MLP 30K: Rebel Dawn

“CLEAR THE LANDING ZONE. CLEAR THE LANDING ZONE.”

The impersonal dead-flat rasp of a servitor calls out in time with the blare of klaxons and the flash of warning lights. The few deck ratings who were previously tending to conveyors and fuel trams quickly scurry away from the slowly descending bird of prey taking roost in the Vengeful Spirit's aeries.

Dull sodium lumins reflect grungy yellow light from mirror polished wings or show as simple blobs of incongruous light winking off the rounded metallic amethyst cowling. Despite being ostensibly the same as its peers, the elegant swept-winged Silver Hawk illuminated every grace of Chemosian artifice, from the slight forward tilt of the cockpit to the graceful sweeping lines that are only disrupted by the dropship's talon-like landing gear. Everything spoke to its place, as much a work of art as a war machine.

The peerless eighty meter long lander screams like a falcon as gravity takes hold, only for the thrusters to blaze to life and suspend it in mid-air. Gently caught by the large mechanical grapnels swinging down from the roof, the immense articulated joists and grappling limbs inelegantly grasp the swan-like vessel.

“Best break out the band,” Torgaddon stands on the top post gantry in his captain's finery while watching the spectacle of their guests landing, “I'm sure those florid princelings will be expecting us to play them a theme song when they step off the plane.”

A half dozen sea-green legionnaires cackle or snort behind him, all safely hidden from the new arrivals on their own closed vox channel. Each of the legionnaires at Torgaddon's back illustrate the Horusian trappings in their own way: a myriad of colored cloaks, crests, and plumes clash together in a heraldic symphony. But beneath it all is the same black and gold banding decorating mirror-shined viridian battle plate, reflecting what dim light illuminates the Spirit's secondary landing hangar. The Warmaster's banner flutters in the downdraft of the Stormbird's thrusters, sending the tangles of campaign streamers attached to the golden Eye of Terra into a whipping frenzy.

Finally, the Silver Hawk settles into the launch cradle, prompting the mechanical umbilical plank to extend from the gantries with a clicking mechanical whir.

“Right, lets get on with this peacock parade. Glory squad, attention!” Torgaddon neatly spins the silvered longsword in his grasp, spinning its point in the gantries diamond grating until he rests both hands on the pommel. The rest of the honor squad follow suit, drawing their blades and setting them point down in salute.

Almost the instant it was done, the umbilical mates with the Stormbird's forward boarding ramp with a hiss. In moments, through the glasteel portals dotting the eel-like protrusion, the captain could only smirk as he watches the pristine white and gold sway of fabric.

“They really did bring a battle standard, didn't they?” Ezakon, the newest of Torgaddon's cadre, whispers into the vox-mic.

“They're the heralds of the Emperor, they bring a flag everywhere.”

The tramp of armored boots heralds the new arrivals, and Torgaddon wrinkles his nose behind the blank-faced helm. Evidently, it could be worse.

The amethyst clad figure wore the white Prime Helix on his marbled pauldrons, golden wings and fluting marking him out as an important figure among an already elaborately adorned legion. Six warriors follow in his wake but only the vexillia stands out, bearing the white silken standard: an embossed thing of inlaid silver laurel boarders and gold stitched eagles. But it's bearer was like the rest, hidden behind an eagle-winged mask of etched gold, the white marble pauldrons bearing gaudy golden relief instead of the simple acid etch of many others.

“Lieutenant Commander Fabius.” Torgaddon's steely tone rings with as much false cheer as he could muster. “Welcome aboard the Vengeful Spirit. Apologies for not receiving you in the main embarkation deck, it's under something of a renovation.”

The gaunt face didn't so much as flinch, his thin lips pinched into a permanent scowl as his sharp green eyes peer into the face of the armored Mourneval captain.

He raises a hand in a short, clipped salute as graceful and sterile as could be expected from one of the Emperor's Children's foremost personalities. “Yes.” his sibilant voice practically hisses from between ivory teeth. If Torgaddon hadn't known better, he'd have thought the man had just sniffed disdainfully at him. “The rumors and hearsay of the Davin incident have flown far and wide. I should offer my condolences for the loss of your Chief Apothecary.”

Inspecting the sallow Terran's face and finding only the same disinterested dead-eyed stare, Torgaddon chews on the inside of his lip to keep his tongue in check. It would be easy to tell the Lieutenant Commander to take both his condolences and his condescension, then shove them somewhere not generally approved of by the Principia Bellicosa.

