic stem cells.
Optimal T cell activation and B cell antibody responses in vivo require the interaction between Integrin beta2 and kindlin-3.
Title: Optimal T Cell Activation and B Cell Antibody Responses In Vivo Require the Interaction between Leukocyte Function-Associated Antigen-1 and Kindlin-3.
Direct binding of kindlin-3 to integrin alphaIIbbeta3 is involved in supporting integrin alphaIIbbeta3 activation and integrin alphaIIbbeta3-dependent responses of platelets and consequently contributes significantly to arterial thrombus formation.
Title: Direct interaction of kindlin-3 with integrin αIIbβ3 in platelets is required for supporting arterial thrombosis in mice.
ADAP interacts with talin and kindlin-3 to promote platelet Integrin alphaIIbbeta3 activation and stable fibrinogen binding.
Title: ADAP interactions with talin and kindlin promote platelet integrin αIIbβ3 activation and stable fibrinogen binding.
the requirement of Kindlin-3 for effector T cells to induce alpha4beta1 and alphaLbeta2 integrin ligand binding and stabilization of integrin-ligand bonds is critical when integrin ligand levels are low, but of less importance when integrin ligand levels are high.
Title: Kindlin-3 regulates integrin activation and adhesion reinforcement of effector T cells.
Homologs of the Fermt3 gene: The Fermt3 gene is conserved in human, chimpanzee, Rhesus monkey, dog, rat, and zebrafish.


With a theme of "The Challenge of Change" the upcoming seminar will tackle the issues of most importance to producers and their industry. Dramatic increases in feed costs and severe market challenges have producers searching for solutions. The first plenary speakers, two leading, large production units in North America, will address how they measure success in their operations.
Jason Logsdon, CEO of The Maschhoffs, one of the largest family owned production networks in North America, will speak on "Performance metrics in a high growth environment." Steve Pollmann, president of Murphy-Brown's Western Operations, the world's largest producer of pork products, will talk on "True measures of successful pork production."
The Thursday morning plenary session entitled "New partnerships" has two speakers on the major livestock industry challenge of animal welfare and how to build better partnerships in the value chain to deal with this issue.
Chad Gregory, President and CEO of the United Egg Producers will lay out the innovative plan between his group and the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) which dramatically changed the egg business in that country. Wes Jamison, highly regarded researcher and speaker from Palm Beach Atlantic University will address "Advocating for our future."
There are more networking opportunities built into this year's program compared to past years, says Dr. Ruurd Zijlstra, of the University of Alberta, Banff Pork Seminar Program Director. The Seminar starts Tuesday afternoon with a reception featuring the latest pork products prepared by the Banff Centre chefs. Thursday ends with a "Boar Pit session with industry leaders on the firing line for questions from the floor. A closing networking reception follows.
In between attendees can get some of the most practical advice from the popular breakout sessions. There are 11 of these sessions featuring top speakers from across North America and overseas on core issues.
One other change of consequence for the upcoming Seminar is a more centralized location for all parts of the event. All sponsor booths will be in one, much larger location, with full-time coffee centres to support a comfortable atmosphere for visiting booths and networking. Rooms for all presentations will also be nearby.
Registration, accommodation and full program information is available on the Seminar website at www.banffpork.ca. More information is also available by email at or by contacting Heather Ball, conference manager by phone at (780) 492-3651. Registration includes a copy of the proceedings.


