text:
Duy Thu is een xã in het district Duy Xuyên, een van de districten in de Vietnamese provincie Quảng Nam.

In het oosten van de xã ligt de Vliegbasis An Hòa. Deze vliegbasis is buiten gebruik, maar werd tijdens de Vietnamoorlog wel gebruikt. In het westen stroomt de Thu Bồn.

Duy Thu heeft ruim 5000 inwoners op een oppervlakte van 12,6 km².

Zie ook
 Lijst van administratieve eenheden in Quảng Nam

Quảng Nam
Xã in Vietnam

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


Your portable LED lamp with a built in power bank is available in your choice of black or white. It features dual USBs, 8 watt LED light, 4 stage dimmer, 3 lighting modes as well as a 10000 mAh built in power bank for portable lighting use. It is rechargeable and cordless. Perfect for students/on the go lighting. Various lighting modes for all your needs. It also has sleek touch activated buttons to toggle between lighting modes and dimming modes. It provides soft light for reading, bright LED for macro and close up and regular lighting for daylight. It also has a 4 stage dimmer toggle to customize your lighting needs and provides up to 8 hours of wireless lighting.


We can pay EPF or KWSP ourselves (self contribution) online using Maybank2U. A person or a owners who do not get salary (own business) is encouraged to participate the "EPF Self Contribution". However, the minimum contribution payment amount is RM50 for every transaction and maximum of RM 60,000 yearly.
There are many advantages of "EPF Self Contribution". The dividend rate of the EPF is always higher than Fixed Deposit Rate provided by bank. Besides, we can get tax relief up to RM 6000 under "Life insurance and EPF" types.
2. The system will show the account which already registered by ourselves previously. Click "EPF Registered Payment". Click "Add" to add new EPF account if we haven't register our account.
3. Select the "Self Contribution".
4. Key in the amount.
5. Click confirm and success.
I just want to confirm, for personal contribution EPF account will be same as the existing EPF account that we are holding (with employer)?
As some one told me, we need to apply another account for self-contribution from EPF before we can invest online?
If my salary is 70k per year…. can i contribute 60k to EPF?… i wish to put my saving money into EPF.
I think should be no problem.
Can pay self contributions through Cimb Click ?? Can you show me step by step pls….
The transaction can show immediately at our EPF online account? How to trace?
No immediately. Take a few working days to update in the system. You can check online.
Do you key in your EPF number correctly? And check again your bank account number.


Last week was a particularly good one for the mail. It's been like a summer time birthday for me, a November baby! Out of the blue came a package from Linda at Colorplay Fibers. I met Linda last year at the Blue Moon Fiber Arts Sock Camp on Orcas Island. She has a beautiful blog and also has started hand dyeing sock yarn in luscious colors. She sent the handmade bag, Sugar n' Cream and dishcloth pattern, as well as some tea and jelly beans (long gone!). Thank you so much, Linda!
Then, this package came from Alicia at Lucy's Quilts. I didn't figure out that it was the Four Seasons Summer Quilt Swap until it was opened. What a sweet little quilt! It's it funny that she put those yo yo flowers on hers like I did on mine. Thank you so much, Alicia. This one is even hand quilted and embroidered. Lovely work!
I'm getting together the packages for the aforementioned Clare and Tricia. However, it's your lucky day because today is my 3rd Blogiversary! I would like to give away one more package of these quilt blocks. I've been calling them blocks, but in reality they are quilt units. They are all different sizes and are not squared up. They do give you a head start on your own scrap quilt though. I hope that everyone who receives them will send me a photo of the finished product that I can post here. No rush on finishing though!
So, here's the new deal. Post a comment here and tell me something about your summertime adventures (or winter, as the case may be). I'll pick a random person to win a prize! Comments close on Thursday, July 31 at midnight PDT. Good luck! These photos are from the rafting tour we took with my dad and sister through Big Eddy here in Bend. These are class 3 rapids, and so much fun!


Canned vegetables and fruits, canned meats, and boxed dinners are always in great demand and short supply. Hold a Food Drive today.
From sorting canned food donations to packing food for children, our volunteers make a big difference in the community.
Adequately funding and promoting the government nutrition programs is essential to ensuring people in need can access them.
When you donate to the SEMO Food Bank your donation has a big impact. Every dollar you donate provides 4 meals to struggling families!
we're on a mission and you can help.


(NaturalNews) Studies in the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey (NHANES) trial looked at study participants to correlate the risk for gout attacks when compared to blood lead levels in the body. What they found was that blood levels of lead predisposed gout victims to episodes of gout but that purine levels were not a factor. People without gout had no more or fewer levels of purines as compared to people that did have gout. But the gout people did have higher lead levels.
Toxic blood levels of lead in children are currently set by the CDC at five micrograms per deciliter (µg/dL). For adults, blood levels of lead are considered "elevated" by the time they reach 25 µg/dL. According to study findings, individuals with blood urine lead levels in the 1.40 -2.10 µg/dL range (notice that this is below acceptable lead levels in children) had a 94 percent greater risk of gout attacks along with a 70 percent greater risk of elevated uric acid levels. The researchers also found that blood lead levels as low as 1.20 µg/dL can increase gout attacks.
50 to 75 percent of the US population has blood lead levels in the 1.40- 2.10 µg/dL range as reported by the CDC.
"All of this suggests there's no such thing as 'safe' or 'acceptable' lead levels," said study leader Dr. Eswar Krishnan, of Stanford University School of Medicine. Krishnan also noted that the average blood lead level in the U.S. is 3 mcg/dL.
So where does this lead come from? Besides on-the-job exposure to lead, people also inhale lead through cigarette smoke or lead-containing dust from deteriorating lead-based paint in an older home, drinking from old lead solder and lead water pipes, cooking on glass and enamel coated cookware, coming in contact with lead contaminated children's toys and jewelry, touching sun-baked plastic furniture and other outdoor toys and fixtures and also from hobbies, like working on old cars, or making glazed pottery and stained glass.
Gout can be very painful and is a form of arthritis that attacks joints in the body, mostly the big toe. The symptoms of gout can occur when an excessive buildup of uric acid in the body forms painful crystals in the joints. These crystals are monosodium urate or uric acid crystals deposited in the articular cartilage of joints, tendons and surrounding tissues provoking an inflammatory reaction of these tissues. The buildup of uric acid can lead to sharp uric acid crystal deposits in joints, deposits of uric acid lumps under the skin called tophi, and kidney stones from uric acid crystals in the kidneys.
Allopathic medicine is notorious for managing symptoms while root causes go on wreaking havoc unabated. ALL diseases have causes that can be found and remedied so the symptoms go away. The same is true of gout. Allopathic medicine throws drugs at this condition without ever looking for root causes. Treatment plans for gout usually include the obligatory "cut back on proteins" which helps the patient manage the symptoms of gout but does not treat the cause.
In the book "Prescription for Nutritional Healing," Certified Nutritional Consultant and nutrition researcher Phyllis A. Balch, states that alfalfa has a detoxifying effect on the body and aloe vera juice may help remove metals from your digestive tract. Chlorella and cilantro are also natural chelators that can absorb toxic metals like lead.
If you are experiencing either gout or elevated purine levels (hyperuricemia), then consider having your blood levels checked for lead and other heavy metals. In the mean-time, avoid any and all contact with lead and take the herbs mentioned above. These herbs won't harm you if taken in normal doses and may actually help you live longer and healthier.
Krishnan E, Lingla B, Bhalla V. Low-level lead exposure and the prevalence of gout. Ann Int Med. 2012;157:233-241.