“Nevertheless,” Fabius continues, turning his attention to the rest of Torgaddon's cloaked Glory squad before panning his attention past them to the door. “Our Warmaster has called upon Lord Fulgrim and requested my aid. Personally.”

“Riiiight.” Torgaddon sighs and nods, turning sharply as he swiftly sheathes his sword as does his entire detail. “Well, then I shouldn't keep you waiting. I'm sure the Warmaster will permit you an audience at once, and I can be out of your hair.”

“Yes. I have a number of correspondence to relate to the Warmaster from Lord Fulgrim, and I am to do it personally.” Fabius perhaps reinforces the importance, but finally they lapse into an uncomfortable silence.

The secondary hangars were far less grand than that of the main embarkation deck, but half of that was still a buckled and charred ruin vented to the void and picked clean by servitor clades and suited technicians. Something made apparent as the motley knot of polished warriors trundles out from the secondary deck, making their way down the scarred corridor butted up against the hall leading to the embarkation deck itself.

The damage would have been apparent to anyone with a view from a porthole on the descent in.

It only takes the procession a few dozen meters down the wide hallway before Fabius harrumphs, “I expected to be met by the Warmaster himself, not one of his four lieutenants.”

“Well, we can't all get what we want.” Torgaddon offers in reply, not quite hiding the trace of frustration.

“No, I suspect not. Or you wouldn't be here to receive me. It would be Aximand or Maloghurst. Or, perhaps, that new fellow.” For the first time, Fabius breaks the marble facade of disinterest and takes a wandering glance aside to regard his host, “Gabriel was it?”

“Garviel.” Torgaddon sighs, reaching up to take off his helmet and mag lock it to his belt. With his saturnine complexion, black hair, and slightly upturned nose, he was a dark reflection of the almost albino Terran. “We're running a legion here, and a rather large one, so inevitably some of us have something to do. But it's still my pleasure to serve the Warmaster however he needs.”

“Of course. As it should be.”

“Well, Chancellor,” The dark Alicorn snorts at the sudden and unwelcome figure, “speak and be quick about it.”

Neighsay stares impassively at her for a moment, jerking his head back at the Unicorn standing at the base of the bridge. He wrinkles his nose and peers down his snout at her. “Princess Luna, I should have known.” The scrutinizing glare is partially blurred from her mind as something else congeals like a niggling headache at the base of her horn.

'Luna.'

“It would do nopony any good if this were all out in the open.” His words are sharp but quiet, meant exclusively for her.

She's almost caught off guard as the Unicorn makes a subtle gesture towards the far side of the bridge, closer to herself and the staircase descending into the storm sewers.

He avoids drawing attention, not given to making sharp movements or casting jerky glances into the darkness. Luna follows a few paces behind. She follows the cloaked Unicorn down the steps, her hoofs scrabbling across the slick marble stone more than once as the voice pricks her mind.

'Luna.'

'Not now.' She mentally chastises before taking a steadying breath. The mist of water rises up from the mostly dry runnel, with only the bronze safety railings separating them from a ten meter plunge.

Neighsay rounds the corner as the stairway disappears into a sharp turn under the bridge, bringing them to a wooden entrance door to the utility network under Canterlot itself. With a flash of his horn, the thick iron padlock momentarily glows and comes unfastened with a muffled click. With the faintest arcane glow, the door squeaks and yawns inward.

“Come with me.” Neighsay says sharply and disappears inside without a backward glance.

“Not until you tell Us why We were summoned.”

Neighsay sighs through his nostrils in an unimpressed huff. “Because I'm sick and tired of working against somepony who seems to want the same thing as myself. Now, do you wish for everypony to hear us, or would you rather discuss this in private, your majesty?”

At least the use of the title partially mollifies the princess, seeing that it wasn't just some upstart noble with a foalish plan and mulish demeanor. Forcing a wave of magic through her horn, she scans the surrounding area, trying to pick up any residual magicks that might be out of place. Aside from some vocal null field just on the inside of the barely lit doorway, nothing appears out of place. And so she enters, closing the door behind her with an ominous croak.

A soft glow spills from a windowed office a few yards down the narrow mouth of the tunnel. If she was just a normal pony, the princess would have likely only seen the empty mouth of the hallway, a closed utility door on the right with a sign saying 'Maintenance' and the intimidating descent into utter darkness of the unlit undercity.