text:
English sentences with anytime except for in context,
4 exact matches
Plus, you can switch majors anytime except for impacted major, which you need to apply to get in.
Anytime except for the summer.
But I can rhythm next to James anytime except for Frayed Ends.
So buying it now is as good as anytime (except for VAT).
The majority of those quarterbacks aren't going anywhere anytime soon except for maybe either Matt Ryan or Phillip Rivers, and the only one of those two I'd take is Rivers.
I don't think I'll be going back to a traditional knife anytime soon, except for whittling wood.
Either there's a shadowy cabal that's flawlessly covered its tracks except for this one girl, or Jackie, who is the kind of girl who would make up a fake person to play up to her friends, is also the kind of girl who would lie about a rape as a means of disposing of said fake person.
You're basically me except for Texas.
I put everything in the sdb except for the books which I read to my Kyrii and those treasure chests, which I threw away.
Except for that one time a cop flash bang grenaded a baby.
No one got fined except for one car that was parked around the wrong way.
It's not, technically, except for the noodles
Except for that minor detail where the circlejerk you are referring to literally does not exist.
Crits multiply whatever damage you would have done by the headshot multiplier of the enemy (at least 2x damage on overkill and below), except for on dozers where it's just a flat 2x multiplier.
Inspecting a knife (except for Karambits) shows the backside first.
It's not even good (except for lakeshow, he's good)
We tried it with multiple devices and it seemed to work with all of them except for my tablet.
I am not sure really what to say except good for you for doing what you needed to do for YOU and your own sanity and well being!!!
Except for, you know, the Alzheimer's.
"except for me announcing it here"
Preferably if all future good guy characters could be trans multi-racial midgets in wheel chairs with a penchant for all things cat related (except for naturally made vaginas)... yeah that would be just great.
Except for the rare case where an issue is confirmed to be user profile specific there is little value in having user passwords at all.
you can feed off all your regular metal dragons except for gold dragon.
Got nothing but radiant mats and duplicates (raid boots, Hunger of Crota) except for the ship, which is honestly pretty shit.
Your post has been removed automatically because all images, except for infographics, must be submitted in text posts.
He then stormed off without saying goodbye to anyone and everyone was left shocked and in silence - except for me who found it the best part of the night and laughing up a storm.
No image loads on the monitor except for the monitor's own things like "Check signal cable."
Yes, except for blade samples...
Except for the man with two dicks.
She then said that I wasn't allowed to have any flowers except for fake ones.
Except for him.
It's speed holds it back from doing much except for being a powerful wallbreaker, which is what Huge Power will let it be.
It has no flaws as a game whatsoever, except for the fact that there's not a lot of extra things to do other than the minigames in the Sandbox level.
Y, except for the billions of games that are played every week.
Except for the grind.
She has done nothing except feel afraid for her and her children's safety, which is 100% reasonable and justified.
No one would have picked him in the third round except for us.
Every single comparison is incorrectly stated except for "things healthier than 14-15 Spurs."
Its extremely smooth to ride in, except for its idle which can rumble quite a bit but its no bother to most people.
Except for Adam, he told him exactly how to fix it so that the join would be even stronger than before.
Yup, except for the preachers who yell hate speech every once in a while.
Dont think I have ever seen a wood house except for vacations up north.
I never dress up, except on NYE for shits and giggles.
No more free skins except for Dreadknight Garen on NA
Send presents to everyone he/she knows except for him/her.
Except for that cornbread.
Damian just stops...it's dead quiet except for John's wimpers.
I'm tempted by this except for reports of the atrocious trigger.
Yeah except for me it's more like picking fights with people in my head.
Aside from that, the only other time I've heard the BBC on regular radio (except for scheduled World Service broadcasts) was 9/11.


For Eva, the hotel adventure started back in November 2008 as receptionist at the former Zleep Hotel Airport close to Kastrup in Copenhagen.
Stockholm the company's appetite has been whetted for more.
The fast-growing Danish hotel chain, Zleep Hotels, takes on more staff and undergoes yet another redeployment caused by organizational growth.
Where 2018 has been a year of preparation for the Danish hotel chain, Zleep Hotels, the chain will in 2019 finally be able to show how the preparations will bear fruit.
On January 14th, 2019 Zleep Hotel Upplands Vasby is opening with 152 rooms.


On this page you'll find all the different colors of 1 mm waxed cord that are in stock. If you have any questions you can always contact us.
This waxed cord has a thickness of 1 mm. The price is €0,30 for 1 meter. If you order more than 1 meter, you'll receive this as 1 length.


Woollaston Estates, Organic wine grower & producer of fine wines.
We look forward to welcoming you here at Woollaston Estates, the only organic vineyard and winery in Mahana, Nelson. We have a Cellar Door that is open for wine tastings, bistro food, and an art gallery to wander around, with a stunning vista over the Upper Moutere and Tasman Bay it is one of the most scenic wineries in the top of the South Island. With organic wines that are complexed and intriguing and seasonal local produce to match your visit to Woollaston Estates will be second to none and an experience you will keep coming back for.