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#### TEACHING INFORMATION

**College**: College of Arts and Sciences

**Classes taught**: PHIL 1000, PHIL 1200, PHIL 3010, PHIL 3260, PHIL 4490

#### PHIL 1000: Introduction to Philosophy

**Terms taught**: Spring 2016, Spring 2017

**Instructor rating**: 4.29

**Standard deviation in instructor rating**: 0.65

**Average grade** (4.0 scale): 2.65

**Standard deviation in grades** (4.0 scale): 0.45

**Average workload** (raw): 1.78

**Standard deviation in workload** (raw): 0.09

#### PHIL 1200: Contemporary Social Problems

**Terms taught**: Fall 2016, Fall 2016

**Instructor rating**: 5.41

**Standard deviation in instructor rating**: 0.11

**Average grade** (4.0 scale): 2.9

**Standard deviation in grades** (4.0 scale): 0.15

**Average workload** (raw): 1.8

**Standard deviation in workload** (raw): 0.05

#### PHIL 3010: History of Modern Philosophy

**Terms taught**: Spring 2015, Fall 2015, Fall 2015, Spring 2017

**Instructor rating**: 4.91

**Standard deviation in instructor rating**: 0.39

**Average grade** (4.0 scale): 2.83

**Standard deviation in grades** (4.0 scale): 0.1

**Average workload** (raw): 2.37

**Standard deviation in workload** (raw): 0.11

#### PHIL 3260: Philosophy and the International Order

**Terms taught**: Spring 2015, Spring 2015

**Instructor rating**: 3.9

**Standard deviation in instructor rating**: 0.45

**Average grade** (4.0 scale): 2.69

**Standard deviation in grades** (4.0 scale): 0.04

**Average workload** (raw): 2.12

**Standard deviation in workload** (raw): 0.05

#### PHIL 4490: Philosophy of Language

**Terms taught**: Spring 2016

**Instructor rating**: 5.0

**Standard deviation in instructor rating**: 0.0

**Average grade** (4.0 scale): 3.27

**Standard deviation in grades** (4.0 scale): 0.0

**Average workload** (raw): 2.42

**Standard deviation in workload** (raw): 0.0

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
The Holmium Platform is now commercially available following the launch of Q-Suite™ treatment planning
22/09/2020 - LEUVEN, BELGIUM
Clinical Followup
Following the acquisition of Quirem Medical in July 2020, Terumo Europe is pleased to announce that the latest version of its Holmium-166 specific dosimetry software Q-SuiteTM has been fully launched today following gaining CE Mark. This latest version includes a treatment planning functionality. This additional functionality makes up The Holmium Platform, three fully integrated products (QuiremScout® microspheres, QuiremSpheres® microspheres and Q-SuiteTM software) delivering individualized SIRT at its full potential.
"The introduction of treatment planning within the Q-SuiteTM software is an essential piece of the puzzle that makes up The Holmium Platform" Laurent Domas, VP Global Interventional Oncology Strategy and Therapy Development at Terumo. "We now have the first fully integrated SIRT platform that combines the QuiremScout® work-up product the QuiremSpheres® treatment product and the Q-Suite™ software. This software enables improved patient selection and individualized treatment planning. We will now design a clinical program to further develop evidence to demonstrate the benefit of Holmium SIRT."
"With this additional treatment planning functionality, alongside the benefits Holmium-166 SIRT can bring to patients, we have been able to further optimize how we plan our treatments." Prof. Dr. M. Lam, Head of Nuclear medicine at the University Medical Center Utrecht (UMCU) said, "Now that we have the full Holmium Platform we believe that we can continue to optimize SIRT and through the clinical programs that are being setup, we believe we can really help to reinforce where SIRT can make a difference for liver cancer patients."
About Terumo Europe
Terumo Europe, founded in 1971, is a core player in the EMEA healthcare market by providing best in class quality medical products and services. We are a strong actor of the Terumo Group by contributing to innovation and sustainable growth. Terumo Europe produces, distributes, markets and sells a vast range of medical devices in four main business units: Hospital and Laboratory Systems, Global Pharmaceutical Solutions, Interventional Systems and CardioVascular Products. Terumo Europe EMEA headquarters and production facilities are located in Haasrode (Belgium), production facility in Knowsley (UK) and sales units across EMEA.
Please visit www.terumo-europe.com for more information.
About Terumo Corporation
Terumo (TSE:4543) is a global leader in medical technology and has been committed to "Contributing to Society through Healthcare" for nearly 100 years. Based in Tokyo and operating globally, Terumo employs more than 25,000 associates worldwide, to provide innovative medical solutions in more than 160 countries and regions. The company started as a Japanese thermometer manufacturer and has been bolstering healthcare ever since. Now, its extensive business portfolio ranges from vascular intervention and cardio-surgical solutions, blood transfusion and cell therapy technology, to medical products essential for daily clinical practice. Terumo will further strive to be of value to patients, medical professionals, and society at large.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
It's a girl! 13-year-old 'Amazon warrior' Lived 2,600 Years-Ago
Jul 1, 2020 Doug Williams
The 'stunning' discovery appears further confirmation of ancient Greek claims about female fighters known as Amazons among the Scythians of central Asia.
Amazon warrior: Forty or 50 years ago, archaeologists and historians involved in important digs had only remains to go by when they tried to identify who or what lay buried in an ancient grave.
They could trust what their eyes — and their knowledge — told them, but to a large degree they had to simply hope that those tools were enough when making a guess, albeit an educated guess, at a grave's contents.
Today, the tools at these experts' disposals are much more refined, and much more technologically advanced.
The depth of her coffin – hollowed from a single piece of wood – was little over half a metre under the ground, oriented to the southwest.. Credit: A.Yu. Makeeva, Varvara Busova/Strat
And it is thanks to a kind of that technology, genetic analysis, that the remains of a young person found in Siberia in 1988 have finally been correctly identified.
Although back then archaeologists surmised that the skeleton belonged to a young man, the new examination of the skeleton has proved conclusively that, in fact, the remains are those of a 13 year old girl.
Skeletons are notoriously tricky to identify, particularly when the bones are clearly of a young person. So often, experts used the contents of the grave as a kind of ancillary guide when identifying gender.
This grave, in Tuva province, contained all manner of weapons, and so with that in mind archaeologists assumed they'd found the grave of a young man, probably a fighter of some sort.
Her quiver is made of leather. Credit: A.Yu. Makeeva, Varvara Busova/Strat
Now, the team at the Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology has announced that not only does the skeleton belong to a young, teenage girl, she was likely a warrior from the Scythian civilization, a warrior who fought battles on horseback and killed enemies right alongside her male counterparts.
Among the weapons found at the burial site was an arrow with a bronze tip, a second arrow with a bone tip, and other deadly accoutrements.
These "Amazon warrior" women, as they are often described, lived by a strict code; for example, they did not engage in physical intimacy until they had killed at least three foes. Furthermore, they did not marry until they had led certain sacrificial ceremonies and rituals.
The institute brought in other experts from the St. Petersburg Institute of Material History Culture, and Dr. Marina Kilunovskaya was one of the archaeologists involved in testing the remains.
Credit: A.Yu. Makeeva, Varvara Busova/Strat
She recently told the Siberian Times that the girl bore a striking facial feature that caught everyone's attention. "It was so stunning… with that wart, looking so impressive," she said. The girl was buried in a wood coffin about 2,600 years ago.
According to Dr. Kilunovskaya, using genetic sequencing is going to bring a whole new insight to archaeological research, and will allow experts to perform far more accurate analysis on remains, particularly those that are hundreds, or even thousands of years old.
In the case of the warrior girl and others like her, new information about their culture and societal habits have been discovered, thanks to the technological examination the team performed.
Metre-long bowl was made of single piece of birch wood. Credit: A.Yu. Makeeva, Varvara Busova/Strat
"This opens up a new aspect in the study of the social history of Scythian society," she explained to the Times. "(It) returns us to the myth of the Amazons that survived…it introduces a new touch to the early structure of early nomadic society."
Amazon warrior women were thought for decades to be little more than legend, not actual fighters who went into battle alongside male soldiers. But now, as the remains of this young girl found in Siberia attest, that myth may be far more grounded in true history than many experts once believed.
The genetic analysis also proved another important fact: continuing to do research, even long after archaeologists and scientists are convinced of what they found, is key to learning new and important details about societies and cultures that came long before us.


text:
Lynn Zapshala-Kelln named RRC Vice-President
The University of Manitoba congratulates Lynn Zapshala-Kelln on being named Red River College's new Vice-President, Finance and Administration.
In her more than three years as UM's Vice-President (Administration), Ms Zapshala-Kelln has guided a complex portfolio responsible for administrative areas including finance, ancillary services, security, fair practices and legal affairs, physical plant, risk management, human resources and information systems.
Among her many accomplishments were chairing the implementation committee that followed the report on sexual violence, A Path Forward; chairing the central unit allocation committee in support of the new budget model; and championing innovations in data governance and improvements to the capital requests review system.
"On behalf of the University of Manitoba community, I wish Lynn well in her new role and thank her for her significant contributions to the University of Manitoba," said President and Vice-Chancellor Michael Benarroch.
Information about interim measures will be shared in a future communication.
campus community, Staff
A journey into U of M's 'untapped treasure'
In a room on the third floor of Dafoe library, right beside the Icelandic reading room, a small group of archivists work to preserve history.
Archives, University of Manitoba
Town Hall on strategic plan asks community to think big and inspire us to greatness
'The strength of the plan is really dependent on the diversity of voices that come and share ideas'
Administration, Campus and Community, Strategic Plan
Let's reaffirm our ideals in the fight against racism and hatred in all their forms
A message from President Michael Benarroch on International Holocaust Remembrance Day
anti-racism, president