But born for the night, the princess could see as clearly as in daylight, picking out the little chalkboard on the wall with duty rosters, the unlit wall sconces, and a note for others to check the drain grates tonight. Everypony was sent off, busy, and the bend deeper into the twisting innards connecting to the Canterlot Caverns was utterly silent aside from the occasional drip of condensing moisture.

Neighsay opens the door to the office and slips inside before drawing the slatted blinds. “Lets not tarry, princess. We don't have all the time in the world, and I'm quite sure that both yourself and I will be missed.”

Luna slips from her disguise in a flicker of distorted darkness, and trots into the simple office just as Neighsay lights a small oil lamp on an oaken desk with a long stemmed match. “Well?”

“The Supervisor here isn't a Unicorn, so we have to use more primitive methods. And speaking of primitive methods.” Neighsay takes in a sharp breath as if to contain himself before taking a seat at the simple desk cluttered with papers. “In the future, would you kindly refrain from putting all my plans to the torch before you care to find out what they are?”

'LUNA!'

The flash in the back of the Alicorn's mind merges with a distinctly lupine snarl that catches in her throat, “What?”

“Since this whole incident started three months ago, you've contributed little but operating entirely unilaterally like a foa-”

“I don't have time at this moment.” Luna snarls, ear twitching as she growls into the darkness.

Taken aback, the Unicorn's lip curls into a dissatisfied sneer, “Don't have ti-”

“Not you, chancellor.” Luna sharply holds up a hoof and then gingerly touches her temple. The bass growl of a familiar male voice echoes around her skull like an echo chamber, making the Alicorn close her eyes at the intrusion. Horus's frustrated growl rolls like a petulant thundercloud, albeit it one that she could do little to dispel.

'You had better not be sleeping or trying to avoid me, Luna. This isn't like one of your idle questions or flights of fancy!'

'I'm in a meeting,' she mentally spits back, feeling the throb and some surging sensation of irritation.

'Might I remind you, since you've battered your way into my affairs, I've been doing little but meetings and appointments.' the Primarch's growl echoes like a timberwolf's bark, 'We have to accelerate our timetable.'

'Do pray tell when-'

“Princess Luna.” Neighsay inhales sharply, eyes hooded and the clear unamused scowl plastered on his narrow muzzle. “Times have changed, but we both want what's best for Ponykind. Much to the frustration of those who do not share our Equestrian values.”

“So does that include Princess Twilight Sparkle?” The venom practically drips from her lips, partially in frustration and partially exuded from another source. One only she seemed to know as the hammering pulse in the base of her left wing flares to life. It was sympathetic, but her eye twitches regardless, betraying the pain though perhaps masked for wrath.

Neighsay's pinched face pulls even more gaunt, “If she thinks that we should lower our guard against the foreign hordes battering at the gates to our kingdom, yes.”

The answer wasn't what she expected. Luna blinks, trying to hide some of the surprise at his answer. “You speak traces of treason, Chancellor.” Luna warns, though she can't suppress all of her surprise. “And you place your own authority in a compromising position.”

The Unicorn stallion locks eyes with her, sharp blue eyes staring into hers for a few uncomfortable moments. But it spoke as clearly as he did, “For the good of Ponykind, that's an acceptable risk. And one that you know clearly.”

An uncomfortable silence falls between them, turning the discussion into a staring match. The Princess circles, taking a seat on a small stool next to an architectural easel bearing a marked out map of the city maintenance tunnels and caves.

Luna breaks the stare first, closing her eyes and concentrating at the thunderous beat deep in her skull. 'Horus, I have to deal with an important meeting. We will speak soon.'

There's no affirmation but what feels like a grating landslide. Shaking off the result of turning away the Lupercal, a racing heart and hitched breath, she fights to reopen her eyes.

“Princess?” Neighsay calls, but it's different than before. His gaze looks down, peering at something. Only dimly does she become aware of her quaking left hoof, spasming and trembling out of control as it curls up like she was reflexively trying to grip something.

“W-we are f-fine.” Luna chokes out, willing her limb to stop moving as she stares the Unicorn down, “But if you do not get to the point quickly, Chancellor...” she barely had time to register what slipped from her muzzle.

Neighsay's head rears back as he snorts. “That, Princess, is among the issues we're here to talk about this evening.” he shakes his head and quickly points to the rows of books, bundles of maps, and then the enormous architectural plan of Canterlot just a few hooflengths away. “Do give us some credit, advancements and progress has been made since last you were in control of the kingdom.”

