Tristan’s: Trial IP 16
As they boarded the Schip the next morning, Wynforr was deep in thought. It was a shame he knew so little about the Kolchnar bond, but it was very rare. In the absence of firm knowledge, however, one must use one’s best guess. So he had very deliberately made several arrangements with the Captain; arrangements the Captain had been happy to provide, if ignorant of their purpose.
Thus it was that Tristan and Seth had their gear stowed in the very middle of the sleeping deck. And they were met, as soon as they appeared on deck, by a gang of Visserknappen who were eager to show them all over the Schip. Seth declined (‘for right now’) to mount the rigging, but encouraged Tristan to do so. And both eagerly enough went everywhere else.
The rest of the morning passed pleasantly. Mgwan joined the other two boys for some of their tour, but, eager to enter into his duties, he had sought out the Schip’s cook (a Marshman of course) and began learning how to use the Schip’s kitchen. Wynforr had struck up a friendship with the first mate who had previously worked a boat on the river trade.
The crew ate lunch in two half-hour shifts; the passengers, with less to do, stretched theirs over the whole hour. Visser food was simpler fare than Marshmen’s, but their cook was excellent, and there was plenty of food. Everyone spoke Visser, of course, and the passengers sat at a long table together with the crew.
As they mounted the stairs after lunch, Wynforr braced himself for the difficult emotional trial he knew was coming. He was sure he was doing the right thing, but that didn’t make it any easier.
On deck the crew had all been waiting eagerly for the Captain, who had eaten and returned with his guests. When the Captain reached the deck he looked around, grinned, and shouted out, “Luff sails!” The crew scampered around the deck and through the rigging. Wynforr noted Tristan watching with fascination as in mere minutes the Schip stood motionless. Wynforr had walked over next to Tristan, standing by his side.
When the Schip was motionless, the Captain glanced from side to side and then shouted out “Well, what are you waiting for?” With a cry all the crew rushed over to where the first mate was standing, stripped off their clothes and dove off the larboard rail, pushing and shoving and yelling. As soon as the adult males were overboard the Visserknappen, joined by Seth, mimicked their actions. Wynforr heard a door crashing open and the screams and giggles of the Visserfrau and then Meisje 8 diving out the opposite side. Tristan stood immobile on the deck next to Wynforr. Together with the first mate and the Captain they were the only people still on board. Wynforr in his most authoritative voice said to Tristan “Go with them.”
When Tristan instead turned to Wynforr, his face lit up with shock, Wynforr flashed a lightning hand onto the boy’s nether region, the first time he had had need to issue physical correction.
Thus prodded, but dreadfully unhappy, Tristan walked over to the first mate, and disrobed. Public nudity, even when bathing with members of the same sex, was unknown among the Elf; at least without everyone ‘turning their back’. And no one, including Wynforr, ‘turned their backs’, either literally or figuratively, while Tristan disrobed.
Having completed that task, and feeling all eyes upon him, he quickly jumped off the side, joining the men and boys in the water. Wynforr walked over to the first mate, and the Captain joined them.
“Must be hard on a young Elf,” the Firstmate remarked.
“Aye,” said the Captain “Never seen an Elf strip down like that on deck, not often anyway. Never a young one.”
“It’s hard to explain, but it is a duty he has.”
The three walked over to the rail and stared down. Wynforr had to force himself to act casually since this, too, was a violation of Elf culture. By that culture, he should have turned his back when Tristan undressed and avoided looking at him (or the dozens of other naked boys and men) while he bathed. But, ‘when in Rome’ was one of the first things that an Elf learned when travelling for their education. He himself had swum before and would in the future. But, for now, Tristan had to swim alone.
“Well, for a duty, I’ve seen worse,” remarked the Captain, envying Tristan, the water and the crowd.
Wynforr, on the other hand, knew how intensely difficult this was for Tristan, especially because, as Wynforr had arranged, he was not being left alone. A gang of boys that the Captain had told off to the duty were ensuring that Tristan did not have a second’s privacy, that he had no possibility to regain his composure, no possibility of lapsing into the Elf’s ‘learning mode’ and of seeing himself and these actions in an objective light.