text:
Humanity I: Fear
Rating: R.
Summary: You never know as much as you wish you did.
Lancelot pressed his elbows into the mattress and lazily stretched, pulling on muscles from shoulders down his back to the hands circling his waist. There the satisfied ripple fragmented outward and turned his hum into a deep groan; his knees slipped a little farther apart to let Arthur in that bit more. The other man's breath hitched and his teeth found their way to the join of Lancelot's neck and shoulder. But they only grazed in passing—the morning light was a warm soothing bath over their skin and it simply wasn't the time for that. It was just a sweet, slow slide of Arthur's prick into Lancelot, of Lancelot's knees on the sheets, of their last few gasps and sighs out of their throats.
"Good morning," Arthur mumbled, settling down mostly on Lancelot's left side. For the first time in months, he sounded genuinely cheerful. He licked at Lancelot's shoulderblade, paused to twist his hips and pull out, then went back to tracing shivers out of Lancelot's skin.
It certainly wasn't a bad one so far. To judge by the length of the sunlight coming through the cracks of the shutters, Lancelot had even managed to make Arthur wake up late. That in itself was cause for celebration, whenever Lancelot worked up the energy for that.
He lifted himself on his forearms and bent down to nuzzle at a small thin scar along Arthur's hairline. "Now aren't you happy I pestered you for this?"
Arthur softly snorted and buried his face in the sheets, but not before Lancelot caught him smiling. He absently drew a hand up and down Lancelot's back. "The men did need a break. Morale's improved a good deal." Of course, from there Arthur always had to go on to the cons of the situation. Faint worry lines drew his brows together. "I just hope nothing serious has come up at the Wall. Pelles doesn't have much—"
His lips struggled for a moment against Lancelot's, but they acquiesced soon enough. Damned man needed to stop spoiling the day before it had even really started. For that matter, he needed to stop measuring everything solely by the condition of his men. It wouldn't matter how well-rested and ready for a fight they were if they didn't have an able commander.
When they pulled apart to breathe, Lancelot nipped a last time at Arthur's lip. "We're in friendly territory. There's only a handful of villagers, all delighted to have the business of bored cavalry. We've got a room with nice thick stone walls and a lock on the door. Only you would manage to still find something to—ow!"
He jerked away and began to reach back, but stopped himself before he made things any worse. And Arthur laughed, cupping his hand around the spot he'd just pinched and daring to feather fingertips between Lancelot's buttocks. If it wasn't such a delicate, teasing…Lancelot told himself to squirm away from it; going the other way didn't help his dignity any.
The other man pressed his mouth against the corner of Lancelot's eye and patted him like he was an overfed barncat, then twisted around. Arthur swung his legs off the bed and started to dress. "I'd offer to make it better, but even rest-leave has its chores."
"Nice to see your sparkling sense of humor show up," Lancelot grumbled, flopping back into bed. He didn't have to get up for another hour. The bed was nicely warm all over from their languid coupling a few moments ago, and if he curled just right, he could avoid the damp patch.
He only managed to lie still for a five-count before he resignedly pulled himself up and reached for his clothes. By then, Arthur was already done and standing over the water-basin, splashing his face. He looked over and arched an eyebrow at Lancelot, who made a face back. Letting Arthur wander around by himself invariably led to him working himself into a minor funk over something, and then they'd have to waste half the night getting him to admit it. And then it'd be the other half of the night finding a solution, or if it was something that didn't come with a solution, getting Arthur to just let it go for a while.
Lancelot gave himself a cursory run-over with a wet rag before throwing on his trousers and under-shirt. "So what's today? Settling more farmyard disputes? Someone swipe someone else's best hen?"
"You don't have to get up," Arthur observantly pointed out. He turned back to the bit of mirror he had propped up on a shelf and shaved another strip of cheek, then glanced at Lancelot.
"No." A quick elbowing-aside of Arthur and a check in the mirror showed Lancelot he didn't need to crop his beard today. He swiped the piece of soap Arthur had been using to make lather and took care of the few places that did need a touch of the razor. "But it's fun to watch you treat little domestic issues as if they were coronations."
Arthur stifled something that sounded like annoyance and went back to shaving. "Because out here, they might as well be coronations. The Britons have to see that Rome isn't just a distant city, but a law and justice that can improve their daily lives."
So they wouldn't notice how with the other hand, Rome was slowly grinding them into powder, Lancelot almost added. But he glimpsed sobriety beginning to re-carve the lines in Arthur's face, and he remembered the lightness of Arthur's teasing a moment before, and he let the issue pass. For the moment.
Anyway, Britain wasn't his land. There was no point in caring overmuch about what Rome did to them, except for how much more it made the Woads want to kill the Sarmatians, and it was hard to see how the Woads could get any more enthusiastic about that.
Arthur was staring at him, eyes dark and pensive. The man should've looked ridiculous, given the whitish foam drying on bits of his face, but instead he made Lancelot's chest ache. "I know—"
"Is that what we're doing?" Lancelot interrupted. He snagged his swords from the corner and tucked them beneath his arm, then grabbed an apple from the shelf. It tasted cool, sweet, uncomplicated.
"No." It looked as if Arthur was going to push the conversation anyway, but at the last moment he changed his mind. He carefully scraped at the last bit of unshaved skin before rinsing razor and face. "Actually, I wanted you to check over the fortifications and see if they need any repairs. I'm taking out a few knights—there's a few small-group formations that I've been wanting to try. Also, Tristan says he might be able to find wild boars for hunting later."
Lancelot rolled his eyes and crunched more of the apple. "Wouldn't Gawain be better for that? Or does having a nice wake-up fuck mean I have to do penance with drudgery?"
It wasn't that deep a jab at Christianity, but Arthur flinched anyway. He folded away his shaving kit without a word, then picked up Excalibur. The set of his shoulders was starting to slump, as if there were lead weights attached to him.
The last bite Lancelot took from his apple shoved a painful sliver of its skin between a tooth and his gums. He cursed and picked it out with his nail, then stared disgustedly at the small piece of mangled red peel. Sometimes it seemed as if there was nothing truly harmless in the whole world, despite best intentions. "Never mind."
A curled finger slid beneath his chin and tipped it up into a long, tender kiss that washed away the tiny spark of hurt. Then Arthur pressed their foreheads together before stepping back. He had a half-smile on his face that still bore traces of his earlier good humor. "I'd rather you do it. Gawain's very capable, but he isn't as…"
"Good as me when it comes to picking out flaws?" This time, Lancelot hoped the jeer would come off on the right level. He leaned against Arthur and grinned up at the other man. "How was the apple?"
"I need to remember to get more while I'm out." Arthur, thankfully, decided to play along. He had another taste before he unlocked the door.
Dagonet eyed the recalcitrant stone, then braced the handle of a spare spade against it and shoved. It went in with a loud grating crack and a scattering of fresh chips at his feet, but the stone now fit snugly in the wall. He nodded at it and stooped to scrape up mortar to properly fix it in place.
"Bit of practice with masonry. Suppose it'll come in handy when we get back home; Vanora's been complaining about a draft." This part of the wall curved sharply about, so Bors could be heard long before he could be seen. When he finally rounded the corner, he still wasn't visible due to the huge armful of food he was carrying.
They'd patched nearly all of their assigned length of wall before Bors had left to snitch food, and during his absence, Dagonet had finished the rest. Then he'd done a few more to use up all of their mortar. Even if Lancelot weren't preoccupied with a problem on the far end of the garrison, he'd have no reason to rebuke them for taking a break.
Before he sat down, Dagonet carefully raked off the mortar traces from his spade. He set it beside him and reached for a great wheel of cheese, which crumbled off pale yellow bits as he halved it with his hands. It was sharpish with an undertaste of grass, and it quickly melted away his hunger. He traded half for some bread and a pull at the wine-skin.
"Damn good food. Not that it's up to Vanora's, but still, not to be sneezed at." Bors dropped his feet over the side of the on the platform edging the inner side of the wall and ate with wet smacking chews loud enough to attract attention from below.
Two of the village women were heading for the gate with baskets of laundry beneath their arms. One of them, a pretty-faced blonde, Dagonet recognized but couldn't quite place. The other was a brunette with a long beaky nose and an ungainly mouth, but for all of that, she would still have garnered a few smiles if she hadn't looked so sour. As the pair of them passed below him and Bors, the brunette tossed them a glower that could've curdled milk. She leaned over and noisily whispered something to her companion in Briton.
Bors suddenly choked. He stopped almost as soon as he started, swallowing hard and slashing the back of his hand over his mouth. "Cunt."
For all his size and volume, at heart Bors was a strangely gentle, polite man. His mouth might have been the crudest among the knights by far, but it only ever kissed one woman. So Dagonet stared at his friend, wondering. Then he looked back down at the women.
Looking embarrassed, the blonde roughly shoved her friend up the path before turning an apologetic smile up to Dagonet. "Ho, knights. Lovely day."
"It would be," Bors rumbled back, still sounding uncharacteristically discontented. But he was already calming down, returning to his cheese and bread. "Peaceful town you have here."
"Just as long as you didn't bring the fighting with you." The brown-haired woman apparently had quite a temper and refused to be shuffled away. "That wall's worn down for a reason."
Her friend turned on her and snarled with a startling, hideous vehemence that took both Dagonet and the woman aback. But then the blonde one was sunny again, showing off a rare set of white teeth. "Oh, I'm sure the reason they're repairing it is so the fighting stays away. Good day, sirs."
She made a pretty curtsey that promised glimpses of breasts, which immediately drew Bors' eye. Dagonet, however, found himself watching the other woman, who huffed and stalked away. Even when her friend ran after her and tried to tease her out of it, she refused to be placated. The last he saw of her was when she disappeared in the bustle that constantly surrounded the gate, the line of her back still stiff with anger.
"Well, well, Urien's got himself a sweet one," Bors laughed. He saw Dagonet's confused look and slapped a hand on Dagonet's shoulder. "No one's told you? Urien's been chasing that one—name's Brangaine—for months, Dag. Finally talked her into his bed—'s why he goes around now like he's got his own private sun."
"What about the other one?" She'd not looked so much angry as defensive at first, Dagonet decided. As if she were an ewe keeping an eye on a wolf circling the herd.
The other man shrugged, stuffing the rest of his cheese into his mouth. He garbled out an answer. "Some relative of hers. This is their home…heard Arthur was asking for suggestions about good places to take leave and Urien jumped at the chance to get closer to his little honeycake."
That sounded like Urien, who was a decent officer but whose few weak spots were soft as rotten fruit. Though it didn't sound quite like Arthur to select a place on such merits; he might issue a day pass for Urien to go visiting, but he wouldn't shift his troops just to satisfy one man. "How'd he talk him into it?"
Bors shrugged. "Don't need to talk—this is a nice place. Great big field over there, snug fort here even if it's a bit chipped up…this used to be the frontier not so long ago. Gorlois—you remember him?—started out here with Arthur's father. Man used to go on and on about Uther and how every day they'd kill fifty Woads before breakfast—hah! No disrespect to Arthur, but that's horseshit."
The part about the idealness of the location was true enough; the only real drawback that Dagonet could see was that it was a little ways from the main thoroughfares. No important roads ran within half-a-day's march, and the nearest river big enough for sizable boats was even farther away. Its isolation both protected it from and bared it to attack.
"Not that I'd know for sure, but I'd bet Lancelot knew why Urien wanted it so badly and didn't say a word because he thought it was funny. Got a bit of a nasty streak, him." On that note, Bors chomped up the last bits of his meal. Then he sucked his thumb and each finger clean, popping them out of his mouth.
Dagonet suppressed a slight feeling of disgust and concentrated on his own food. To each his own, but something about that blonde woman raised his hackles. He much preferred the other one, since anger and fear were clear and understandable. "Maybe he wanted to make sure no one would bother Arthur. He can order Gawain around, and if Urien's—"
Bors laughed. A few bits of bread flew from his mouth as he did, but then he was grinning like a small boy at Dagonet and squeezing Dagonet's arm in shared amusement, and Dagonet forgot about being revolted. His friend was how he was, and that was all Bors needed to be.
"I still don't like it." Geraint bounced the piece of wood between his hands, then pointed the broken end at Gawain. He ran a nail along its edges. "See? The break's still fresh. And this isn't a regular hunting arrow. The shaft's too thick."
It did look like a crossbow bolt, and no one used those for anything but war. On the other hand, the Woads didn't like using crossbows even in battle. It was a weapon for ranges shorter than ambushes, and it was too easily tangled in thick foliage. When they used arrows, they used regular bows. "Maybe it's one of ours. Someone messing around, practicing their aim."
"Since when did we have a knight using a crossbow?" Geraint snorted. Then he remembered who ranked and ducked his head, face flushing.
He shouldn't have worried, since it was a stupid comment and Gawain had been regretting it the moment it'd left his mouth. Crossbows were a foot-soldier's weapon, and the nearest legionaries were a day and a half's hard march away. So either the arrow belonged to the knights, the villagers, or…there were Woads in the woods.
The day was sunny and hot enough to have gotten Gawain stripped to his waist, but nevertheless his gut managed to go icy. He took the fragment from Geraint and looked it over again, desperately searching for another explanation. They didn't need this. They'd just finished recovering from their last campaign and they were heading into another one as soon as they returned to the garrison, and the last thing they needed was a fight in between those. They didn't need this, and he didn't want to see it.
And Galahad was in the woods with Tristan.
Gawain made himself stop and dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. "The head's not right."
"No. It looks like they've put a regular head on a bolt. But that'd be awkward to shoot…" Geraint frowned and thought, fiddling with the hair bracelet around his wrist. His girl had finally agreed to a marriage, but they'd forgone gold pledge-jewelry in favor of ones made out of their own locks to spare more money for a home. "It doesn't matter. Whatever they do with it, it can't mean well for us."
"But you and your men, plus Tristan, have been going out every day. Shouldn't you have seen more signs if there's an army in the area?" Hopefully it didn't sound as if Gawain was accusing, because he wasn't. He was merely confused; the Woads were excellent fighters and on their home ground no matter where the fighting was, but no matter how quiet people were, the movement of an army left traces. And it wasn't as if the knights hadn't learned what to look by now.
The other man looked troubled and didn't immediately answer. When he did, it was in a slow, hesitant voice that did nothing to sooth Gawain's nerves. "We…haven't been looking. We're so far behind the Wall…one of my men found this when he missed a shot at a deer and went to retrieve his arrow."
They hadn't been looking. Well, of course they hadn't, said Gawain's voice of reason. They hadn't had any reason to, no one had had any reason to expect them or ask them to, and so they were just lucky they were finding out now instead of, say, when their throats were being cut.
Gawain's little flare of irritation turned in on itself and he reminded himself that hysterics weren't going to help. It was edging on to evening and if they were going to do anything, they had to move quickly. "Where are your men now?"
"I sent most of them back here, but detailed a few to go circling in pairs. Three have come in so far and said they'd seen nothing. That leaves two pairs—one towards Arthur's group and one towards where…Tristan said he'd be." Geraint twisted his mouth a little around his last few words, as if to say he couldn't guarantee the last one and Gawain knew why.
Which Gawain did, and that had been why he'd made Galahad partner up with Tristan. He didn't doubt Tristan's abilities or his intelligence, but the other man had a worrying tendency to go his own way without telling anyone. And since technically Gawain was Tristan's troop leader and therefore was responsible for him, it was important to make certain he knew where to find the man.
If he was more specific with his honesty, he'd add that he was also still worried about Tristan's habit of skirting the very edge of danger. He hadn't known much of Tristan before Dinidan's death had ripped out a whole side of the man, but somehow Tristan didn't give the impression of being naturally reckless. He certainly had more than his share of iron nerves, but he was clear-sighted enough to know when to pay attention to the cost.
"Well, we have to wait for Arthur to get back, at least," Gawain muttered. The point of sending Galahad along was to ensure that Tristan couldn't wander too far. Maybe it was unkind of Gawain to be thinking of Galahad as a brake right now, but that didn't diminish the truth in that image. So those two should be easy enough to reach. They'd be back in good time.
Gawain was fretting again. For the last time, he willed himself to stop. There might not even be anything worth worrying over.
"Where's Lancelot?" Geraint asked, looking about. "Shouldn't we mention this to him?"
"He's been strengthening the fort walls." The irony hung in the air between them like a leaden veil. So did the unspoken knowledge that, no matter how the situation turned out, Lancelot wasn't going to take this news well. His idea of dealing with concern was to lash it out of himself and over the backs of whoever was nearest.
Maybe Arthur would come in before anyone could get to Lancelot, and then Gawain wouldn't have that hanging over his head.
"I wish Tristan would remember we're not all dead." Geraint scuffed his boot in the ground, then savagely knocked out a clod with his heel. The fingers of one hand were curled over his sweetheart's bracelet and they were slowly going white-knuckled. "He still has tribesmen around, even if he chooses not to bother noticing them."
"Arthur keeps him busy—he's constantly borrowing him from me," Gawain said, voice a touch reproachful. There were many reasons why Tristan would want to act in such a way, and Geraint should know them better than Gawain did.
The other man obviously did, but frustration blinded him and kept his tongue loose. "Fine, fine, he's preoccupied. But damn him, he can follow a trail better than—" Geraint cut himself off and stared with tired eyes at the broken arrow Gawain was still holding. "He should be doing this, talking to you. Not me. I'm not an officer—I never wanted to be."
"I don't think any good officer really wants to be one; they just end up doing it because they want to make certain it's done right." Irritation forgotten, Gawain cast a sympathetic look on the other man. If that was the problem, then he wasn't in any position to criticize Geraint. And for that matter, he'd also feel better if he were discussing the matter with Tristan, who never seemed to be unsure of his tracking and who never was wrong about it, either.
Gawain turned around and looked at the fort gates, which were wide open. Beyond them was the small collection of houses that formed the village, and then there was a thin dirt path leading down to the dark green woods. The sun had just begun to dip beneath the tops of the trees, turning everything red-gold. It was going to be a clear night, he thought. Lots of light from the moon and stars, so not quite ideal conditions for an ambush. But the odds were still not in their favor.
"I'll go find Lancelot," Gawain finally said. "You get Urien, and start quietly shifting people in here. Food, animals, the like. Tell them it's a drill. And keep an eye out for the others—let me know the moment Galahad and Tristan or Arthur come in. Also get someone ready to ride for reinforcements."
He started to turn, but stopped when Geraint grabbed his arm. The other man jabbed a finger upward. "Look!"
Gawain looked. It was Tristan's hawk. And when it landed on his arm, its weight was nothing to the one that had suddenly filled him. He handed the animal to Geraint and went for Lancelot without any more hesitation.
Tristan had long since passed into a haze of pain and dizziness and spotty darkness, so when he started seeing the dead, he wasn't entirely surprised. They started out as whispers in the rattling branches of leafless trees, little half-heard words clipped off sharp steppes, but soon they were full-blown shades. Woads he'd killed: a long double line of them, heads bowed and feet dragging. Then came riding the knights, some of which had been friendly acquaintances, some brothers, and some enemies. Percival straightened to look haughtily down his nose as his charger wafted by, and Agravaine grimaced around some soundless insult as he drunkenly lolled in the saddle. Then he smiled, showing yellowed teeth, and raised his cup in a curse at Tristan.
After him came two horses, only one of which had a rider, who was wrapped so thickly in grey and black that Tristan couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. Only the hand grasping the reins of the other horse showed; it was large but so thin as to be nearly bones. As Tristan stared at it, something soft and white dropped off the back.
He found himself drifting forward between the horses, who obligingly moved to let him bend down. It was a maggot.
Tristan looked up to find that the rider had circled around and was now facing him. The veils dropped and Dinidan—but it wasn't Dinidan, for one eye had been eaten out and the other one had a baleful red cast to it, as if accusing, and Dinidan would have never—it was reaching out its hand and the horse without a saddle was moving forward, an invitation to mount. When Tristan shook his head and tried to say not yet, the hand didn't stop. There was another fat white worm on the fingertip and it was going to fall on his nose—
--"Shut up!" a voice hissed. Something rough and firm and smelling of leather and sweat slapped over Tristan's mouth. It jarred his head and his eyes flew open; he bit his tongue trying not to gasp.
Galahad's wide, bright, strained eyes stared back at him from less than an inch away. They were lying down, crammed together in a…some kind of shallow hillside crevice. Over Galahad's shoulder were bunches of dark stripes that, after a moment of squinting, turned into grass. Which rustled right by Galahad's head as someone walked past them, tread light and wary. Even breathing through Galahad's fingers, Tristan could smell the stench of the woad paint.
The Briton continued on, then drifted back to stand right in front of them. It must have been near night now, judging by the lack of light. Tristan couldn't even see Galahad anymore, though he could hear perfectly well the minute hitches in the other man's breath whenever the Woad moved. Galahad should have backed in the other way around, so if he needed to, he could swipe out with a knife…
No, that was a side of a knee Galahad had shoved against Tristan's shin. So the other man had been turned the right way, but he'd had to twist about the last second to…keep Tristan from giving them away. Tristan silently cursed himself, and blessed the dark for hiding his expression.
Someone called to the Woad and he called back. And then there was the sound of…trickling water. The terror emanating from Galahad suddenly switched to incredulity so thick Tristan could almost smell it as well as he could the Woad's urine. He hoped that Galahad wouldn't be an idiot and break into panicky snickering.
The Woad stayed a little longer to do something, then wandered off. On the count of twenty, Galahad began to relax. At thirty, he risked a snort. Tristan started to work up his arm, but a ripping pain in his side put that to a stop. Instead he shook his head, hoping that Galahad would feel that through his hand and get the point.
Galahad did. After Tristan had made it to a hundred without hearing anything, he deemed it safe and bit Galahad's palm.
"Son of a bitch," Galahad snarled. He awkwardly levered out of the small space and stopped to look about. Then he ducked back in to pry out first the saddlebags, which were cushioning Tristan's head, and then Tristan. "I keep you from getting us killed, so you bite me. What the hell was that, anyway?"
"What was what?" Tristan's side periodically twinged, but the pain there was manageable as long as he didn't overstress it. His leg, however, was still bad enough to make him collapse when he merely tried to get up on his knees. He ended up falling heavily against Galahad's legs.
The other man dropped down and grabbed for Tristan, but in doing so, he let the saddlebags slide off his shoulder. One of them slammed into Tristan's side and then it was brilliant burning stars.
When Tristan had finished blinking away those, he found himself staring at Galahad's back. "You can't carry me for that long."
"No, I definitely can't. So tell me that—" Galahad shifted his grip on Tristan's legs "—we're near a cave."
They were, but if there were Woads wandering around here, then Tristan wanted to be further away. Ideally, they would aim for…his mind briefly went disjointed and he had to force it back into a train of thought. Galahad was shaking with exhaustion, and Tristan needed to get his wounds properly seen to. They'd have to make do.
Tristan blinked hard and craned his head around, trying to make out the landscape in the dark. After a moment, he spotted a marker he'd left a few days before. "Another thirty yards. There should be a lightning-blasted tree—"
"Got it," Galahad grunted.
They went the rest of the way in silence. The cave was more of an overhang than anything, but that was probably better in their case. Some judicious rearranging of broken branches around the front, and it'd just look like another jumble of half-rotted trees and tangled shrubbery.
When Galahad put Tristan down, he did so with an impressive amount of care. Then he flopped onto his side and lay wheezing for a disturbingly long time. His eyes fluttered shut so the sweat dripping off his forehead caught in his lashes.
"Are you hurt?" Tristan asked, trying to look over him.
"No. But I want to pass out." It was a measure of how tired Galahad was that he didn't add on any sarcasm to that statement. He heaved himself up and tossed the saddlebags in the corner, then crawled over to Tristan. "You say odd things when you're half-conscious. Turn over. I'm going to take off the bandages, rip up new ones, and try to stitch that cut."
His sewing usually looked like a small child had doodled the thread onto whatever he'd been mending. One of Tristan's favorite pastimes was guessing how long Gawain could watch Galahad mangle something with a needle before he finally took over and did it for the man.
Galahad had already gotten the strips unraveled from Tristan and was now creeping towards the stream that was running somewhere nearby. "Don't look at me like that unless you want to sew up yourself."
As it turned out, Tristan was able to reach half of it, and only had to leave the last inch and a half to Galahad. By then his vision was too blurry anyway to keep going, and he had ground his teeth through two thin sticks of wood. Eventually he'd gone deep enough into shock for it to mostly stop hurting, but Tristan tried to fight that because he wanted to stay capable of thinking.
"Done," Galahad groaned, sounding as if he was the one who'd just had stitches. He rewrapped Tristan with the last of his undershirt before flopping onto his back again.
"We can't have a fire," Tristan quietly said. He pressed his forehead against the cool ground, feeling how quickly it leached the heat from him. It was summer so the night shouldn't be too cold, but occasionally British weather produced a nasty surprise. "You need to get some large branches—ones still with leaves on them—and use them to screen the front."
The other man turned to look at him, then frowned. But whatever Galahad was going to say never made it out before he dragged himself up and did as Tristan said. Then he reset Tristan's leg, waited till Tristan woke up from that faint, and got them settled for the night.
The hollow was little more than a yard deep and they ended up having to curl together against the back. Galahad had gotten one of the bedrolls and they were lying on that with the saddlebags as pillows and their swords piled up between them and the entrance. Because of the screen, the air was stifling and stale, full of dried blood and filth and the sweet-sour smell that Tristan usually assigned to dread.
"You heard what that Woad said," Galahad suddenly murmured. "Someone called a retreat into the fort. So they're warned anyway. Good thing."
"Luck, since otherwise it would've been up to you." Tristan stared at the pitch-black around him, which was so like and unlike the blackness that appeared when he closed his eyes. If he concentrated hard enough, perhaps he could fool his body into thinking he had shut his eyes.
Growl in his ear. "Stop trying to guilt me, you jackass. No, it wouldn't have—you think I could have gotten through them on foot if I'd left you? I just spent the better part of two hours shoving us in and out of bushes to keep from being found, and that was only creeping on the margins of them. They're thicker closer to the fort."
Galahad had an arm over Tristan so he could keep his sword in hand. It moved, bumped against Tristan's arm and followed it to find Tristan's fingers digging into the ground. Satisfied, it crawled away. The silence filled with Galahad's question.
Which Tristan answered with his own question. "What was I saying?"
"I don't know. You weren't speaking my dialect." The other man hesitated before going on, which was odd for him. "But you said 'Dinidan' a lot."
When Gawain found him, Lancelot had just been about to call it a day. The fort was in surprisingly good condition and had only needed a few spot-fixes, which meant Arthur wouldn't have any excuse to not have free time. No villagers had pestered him with arguments to adjudicate in Arthur's absence, which boded well for lack of that distraction. And it looked as if it wouldn't be a rainy night, so fine weather as well.
Then Gawain walked into Arthur's room, and his face said it was going to storm anyway. Lancelot went still. "What happened?"
"Nothing." Gawain winced and shook his head, muttering to himself. Normally he wasn't the fidgeting type, but now he couldn't seem to stop moving around the room. "I mean, nothing yet. But one of Geraint's men found something odd…"
He produced a thin bit of wood and handed it to Lancelot. At first glance, it looked like a snapped-off head of an arrow, but its shaft was unusually thick.
"Never seen anything like—"
"You wouldn't have. They gave these up decades ago." Lancelot watched his hand tighten on the shaft till he could hear the wood creaking beneath the strain, could see the blood fleeing his fingers. Then he let go and quickly passed it back to Gawain. "The only reason I know is because Arthur's told me, and he had it from his father and Gorlois. The Woads tried thicker arrows and stiffer bows to punch through Sarmatian armor, but you can't shoot as quickly. Uther figured out ways to engage before the Woads could let off a flight."
But this one wasn't decades-old, and that was the fear reflected in Gawain's eyes. Desperate hope was there as well, but it was fading with the sun. "It's the only sign—well, except for Tristan's hawk coming back without him. Geraint's sent out men to check again, and none of them say—well, no. There's still two pairs that aren't in yet. The one after Tristan and Galahad, and…"
"The one going after Arthur," Lancelot finished, since it didn't look as if Gawain was going to. He tasted phantoms of bitter blood in the back of his throat and felt them curdle before he swallowed them down.
It'd been four days. They should have had another three, but it looked as if they would have to say farewell to those. Though Lancelot was used to that, it still clenched his jaw and twisted his insides to do it. It'd been so long since they'd gotten time off, and it'd be so long before they got it again, and Arthur had actually begun to unbend…Arthur wasn't back yet.
"I told Urien and Geraint to start moving people inside, just in case." Gawain spun the arrow fragment between his fingers, then glanced out the unshuttered window. For a moment, the dusky red light painted his face in fierce worry. "It should be another quarter-hour."
"We're not supposed to order that unless Arthur does it. You owe me if he throws a fit." There wasn't any reason for Gawain to look grateful about that. Even if Lancelot hadn't claimed responsibility for the slight overstepping of boundaries, he'd still get a share since whenever Arthur was gone, he was temporary commander. And he'd be the only one with the balls to argue with Arthur instead of seethe in quiet.
Not that Arthur was likely to object, given how he preferred to err on the side of caution when it came to protecting people. Of course, then the overall effect was to increase the danger, because he always overstretched himself.
"Lancelot? Lancelot—" Urien ducked in the room and checked himself when he saw Gawain. Then he shrugged and barged in anyway. "So you've heard? Listen, the village elders are getting upset, and they aren't buying the 'it's a drill' story. They want to talk to Arthur."