The Visserknappen were doing what they did naturally, except that naturally they would not do it so deliberately or with such a reluctant victim. They were poking, prodding, tickling, splashing, and ducking the unfortunate Elf. Accompanied by two Visserknappen at all times, one in front and one behind, every turn that Tristan made merely brought him a new antagonist, someone new staring at him, someone else violating his hard-wired sense of modesty and privacy.
“They’re doing what you paid them to do,” the Captain remarked.
“As long as they don’t tire of it,” Wynforr responded.
“No chance of that,” the first mate replied, “they’re doing exactly what they love doing anyway, and there’s a whole gang of them to trade off with. See all those other boys, off to the side, jealous of the ones that are getting to tease him now? They can’t wait till it’s their turn.”
Over the next half hour, as the teasing continued, the watching men were able to calculate Tristan’s progress by his expressions and actions. He showed at first only a painful modesty. Never before had he been on display like this, and he swam here and there, attempting to avoid everyone’s gaze, avoid the crowds that were everywhere. However, this soon changed to bitter loneliness, the kind of loneliness that can only exist in the centre of a large, strange group.
Rising gradually but forcefully was an annoyance. Even an embarrassed, frightened, and lonely young Elf boy was able to realise that the actions of the Visserknappen were deliberately cruel, well beyond the bounds of even rough boyish teasing. As this feeling rose to the fore, he began in a small way to react, lashing out at them, splashing back in a forceful, angry way. Elves make poor swimmers, but they have excellent reactions and are startlingly quick, so soon Tristan was holding his own, at least with opponents in arm’s reach. He couldn’t hope to compete with the Visserknappen in swimming or diving, though, so if forced to chase anyone, he was hopelessly outclassed.
But as Wynforr had briefed them, the Visserknappen, once they saw that they had him actively engaged and his mind off his modesty, changed from teasing to playing. They had thought long and hard of games they could play with someone who was not a very good swimmer and who was reluctant to dive very deeply. This happy change still had the effect, Wynforr noted gratefully, of keeping Tristan in the centre of attention.
The first mate jostled Wynforr’s arm (not an Elf behaviour), and said, “Look at your Marshman friend!”
Seth, the ‘Marshman’ he was speaking of, was indeed behaving oddly. While playing occasionally with the Visserknappen, especially those of his age, he was also deliberately making deeper and deeper dives. Marshman, Wynforr knew, almost never dove, there being no water in the swamps that one would want to dive in… even the river getting a bit brackish as it flowed through their swamp in ever-smaller streams.
The three stared at Seth, for not only was each dive deeper, but it was longer. The Visserin were known for their dives, and Seth was not competing with those (although his webbed feet made him a better diver than a Farmer would have been, or an Elf), but he was diving deeper and staying under longer than any other race would be capable of.
“He’s got a tail,” The first mate gasped. They watched for several more minutes.
“And his skin is changing too,” put in the Captain.
Several more minutes of observation made it clear. With each dive, Seth was forcing himself more and more into the mould of a Visser. When any of the Fisherfolk started to comment, Seth in traditional Fisher fashion, would shut them up with a splash and a dunk, which they were usually too much in shock to resist.
Fisher folk are hardy folk and not given to useless curiosity. The boy had jumped into the water a Marshman and would be climbing out a Visser; this was obvious. They hadn’t known before that this was possible, and now they did. What more needed to be said?
However, when Tristan noticed, he was not so phlegmatic. Before, he had counted on Seth as his companion as two strange boys amongst the crowd of Visserknappen; now Tristan swam alone.
Or rather, he didn’t swim alone. He swam lonely in a crowd, a crowd determined not to leave him alone, indeed, whose determination prevented him from focusing effectively on his loneliness in spite of his new provocation.
Swimming is great fun, but the boat did have somewhere to go and something to do, so it was only a few minutes after Seth’s transformation was complete that the Captain on one side and the first mate on the other began calling the swimmers in. “Boys in!” shouted the first mate, banging a belaying pin on the railing. Wynforr watched the boys swim reluctantly but quickly back to the ladder and clamber up the side. He noted with satisfaction that the gang ensured that Tristan climbed up in their midst and, upon arriving at the pile of clothing, delayed his dressing considerably by tossing his clothes around from one to the other with comments about their make.