"Well, they're going to get me. Arthur's not here yet, damn him." And until he was, Lancelot had to sit tight and handle things. As much as he wanted to go out and see for himself, he couldn't leave the fort with no commanding officers. Urien had trouble just keeping his troop in control, the other knights barely accepted Geraint and his men, and Gawain didn't have a tactical mind.
Arthur had better come back soon, Lancelot snarled to himself. And for the last time, he needed to make certain the idiot didn't go out without him.
All right, blaming Arthur for the Woads was unfair, since no one knew they were even around. But Lancelot was going to do it anyway because being irritated drowned out the increasing shake of his nerves. He pushed past Urien and headed out to the fortress gate, where he immediately spotted the disgruntled elders.
Only one of them was actually white-haired enough to qualify as an elder; the other two were a middle-aged man with a clubfoot, which explained why he hadn't been drafted into the legions, and a hawkish, harsh-looking woman. The elder identified himself as Bran, and the younger pair as his stepson and his daughter, Gromer and Branwen. "We've been uprooted from our village and roughly pushed about by your knights. For the span of my life, we've been nothing but faithful to Rome, so why are we being treated in such a fashion?"
Jols happened to be going by with Arthur's spare horses and Lancelot just glimpsed him rolling his eyes. Rightly so, since this village had been passively resistant about sending supplies at least once in Lancelot's memory, and the distance that they were moving now was a hundred yards at most. They probably did this every winter anyway. "I…apologize if there's been needless offense," Lancelot carefully said. Hopefully, he wouldn't choke too obviously on his words. "But it's for your protection—there might be a threat nearby. The more you cooperate, the easier it'll go."
"That's what they say about rape," muttered Branwen. Once Arthur had dragged Lancelot into some broken-down temple and spent an hour talking about the Greco-Roman myths carved into its stones; up until now, the sex against the altar had been the most memorable part. But Branwen strongly reminded Lancelot of the harpy relief.
Her father and stepbrother both looked horrified at her words, the former quickly apologizing and the latter dragging her off for a tonguelashing. That wasn't going to work, considering the amount of steel in her expression.
"I just want to reassure my people," Bran told Lancelot. "We haven't had a battle near us in years."
"Better pray that your countrymen don't force one, then. Stay inside the fort and keep out of our way." Out of the corner of his eye, Lancelot could see a billow of dust envelop a sudden burst of shouting at the gate. He started to lope towards it, but Bran had a surprisingly strong grip.
The other man had grabbed Lancelot's elbow, and now was peering at him with eyes that were still formidable beneath the rheumy age veiling them. "All we want is peace. We've no quarrel with anyone."
"No, which is why we've made a specialty of dying in other men's places." Lancelot shook him off and flapped a hand towards the inner fort. "Go see to your people. I've got to see to mine, and I've no time for this."
This time, Bran didn't stop him. But the other man did betray a flash of—pity? It'd better not be that, or diplomatic necessity notwithstanding, Lancelot was going to introduce him to a steel point. The knights might be cast as pawns in Rome's game, but they weren't broken to the mold yet.
Through the swirls of dust and the grabbing hands, Lancelot glimpsed patches of dusty red. His mouth started to curve up, but then the cloud cleared further and he could see that it wasn't Arthur. It was one of Geraint's men, and he was covered in blood. "Attacked—they were down when I got there. Barely outran the Woads."
Gawain came running from nowhere to seize the reins to the man's horse. He jerked down the skittish horse's head and, by all appearances, willed the beast into dropping its head between its knees and quivering still. Its rider slid clumsily out of the saddle and wiped flecks of horse-lather out of his face; he had another one of those odd-looking arrows sticking from his shoulder.
"Who was down?" Lancelot demanded. He shoved his way through the mass of questioners and grabbed for the knight. "Who was down? Who?"
"Stop shaking him." Geraint elbowed Lancelot to the side and tried to interpose himself between his knight and the rest.
Understandable reaction for him to have, but Lancelot wasn't in the mood. He snatched Geraint aside and suppressed the whirling snarl of fear inside of himself just enough for speech. "Who?"
"Who'd you go after?" Gawain interrupted. He clapped a hand on Lancelot's shoulder and used that to push himself into view. When Lancelot flicked a warning glance over, the other man looked so murderous that it actually shocked Lancelot into letting Gawain be. "Tristan and Galahad, or Arthur?"
"Arthur." The knight gasped and slumped against his horse, clutching at his wounded shoulder. "Arthur. The other two—I don't know where they are. I didn't see who--but the Woads are thicker than fleas in there."
Lancelot's hand went for the saddlehorn, but found that someone else had gotten there first. He blinked, saw the world waver from its heat-ripples to straight. Breathed and felt his mind unwillingly click into place, heard the men asking for orders, saw Gawain lifting his foot towards the stirrup. No. They couldn't.
"Get down!" Lancelot snapped, yanking Gawain back. "You can't—Urien! Is everyone inside? Close—close--"
"But they're still out there!" Gawain ripped himself free of Lancelot's grip and rounded on him, eyes like bonfires. "If we—fuck, you can't even say it! Arthur's out there and you can't—"
No, Lancelot couldn't. It was what had to be done, and he always could do that, but not this time. Arthur was supposed to be the one who made the choices that rent hearts and spirits. He was the one who was supposed to feel the circumstances like a noose around his throat, and Lancelot was the one who was supposed to show him that the knot could be undone.
But if the gates were left open, they'd all die. And Arthur would kill him—Lancelot's mistake would be Arthur's guilt, and it'd strangle him too fast for anyone to save him, and then the rope might as well be around Lancelot's neck as well.
"Close the gates." The words came out so mangled that even Lancelot didn't understand himself. He couldn't stand to look at Gawain, so he pivoted and shouted at Urien, who was frozen in place by the gears. "Close the damned gates! Didn't you hear me?"
"You think they're dead," hissed Gawain.
They'd been arguing in a dialect none of the other knights understood very well, but they'd still been saying too much. The words were cramming up in the top of Lancelot's throat and compacting all the way into his lungs, making them burn—and they'd just have to burn. "No, I don't. But someone's got to be around to open the gates for them. So shut up."
The gates whined, dropped into a groan and finally crashed shut. Urien bent over the lever that worked the doors and wheezed a few times. He was staring from Lancelot to Gawain and back again, as if they were the first tumbling rocks of what might be an avalanche. Geraint had snatched his knight out of the way the moment Lancelot had let go and sent him packing to the surgeons, but had remained himself to watch them with fretful eyes.
Gawain wasn't yet done; he had clamped his hands on Lancelot's shoulders and seemed to be trying to snap the bones with his grip. All the color in his face had concentrated in his eyes, which were half-mad and ready to go farther in it. "You were going to go out. You were going to fight me for the horse."
"And if I'd done it, you could bury me as a fool and I wouldn't complain. If we leave the gates open, we're inviting in the Woads and then we'll all be dead anyway. If we leave by ourselves, that terrifies the men." Lancelot saw the next insult rising in Gawain's eyes and felt his temper snap. "Damn you, if I weren't being rational about this, you'd be on the ground with my sword in your belly and I'd be on that fucking horse! Do you want me to kill you?"
"No, I want you to—" The other man slumped back and looked away, hand coming up to press knuckles hard against his mouth. Then Gawain nodded. Kept nodding, though he still wasn't meeting Lancelot's eyes. "All right. All right. I'll get watches up."
Instead of watching him leave, Lancelot stared at the sky. It was deep purple, and stars were beginning to emerge. It would've been beautiful any other time, but now it just made him want to vomit.
"Urien, make sure those Britons are doing as they're told. Geraint, pick out your sharpest-eyed men to man the gate." With that, Lancelot spun on his heel and went to go find Arthur's maps.
He was only a few yards from the room to Arthur's door when his stomach pushed too hard and he had to skid on his knees to an empty basin. In a few moments, Lancelot had coughed up every single thing he'd eaten in the past day. He closed his eyes and wiped half-heartedly at his mouth. Rested the side of his head against the wall. "Arthur, I swear, if you're dead then I'm going to…you'd better not be. You damned well can't be."
Then Lancelot got up and, moving like an old man, reached for the rolls of vellum.
Dagonet was on his way to the outer walls when he spotted the shadow. It froze, then broke into the dim lopsided circles of torchlight. That brown-haired woman.
He jogged around the spear-stack and easily intercepted her. She hissed and slapped at him, so he caught that wrist and dragged them both down. For several long moments, she did nothing but twist and spit words at him that he didn't know—it sounded a little like Vanora's tongue, but not enough to be intelligible. He waited it out. When she had exhausted herself and was nothing but a pair of snarling eyes, he let go. "You're not supposed to be beyond the inner walls."
"You're not supposed to be here at all. It was calm here—no blood and no fighting. Then you show up, and between you and the Woads, our homes are going to be trampled." She wrapped her arms around herself and swayed back a few paces. Her chin lifted. "I was going to find my stepbrother. Your officers drafted him for a watch."
"We had to. We're short of men." He walked around her and stared up at the small figures on the walls. "Do you know where he is?"
The woman was quiet for a heartbeat. Then, a little confused: "Over there, I think."
She pointed at Urien's stretch of the wall, which was closest to the inner fort and had the safest posts. Dagonet nodded. "That watch comes off now anyway. You'd do better to catch him at the inner gate; if you go up to the wall, they'll think you're a whore trying to make some money."
He walked a few yards, then turned around to check. The woman was still standing there, staring at him, but when she saw him looking back she swiftly slipped off in the direction of the inner gate.
When Dagonet reached his assigned position, the first thing he saw was another woman: Urien's Brangaine. She was laughing amidst a group of three knights that had just ended their shift, her hair a dreamy treasure in the low light. Beside her was a proud, jealous Urien who constantly kept one hand on her shoulder or waist.
"Well, hello from this morning," caroled Brangaine. She waved and flashed her pretty smile.
It still unsettled Dagonet, but he knew better than to insult an officer's girl. He made the briefest smile he could and didn't stop walking. Behind him, he could hear the usual comments about cold backs and strange quiet ones, but for once he was grateful for that reputation.
Walking along the wall was Lancelot, and when he saw the activity below he let loose with a torrent of abuse long enough to touch the sky and vitriolic enough to eat a man alive. Urien hustled off Brangaine, shooting a dirty look back at Lancelot, while the other knights quickly beat a retreat to the inner fort.
Dagonet blinked, then looked again. For a moment, Brangaine's face had been the face of a monster, vengefully eying Lancelot. But she'd almost immediately draped herself over Urien's shoulder, and judging by the sound of things, was urging him towards the nearest secluded spot.
"Urien and his?" Gawain had come up the steps behind Dagonet, and he addressed his question to Lancelot. Both men had gone gaunt and feverish, the bones of their faces standing out beneath their skin as if they were burning from inside out. "Those fucking jackasses…as if this was still a pleasure-outing."
"I'd make him stand guard at the gate all night, but he'd probably have his eyes more on the bitch sucking his prick than on outside," Lancelot snarled, leaning over the wall. He dropped his head between his hands and roughly raked fingers through his hair, then pressed his palms to his temples. "Dagonet? Anything so far?"
Startled, Dagonet almost blurted out something about the other woman. But she'd gone back inside, so he decided against it. "No. Is…excuse me, sir, but do we know where Arthur is?"
Lancelot's back went stiff. "No," he curtly replied. "Why?"
Behind him, Gawain was making warning gestures and trying to stare a message at Dagonet, but it wasn't quite making sense. Dagonet regretted not having asked Bors more about the so-called gossip concerning the officers, since clearly he was out of his depth here. What he did know, however, was that an already angry Lancelot was not a man to whom one refused answers.
He ended up telling the truth. Lies stank too strongly for him to have ever learned how to tell them. "The men are asking. They're worried. They were…there's some others who didn't ride in either, and all we've heard is that there are Woads in the woods."
"I don't even want to think about what the rumors are like by now," Gawain muttered. He rubbed at his eyes and sighed, then stared down the hill at the forest as if he were trying to will something out of them. "We'll have to say something."
"Maybe thank you for actually noticing, as opposed to those whoreson fools." Something that was too mauled to be a laugh came from Lancelot, still hunched over. "Tomorrow at first light, we can send out search parties. And another messenger if we don't see anyone coming from the other garrison. I don't think we have to say anything till th—"
The whoop was too full of violence to be from an animal throat. All along the wall came answers in the form of clinking metal, whining bowstrings, soft muffled clattering of arrows in quivers. Lancelot was up and staring over a nocked arrow a heartbeat before Gawain smashed himself against the wall, squinting at the dark.
Dagonet had his own arrow ready, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't see anything in the black fringe that was the forest. The space between it and the fort was wide and clear in the bright moonlight, but where field met trees was a sharp line and beyond it, nothing was apparent.
He glanced to his right and saw men standing ready with drawn bows, glanced left and saw the same, plus one man staring back at him. The whites of the knight's eyes gleamed and widened; the man hurriedly turned away. There was no sound now except for the harsh, tense breathing of the knights on the wall.
And then there was light: flaring red and settling to lurid orange. It revealed a clump of broad oak trunks, and pegged to them were limp lolling things. Somewhere on Dagonet's right, a knight cried out and was hastily stifled by those around him.
"Lamorack," Lancelot muttered.
"Alymere and Cei are the other two. Damn." The knights were from Gawain's troop, and their loss bowed the man for a long breath. Then he exhaled and straightened, jaw firming. "We can't make the shot from here. No point in wasting arrows."
Lancelot jerked his head in agreement and stepped back to lower his bow. He turned, probably to give the order, and as he did, another torch blossomed by the treeline, highlighting something bulky and flapping. It looked like a body.
The sound that came from Gawain was high and desperate, and the only thing that saved him from throwing himself blindly over the wall was Lancelot seizing his arm. Something hit Dagonet's foot—Lancelot's bow and unused arrow—but he ignored that in favor of helping Lancelot drag Gawain back.
"It's just the saddle!" Lancelot was saying over and over again, shaking Gawain. "The saddle!"
But no knight was ever willingly parted from his tack. That and his weapon were all that stood between him and a gory miserable end; he cared for them, adapted them to his needs, made them his own. If the Woads had Galahad's saddle, then at the very least, he'd had a disastrous run-in with them.
"They would show the body if there was one." Dagonet dropped his own bow and took a firmer grip on Gawain's arm. The other man was still struggling, but less so, and he soon stopped.
He was still staring over the wall. "But what did they wrap around it? The red—I thought it was strips of flesh…"
"Arthur's cloak." Limp as a rag, Lancelot fell against the wall and gazed blindly across the field. He started to raise a hand, saw that it was trembling and slapped it against his thigh, rubbing hard as if that way he could smooth out his nerves. His mouth continued moving without letting out any sound. Either curses or prayers could have fit the shaping of his lips.
"Stand down," Gawain whispered. He cleared his throat and somehow choked himself so he had to do it again. Then he raised his voice so everyone could hear. "Stand down! Don't—don't waste your arrows!"
Very quietly, Dagonet let go of Gawain. The other man still noticed, but he only glanced at Dagonet before stumbling off. And his eyes were black in the night, but rawer than fresh meat.