When he had finally been able to dress, Tristan made to come over to where Wynforr was standing, but Wynforr waved him back to Seth, and he went not reluctantly. Now that Seth could climb the rigging, he, Tristan and the gang of boys spent the rest of the afternoon there, climbing from place to place. He enjoyed himself immensely, although it was still a strain for him to be so much in the centre of all eyes and to be speaking Visser continuously. Both by design and natural curiosity, there was rarely any time when several dozen pairs of eyes weren’t watching him.
When they were called to dinner, Wynforr saw a sense of relaxation in Tristan’s eyes. He could imagine how Tristan would be hoping that dinner would be a quiet time to recuperate from his time with the crowd and organise his thoughts and emotions.
But, as Wynforr looked around, it was obvious that it was not to be wasted time. He had planned well. Everyone was speaking Visser, of course, and the food, although prepared by Marshman, was vintage Visserfood. Tristan had been seated at the edge of their party; with Wynforr's gang of boys just the other side of him. The Captain, who sat with them, was regaling his guests with sea stories.
And Wynforr knew that the next stage of his plan was coming, a stage even more dramatic than the swimming had been…
Tristan finished dinner. He was still very much on edge and felt as he had never felt before, but it was a little better now. Today had been the hardest day of his life. His parents had warned him that going out 'into the world' would be a difficult experience. But he had imagined himself, in vintage Elf fashion, sitting back and analysing everything, detaching himself from the 'noise' of the differences.
Perhaps he was too young. Perhaps his mind and body were still too childlike to cope with such an intense situation. He knew that he had not yet obtained that full ability to analyse things around him in a detached fashion, as that ability only came after puberty. Younger Elves still felt many things directly.
Perhaps he couldn't handle it. He tried to talk to Wynforr about the whole thing at dinner, but he had waved him back to the group every time that he had wanted to speak. And there had been no real time at dinner to think. Every time he tried, someone started a new story or asked him to pass something. All in Visser, which he spoke of course and spoke well but couldn’t really think in.
Of course, he thought to himself as he climbed up the stairs (in the middle of a shoving gang of Visserknappen), I should be truly grateful. This time is great for my knowledge of the Visser language and culture. That was probably why Wynforr refused to speak to me. I need to be busy learning, not wasting it complaining and questioning. Opportunities like this are hard to come by. I just hadn't expected it to be so hard: so physically and emotionally exhausting. I am really looking forward to getting to sit in my bed and think, quietly, all by myself. I need to review all that has happened today.
But he stopped, appalled, when he got just inside the door of the room where they had put their stuff. It was an enormous room, stretching almost half the length of the Schip and all of the width. When he had left it, it had been completely empty except for the 'sea chests' spaced at intervals throughout the room… but now it was absolutely full. Full, first of all, with hammocks, hammocks stretched from side to side of the room, hammocks filling every available inch of space--every available inch that was not occupied with people. Men, women, and children jam-packed in the room, everyone seeming to talk and move simultaneously on top of their neighbour and everyone else.
Seeing Tristan stopped, the boys with him pulled on his arm. They would show him where his hammock was, never fear. They dragged him between, and sometimes under, dozens of hammocks and even people until they arrived at the middle, the very middle, of the room, where Tristan and Seth had stowed their things. Seth was already there, getting undressed for bed, and he grinned at Tristan as he came up, “Quiet, ain't it?” He quipped, almost yelling over the noise.
Tristan nodded, dazed. The noise, the confusion, and above all, the utter lack of privacy: the feeling that every eye in the entire room was watching him (which, of course, many of them were. It was not often that an Elf chose to bunk in with them, the silly creatures.). A situation more unlike that of his tree would be difficult to imagine. The low roof echoed all the sound; the confined space made it seem like there were ten times as many people in the room as there actually were, and there actually were a great deal. No one, he was sure, was going to turn his back for him as he undressed--not even Seth!
To make matters worse, once he was ready to climb into his hammock, he found that it was not “his” hammock. There was not nearly enough room for every small boy to have his own hammock. He had to settle into it along with Seth and at least two Visserknappen. More tried to climb in but were ejected by those already there.
Climbing into the hammock was easy enough for him as an Elf. The first few times Seth, as a Farmerlad, had tried, he had been dumped onto the floor… to the laughter of the entire crew.
But the company in the hammock, with their talking, squirming, and mere presence, along with the sheer mass and noise and confusion in the room (babies crying, people arguing, several small boys fighting, etc.) prevented him from thinking. They kept him awake long into the night with their talking and moving. And even once asleep, they filled his dreams. All night long, he dreamt dreams where he was jammed into a small space with a crowd of people… all looking at him, and talking about him, and laughing at him.