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Should "Miller Time" happen at Penn State?
Braxton Miller's injury versus Purdue on October 20th brought more than a hush to the Ohio State fans in attendance. Television viewers, such as myself, immediately thought of the possibility that Braxton Miller's season was over.
By Chip Minnich Oct 23, 2012, 10:01am EDT
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When news began to be reported that Braxton Miller was being taken to the hospital, those fears began to grow that perhaps this injury was even more serious than initially believed. Speaking for myself, as I viewed the replay of the tackle that caused Braxton Miller's injury, I began to wonder if Braxton Miller had sustained an injury to his neck.
Thankfully, those fears were unfounded. By Saturday evening, Coach Urban Meyer and the rest of the Ohio State fan base were provided information that all tests had been performed on Braxton Miller, and that Miller was going to be released from the hospital.
On October 22nd, Coach Meyer and Ohio State released its depth chart for the upcoming game at Penn State on October 27th. Braxton Miller was listed as the starter at quarterback.
With all of the natural euphoria associated with backup quarterback Kenny Guiton's comeback overtime victory over Purdue, as well as the good news of Braxton Miller's condition, Ohio State fans are all breathing a collective sigh of relief. The star of the offense is still good to go, while Ohio State fans now believe that the backup quarterback position is in very capable hands with Kenny Guiton.
The question I have is - should Ohio State start Braxton Miller against Penn State?
Before everyone erupts at me in outrage, please hear me out. Yes, I believe Braxton Miller gives Ohio State its best chance of a win against Penn State. Yes, I will acknowledge that Braxton Miller's mobility at the quarterback position gives Ohio State's offense an added dimension, a dimension that is not as much of a threat if Kenny Guiton is running the offense.
All very worthwhile points. My question is, even with Braxton Miller testing out as okay from the hospital...Is Braxton Miller truly going to be at 100% versus Penn State?
My rationale on this point is very simple. Watch that play again. More importantly - think back to how Braxton Miller appeared after that tackle.
Braxton Miller was out cold. For several minutes.
Yes, I want to win at Penn State. Yes, I believe Braxton Miller gives Ohio State its best chance for a win with him starting at quarterback.
But...I also believe in erring on the side of caution, especially with injuries to the head and neck, which Braxton Miller sustained. And perhaps the coaching staff could use this entire week preparing Kenny Guiton to start, versus waiting until mid-week to make that determination.
What do I believe will happen? I believe the coaching staff will see how Braxton Miller is performing in practice, before the decision is made to switch to Kenny Guiton.
Will the coaching staff and Coach Meyer make the switch, if they believe Braxton Miller is still suffering any effects from the Purdue game? Yes, as the coaching staff truly is concerned about the long-term health of Braxton Miller.
Kenny Guiton showed the Ohio State coaching staff and its fans what he could do when asked to come into the game completely cold. It may be better to see what he could do with a full week of practice as the starter, allowing Braxton Miller even more time to heal for the all-important month of November's Big Ten battles.