The next morning he was awakened by a loud shout. Immediately, the room, including his hammock, came alive. The two Visserknappen leapt from the hammock, and Seth followed quickly. Tired and aching all over from his previous day’s activity, Tristan climbed from the hammock, joining the mass of humanity on the floor. Everyone was getting dressed and ready for the day, which included taking down the hammocks and storing them.
Although everyone was too busy to stare at him now, Tristan found himself bumped and jostled whatever he tried to do. Not deliberately, unkindly, or rudely, but just as part of the normal routine. Even the 'gang' wasn't trying anything; they were too busy getting ready. Several hundred people getting up and ready for the day, several hundred people who included a seemingly infinite number of small children, getting ready for the day in a small space, don't do so without a certain amount of 'bumping and jostling'.
And if one isn't used to the pattern of the day, isn't used to living in this small space, then one almost always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he bent over, he backed into someone accidentally. When he stood up, someone’s elbow was already there.
The gang had gotten ready faster than Tristan and gathered round him long before he was finished to tell him their plan for the day--which, of course, they automatically included him in. If he was going to be useful around the Schip (and they couldn't imagine him not wanting to be useful), he would have to learn where everything was and what it was called. So they planned, between other jobs that they had, to run him and Seth all over the Schip and have them memorise everything. Tristan thought that sounded great, combining both learning new things and spending time with Seth.
It was both of those things--but it was also very much a group/physical activity. About half the gang at a time accompanied them from rope to rope and mast to mast, naming them. Then, when they had stored up several names, they would ask them to run back to each one that they named… usually the farthest line or mast or other object from whatever they were. It was really tremendous fun, but it was also very physical.
Very emotional, too. Although Tristan, being an Elf and good at memorising things, usually got the right line or mast or whatever, Seth would frequently make a mistake as he learnt. And the Visserknap way of handling mistakes was to heap ridicule on the mistaken one. Seth seemed to handle this well, grinning and giving back as well as he got, but Tristan found it difficult to handle. He found himself getting angry at the boys and wanting to yell at them, or even… he didn’t know what else, but his hands kept clenching and unclenching. By the end of the morning, he almost felt as if he couldn't handle the strain-- but then they rang for lunch.
Lunch was better. He really enjoyed the food. The conversation was interesting, too. The Captain seemed to have no end of sea stories, but whenever he did threaten to run out of steam, one of the boys next to him would start whispering some interesting story of his own.
He couldn't understand these boys. At times, it seemed as if they just hated him; they teased him unmercifully, their play was rough, and they never left him alone. At other times it seemed as if they liked him: they always wanted to talk with him, they wanted him to know where everything was. He was so confused and exhausted.
Walking up the stairs after lunch was impossible. He wanted to be alone! He wanted to steel himself for the trial that he knew was coming. But he couldn't because they wouldn't let him! They surrounded him, talking about going swimming. It was the highlight of their day, and they were so ready to share it with him. The last thing he wanted, though, was to hear more reminders of the massive invasion of privacy he was about to undergo, again!
And this time was worse than yesterday. Yesterday, he had changed after everyone else, with only the Captain and first mate staring at him. Today, he was the centre of a group of boys. In his agony, he had made the mistake of stripping off slowly, imagining foolishly that they would leave him alone when they had finished. He thought that they would go and leap off the sides, leaving him to finish alone. But they hadn’t. They had all stood around him chattering like magpies and even began to tease him about his slowness.
Eventually, it was over, and he found himself swimming. He wasn't a good swimmer like the other boys, or like Seth, Elves never were. But he still had his Elven reflexes, and the boys were kind enough to play games that allowed him to pit his reflexes against their swimming. He could tell that they had designed these games on purpose, just to help him. He didn't like it because it meant that he was always the centre of attention, but he understood it. How could you have a game that had two very different positions, with only one person in the second position, and not have that person be in the 'centre'? He really liked being included in the games, though.
Tristan hadn’t been swimming often, and he had never enjoyed swimming as much as he did today. By the end of the swimming hour, he had almost forgotten his modesty and climbed up the ladder in a much, much more nonchalant manner than yesterday.
He even openly wrestled one of the boys to get his clothes back. Everyone else gathered round to see, as the contest was truly bizarre: he was much quicker and, in some ways, stronger, but the other boy was immovable and had a grip that was truly awesome. In the end, the boys did better than the clothes. The other boy, abashed, said his mother would get him (Tristan) some new clothes.
Which she did, although the casual way in which she supplied them outraged his modesty still further. He was sure he had blushed pink down to the roots of his toes. But now he was dressed as a Visserknap… which, he had to admit, was a very practical dress when one was on board Schip. The Visser clothes were made of a very tough cloth and refused to get wet even in a drenching downpour; they would merely get damp. They didn't fit all that well; both Elf and Visserknappen had reasonably long limbs and tails, but the Visserknappen were heavy and solid whereas Elf were light and lean, so they hung loose around his hips and legs.
He walked back up onto the deck self-consciously and was indeed the centre of attention, but not really negative attention. Visserin are very, very practical, and everyone always found it odd when others (Farmers, Elves, and Marshmen) insisted on wearing their own silly clothing on board Schip. Visserin wore Elven clothing when in the forest, Farmer clothing in the city, and even Marshman clothing (suitably tailored) when in the swamp. Anything else was just plain silly. So they did indeed all notice Tristan's new clothing… but after chuckling over the odd way they fit, they each turned back to their own business, admiring his practicality.
Wynforr and Seth also noticed. Seth had changed into Visserknap clothes the first day; buying some from another boy’s mother. Wynforr hadn't, but he wasn't involved in the Visserknap activity that Tristan was. Tristan saw that they both looked approvingly at the change. Why hadn't I thought of this before? Tristan wondered to himself. Why did I wear my Elf clothes here on Schip?
Seth came over. “You look good--that’s a smart idea. Let's get back to our class,” and he and Seth ran off for more quizzing by the gang.
--
Wynforr and the leader of 'the gang' went over the events of the day.
“I am very pleased,” Wynforr said, “with the way things are going.”
“You still Ok with tomorrow, then?”
“Yes. I hope he will be ready tomorrow.”
--
This day is finally done, Tristan thought, as he got ready for bed… bedlam all around him… a mother changing a diaper only inches away from where he was standing. I hope I will be able to get some sleep tonight.
And he did… but it was a restless sleep, filled with crowded dreams and interrupted by the movement of his 'hammock mates'.
--
Sean and his mates weren't really looking forward to today. They knew that that older Elf was up to something, and something important. They were well paid and didn't really doubt that whatever they were doing was actually for the good of this Elf boy; but this next bit was going to be ugly.
Hey, they liked a good fight and fought all the time amongst themselves. But they knew that other kids didn't go in for that as much. Farmer kids were fighters enough, but Marshmen kids were too friendly and were cowards clear through (at least as far as a good kid fight was concerned). And Elf kids had always before stood detached from everything.
If you tossed them a good insult, they tended to just look at you as if you were some kind of interesting bug. This kid confused them. Stripping down in the middle of the deck like that, now. They'd never had an Elf kid do that, and only rarely an older male. And he was a demon in the shrouds, almost able to keep up with the Visserknappen.
But he looked so lost and so scared all the time, even when the gang was all there with him. And their job today was to beat him up! Oh well, nobody ever said life was logical. At least, if he did, he wasn’t a Visserknap.
They started the fight right after swimming. It was easy enough, with the whole gang knowing what was going on. Sean just insulted Meagus. Said he still wet the bed, and he didn't want him (Meagus) to come crawl into his (Sean’s) hammock anymore. He should go and bunk with some of the little ones; it made for fewer hammocks to wash. Meagus (who wasn't happy with Sean's particular choice of insults, as it hit a bit closer to home than he would have liked) hit out at Sean, and the two began in earnest.
The usual ring formed, and the gang made sure that Tristan was in the inner circle. Then, seemingly accidentally, Meagus pushed Sean against Tristan, who, not unnaturally, reached out to prevent Sean from falling against him… “Oh, so you want some too?” Sean yelled at him, pretending to be angered by the action.
Moving in close (he didn't want the Elf boy to be able to use those long, startlingly quick limbs), Sean punched Tristan low and hard. Tristan looked startled, ill… and angry. Meagus faded into the circle as Sean landed several more blows. He didn’t know how well Elf boys could actually fight once they got started, and he figured he had better get a head start.