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I am learning that publishing is a fairly slow process. No wonder when it comes to technical manuals or even history that by the time the book is actually in print, some of the information may be obsolete already.
Fortunately when it comes to God's word, it is timeless. My book may be ready for distribution perhaps in 8 weeks or so. I can't wait; it is a desperately needed work about the invasiveness of the "prosperity gospel" which is taking over in what have been historically orthodox churches.


In the first part of this paella post, we're gonna cover the story of paella and how I came about learning how to make one of my favorite dishes. In the second part I'll share with you how my paella turned out after I attempt to make paella on my own. I will share with you the recipe used, steps involved, and tips to make a successful paella.
Here's a little background on the national dish of Spain. Paella is a rice dish known for its rustic nature yet complex flavor. Paella originated as a Moroccan dish but evolved into the version we know it today in the Valencia region of Spain when field workers would take a break in the afternoon and cook rice over an open fire (often times over a grill - your standard Weber kettle charcoal grill would do just fine) with whatever ingredients they could find. Rabbit and snails were common ingredients, and it only became a seafood dish when the dish made its way to the coast of Spain where fresh seafood was abundant. You could find paella in other countries like Mexico and the Philippines as well, but when we think of paella, we mostly think of Spanish paella as opposed to Mexican paella and Filipino paella. I've even seen some paellas use squid ink making the paella black (paella negra). Paella in its simplest form always has rice, olive oil, and saffron. Saffron, one of the most expensive ingredients (per unit weight) in the world, is a spice that is harvested from the saffron crocus flower and which gives saffron its distinctive yellow color.
Because paella is one of my favorite dishes, I sought a way to learn how to make a good paella. I first heard about Gerard Nebesky (chef and owner of Gerard's Paella) when he was challenged by Bobby Flay (a Food Network chef known for his Southwest cooking) in a paella throwdown (season 5, episode 4: watch the full episode above to see who prevails). FYI, one of the judges for this competition was none other than local B44 chef Daniel Oliveira who is also known for making a few paellas here and there. Gerard is known locally in Sonoma County (ie Healdsburg, Occidental, etc) which is just north of the San Francisco Bay Area for making very good paella with his gigantic paella pans at various festivals (Eat Real Festival in Oakland's Jack London Square, Maker Faire, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, etc.) and other outdoor events - he even catered Teri Hatcher's 40th birthday party with savory paella for all her guests. I was lucky enough to take a class taught by Gerard himself. The class was held at a local winery in Healdsburg, CA. Gerard is probably one of the nicest people you'd ever meet. In addition to teaching us how to make paella (see the recipe), Gerard shared some of his experiences traveling and making paella in various parts of the world. If you ever want to meet Gerard serving his delicious paella to the masses or you just want to drop by and say hello, you can find him at the Occidental farmer's market Friday afternoons in the summer.
The best part of the paella is known as socarrat which is the slightly burnt, crispy part of the rice which forms the bottom layer (there's actually a paella restaurant in New York called Socarrat...be sure to pay a visit for lunch or dinner if you're in the Big Apple).
Here are some photos taken in my paella class with Gerard Nebesky where we made 3 paellas: mixta (chicken and seafood), vegetarian, and chicken/chorizo.
After learning how to make paella from Gerard Nebesky, I had to make a few paellas before I felt like I had it down. First, invest in a paella pan. It doesn't have to be expensive. A standard 15in paella pan (called a paellera) will only cost about $15-20. A paella pan will give you a large surface area with shallow depth to cook your paella on and remember to towel dry your pan after using and apply oil so it won't rust.
Making a paella will take time (about 1-2 hrs). Every step in making paella just adds another layer of flavor, and time is the secret ingredient which will allow your flavors to come together at the end. Making a good paella definitely takes time.
One thing I learned is to use a liberal amount of saffron. I know that saffron is one of the most expensive ingredients per once, but if you're going to be spending 1-2 hours making this dish, you might as well use a good amount of saffron to make a good paella. Don't believe in the notion that when using saffron, a little goes a long way. The paella we cooked in class was far better than the paellas I've had in 5-star restaurants (I've never been to Spain so I haven't had the paella there) even though these restaurants could charge up to $40 for a paella for 2 people. Often times when you go to a Spanish tapas restaurant (even a good one) and you order paella, the paella is color orange/red. This is due to the smoked paprika and the sofrito (tomatoes, onions, garlic reduced down). First and foremost, restaurants are in the business of making money, so using a good amount of saffron will cut into their profits. You want your paella more yellow in color, so spare no expense for your paella.
Hopefully, you have a gas burning stove instead of electric stove because a gas burning stove would distribute the heat better. I had to straddle my paella pan over 2 burners and be constantly rotating the pan. You can cook your paella over a charcoal burning grill which would give it a nice smoky flavor.
Gerard adds a whole head of garlic and only removes the paper skin. Once the paella is ready, you can easily remove the roasted garlic by squeezing it out of the paper wrapper and eat it with the rest of the paella. I must admit that the roasted garlic tastes really good.
Even though it's hard to find, Gerard adds whole dried nora peppers.
Obtaining the socarrat is difficult to do. When you add the rice, spread it evenly, and don't touch it once it's spread. This will help your paella get the ever important socarrat.
As explained above, use a good amount of saffron.
Clams take longer to open than mussels, so be sure to put the clams in first before the mussels.
If you decide to add fish to your paella, Gerard recommends a light, white fish like grouper, snapper, cod, halibut, etc.
Gerard likes to add garbanzo beans, and it's ok to use frozen peas and green beans.
Do not remove the heads of the shrimp. The heads have a lot of flavor.
The 15in paella pan that I use can feed 6 people if paella is the only thing being served.
Gerard uses whole chicken thighs in his paella mixta (seafood and chicken) since his pans are huge. I use chicken drummettes and wings since thighs are too big for a 15in pan. Be sure to sear the chicken skin side down first to obtain a crisp and caramelized texture.
Serve your paella alongside tapas, various small dishes served as appetizers or snacks. Tapas can be anywhere from garlic shrimp (gambas) to empanadas.
The rice normally used in paella in Spain are Calasparra (expensive), Valencian (expensive), or Bomba (very expensive) rice. You can get away with using any medium grain rice because it is comparable to the more expensive medium grain rices from Spain. Medium grain rice absorbs a lot more water compared to long grain rice. Please note to NOT use arborio rice which tends to be creamy and is perfect for risotto where you're supposed to be constantly stirring it while it cooks which is not what you're supposed to do when making paella.
Heat the paella pan over medium-high heat, add olive oil and garlic and fry the peppers. (Add more peppers if you want to serve some as an appetizer.) Remove peppers and set aside.
Add chicken parts to the pan, turning to sear all sides. When chicken is golden, add the onions and saute until translucent. Add the tomatoes and the stock and reduce the sofrito base down for about a half hour. Meanwhile, crush the saffron with the smoked paprika in a mortar and pestle and add it to the stock.
After a half hour, stir in the rice and let it simmer for about 20 minutes. Important: Do not stir or cover the rice. As the rice cooks, add the vegetables and the garbanzo beans.
During the final 10 minutes, poke the shrimp and shellfish into the rice mixture so that they will cook.
You will know the dish is done when you can smell the smoky odor of the rice caramelizing on the bottom of the pan, and all the liquid is absorbed by the rice. Finish with squirts of lemon and leave lemon wedges in the paella pan or perched along the rim.
Part 2 of the video for Bobby Flay's paella throwdown against Gerard Nebesky is below.
Part 2: does Bobby Flay beat Gerard Nebesky in a Paella Throwdown?