And get started, he did. He had no real technique. Sean was guessing it was his first fight, but he had blazing speed. Around and around the deck, the two went, not talking but hitting, wrestling, and tumbling. The boys around them, who at first had been only interested in the fight as a task they were set to, soon became interested in the fight for itself. The Elf boy’s speed versus the Visserknap’s strength and stolidity made for fascinating watching. Even many of the Visser men paused in their labours and watched.
The fight seemed almost even. Tristan got in more hits and fast ones, which must have hurt. But Sean’s blows, when they did land, would often knock Tristan off his feet or knock his breath out.
If it had gone on too long, someone might have gotten hurt. But after it had gone on for a while, the Captain, who had been watching carefully, came over and broke it up, pulling the boys apart by main force--almost getting a fist in his eye from Tristan for his pains. Tristan then recognised the Captain and stopped struggling, contenting himself with breathing out threats toward Sean and the Visser race in general. The other boys came between the combatants, and the Captain let go.
As he did so, two things happened almost simultaneously. The first was that Seth, who had been below decks when the fight began and had been trying to work his way through the ring for the last few minutes, finally broke through the ring of boys, ready to offer his condolences to Tristan and to give Sean a lecture on deportment. The second, which happened just after Seth got there but before he could open his mouth, was that the ring of boys that were left around Tristan began congratulating him, in explicit detail, for his role in the fight, describing all the various details and how they thought he had done at each juncture, for good or for ill.
These congratulations did two things. First, it silenced Seth. He stood back and watched, grinning. Second, it turned Tristan's emotions on their head. He had been overcome with an intense loneliness and anger, a feeling of being hated by all and sundry around him. How could Seth and Wynforr allow that Visserknap to pummel him like that? And that gang of Knappen had all seemed to him, at the time, to be cheering Sean on in trashing him as an interloper, a stranger.
But suddenly, he made the transition to the Visserknap way of seeing things. He understood, unconsciously, the 'group living' idea that made the Visserknap culture work. Everybody was one big family, everybody knew everyone’s secrets, they lived on top of each other, they fought, they cried, they prayed… all together. And that was just the way they lived, and they didn't want any other way. When he had fought Sean, they had gathered round, not to cheer Sean on in his ‘punishment’, but because it was what they did, what they would have done regardless of who was fighting.
Tristan began shaking the proffered hands, revelling in his back being slapped, and criticising some of the finer details of the fight himself, rejoicing in the congratulations. Suddenly, the crowd opened, and there stood Sean, a grin on his face and his hand outstretched. “Good fight, Brother.” Tristan couldn't say anything but took his hand--and then was buried, again, in a crowd of well-wishers.
That night, instead of shutting himself away from the others in his bed as he had done on the previous evenings, he wrestled and teased with them until one of the annoyed parents nearby sent a stick whistling down onto their hammock, silencing their play. Then, part of the great pile, he fell asleep.
And while he slept, his body finished the change that it had been working on for the last several days, the change finally released by the willingness of the unconscious mind to accept it. His tail glossed over, with ridges all over the inner edge, perfect for gripping wet ropes and slippery masts. Ridges grew on his hands as well. His skin changed, becoming glossy silver. He began building stored fat, to insulate his body against the cold of the water and the exposure of working in storms. His bones thickened, and his hips widened. His feet broadened, giving him still the ability to grip, but now on a much wider base.
But above all, his brain changed. His gatekeeper organ, which was slightly less developed than Seth’s had been and significantly less than Wynforr’s, turned off; and other parts of his brain, which had to do with social understanding, continued their development at a rapid pace. The part of his brain and inner ear which had to do with balance, already well developed for tree life, made intricate changes needed to cope with the motion of the Schip.
Ironically, in the morning, he was the last to notice. He had swung himself down from his hammock, helped pull it down, and had begun teasing one of his bunkmates before he noticed that more and more of the room was standing, silent, staring at him. He looked down at himself… a very different ‘himself’ than he had ever seen before. He glanced up and saw Seth staring at him, a huge grin on his face.
He turned, faced the room, spread his legs, grinned, put his hands on his hips, and said, “What, you've never seen an Elf turn into a Visserknap before?” Then he turned and finished getting ready for the day.