How do I turn on Trekz Titanium?
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Scene Description: Ryan Keely, the owner of a massage parlor, drops by the parlor to see how intern Codey Steele's first week on the job is going. He says it's going great, but has a few questions about how a typical massage works. Ryan is happy to help, saying that she'll guide him through massaging her. She leads him into a massage room. In the massage room, Ryan easily strips down in front of him, giving him a great view of her heavenly body. He's flustered, trying to look away from her to give her privacy, although he sneaks looks back at her.


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media fans is scheduled encourage
HomeESV Connect – Uncategorized – media fans is scheduled encourage
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He later posted to his Twitter page, I.
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Over the past five years, we've hosted a wide range of events from Training Camp visits to a cooking class and football clinics so that our members can get to know each other – and we've had a blast!
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They've got six games left to get out of the conversation that they could be the worst in the entire NFL.
Gillette is also activating behind its alliances with national soccer teams including those from Spain, Argentina, Brazil, Italy, Mexico, Venezuela and Chile.
I had high expectations for that team and expected them to be in the playoffs.
The bout against Derevyanchenko has been promoted under the tagline Big Drama Show – Golovkin's always smilingly delivered catchphrase as the knockout victims stacked up and he became a star name in the United States.
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During the two-week period of Phase 3 there were a total of two positive tests among the 6 total tests.
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But it got out of hand in the second half when Bears running back Jordan Howard again sailed up the middle with 9 left for an eight-yard TD that made it 33.
When a champion reigns in the manner to which Jones has, it becomes difficult to find new challengers.
The Redskins name and logo will officially be retired by the start of the 2020 season.
He added one steal.
He now has eight points in his first 12 games as a member of the Avalanche and 130 points in his 295 career contests.
Rob Brzezinski completed his 27th season in the NFL and 20th with the Minnesota Vikings in 2019.
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A lot of people disrespected the mindset he once had.
Once again, the price is going to be high.
Despite this, still saw a significant spike in site engagement during the game, According to Greene, The themes of diversity and humanity were pervasive in all of the ads that aired, with only two ads overall featuring famous figures.
• The NHL concluded Phase 3 of its Return to Play on Saturday with no positive test results for COVID-19 among the 4 tests administered to more than 800 players during the period from July 18.
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Without Extension, Jamal Crawford Seeks Trade Aug 28 1 AM Frustrated the Hawks have not offered him a contract extension, Jamal Crawford will ask the club to trade him, according to sources with knowledge of the situation.
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Beyond the economic benefit, Super Bowl LI gave Houston a platform to communicate to the world that Houston is the most diverse, progressive and hospitable city in the United States, according to a new report from the Houston Super Bowl Host Committee.