Despite the rebuke, the Alicorn settles into her less comfortable seat and wrinkles her nose. “Is that so?” She might have sprang to her hooves and left in a fury had she not been trying to steady her still shivering forehoof.

“It is.” Neighsay continues, eyes quickly darting to a clock nestled in the corner of the cluttered office. “I couldn't be the only pony to notice that things are changing. And I'm not the only pony that has access to all the information coming in from the San Palamino listening station. Eventually the likes of Twilight Sparkle or more seditious ponies will put the pieces together. Then, dragons, griffons, changelings, and worse will come after what we have discovered. In doing so, they will drag down everything we hoped to build. They will corrupt all our values, turn them against us, and use it for their own ends. They are functionally incapable of what we espouse!”

He steadies himself again, having worked himself into something of a fugue. Smoothing the facings of his cloak and unruffling the collar, he looks at the silent Princess. “And your grand-standing and vocal proclamations, claiming to create an order to deal with such important matters, they will be drawn to it. They are always drawn to power. Twilight Sparkle had it written in her memoirs, two students listed chatter from unknown sources at the exact same time in regular intervals. Even the existence of the Lumin Mirror came to light... how many other Equestrian secrets are going to be thrown into the spotlight, now that so many others are waiting to pounce on us under the guise of 'Friendship'?”

And like a veil lifting, Luna could see past the pomp and fury to something else. “So thou tried to silence them? You had Twilight's books removed, her school shut down, and tried to stop the research ponies from publicly revealing their discovery.” She eyes him again.

Neighsay leans forward, fishing out a folio of papers from under the folds of his cloak and passing them to Luna. The Alicorn takes them from his arcane grasp as he simply continues, “Celestia has always kept these issues quiet, and their knowledge confined to a need-to-know basis. We had expected this to be handled in much the same way, delicately and above all else, discreetly.”

Taking the papers, she flips through them, seeing a full dossier of work done on attempting to translate the San Palamino station's recordings.

“The nightmares could have been explained, the Lumin Mirror was just one of hundreds of similar artifacts, but the Knight of the Moon, Twilight Sparkle's letters, the University project, and these hearings are all making this unmanageable. Your sister was to be informed tomorrow afternoon, after we could pass some of our decisions which would have quietened this all.”

“Sister could not handle Horus, or the issues within Our domain.” Luna re-emphasizes, her eyes gliding across page after page of conjecture from a panel of linguistic experts.

“You arguments were convincing, yes. But other ponies don't know. And they don't need too. But I wanted more proof before we passed any judgment on the Knights of the Moon, or anything in this debacle.” He groans, “But if it's even half as dangerous as you say, and creatures like Discord are involved, then we must have an organized and well informed response plan.”

Luna harrumphs, “You wanted control of all the facto-” It seems to strike her all at once, “The San Palamino project was never in jeopardy, was it?”

Neighsay snorts derisively and leans back in the plush seat, “Of course not.” he tents his forehooves, looking over them impassively, “The information would be placed in a vault until a competent team of specialists could be assembled to analyze just what we're dealing with. Then the team, including all present staff, would be re-allocated to another experimental research project with more oversight by Canterlot University, and ultimately turned over to Princess Celestia.”

“Thou wouldst turn this into a black project under your purview?” Luna smirks, seeing the look of irritation flicker across Neighsay's face. She'd gotten close with that. “Expand their budget, quietly build your own 'response'.”

“I'll have you know, a full scientific and academic assessment team is well within our mandates, Princess Luna.”

Neighsay's reply is almost cleaved into the moment it leaves his muzzle, “Yes, and it would almost certainly have been discovered if one of Sisters prized pupils were so close to the academic community. But if she were to suffer a falling out with the Academic community.” She lets the rest go unsaid.

Though covered in his deep crimson cloak, Luna could see the nearly imperceptible tensing in his neck and jawline. Neighsay remains silent as the Princess laughs, seeing the unseen threads unraveling.

“Twilight's school of friendship, her notes, her refusal to testify against Us. All of that was your doing to keep her from becoming involved in something that Sister would likely deem important.”

“She'd betray Equestria's secrets, even unintentionally.” Neighsay shifts forward, glaring at the Princess who smirks even as another thunderous pulse in the base of her horn sends prickling claws of pain radiating down her neck. “This cannot be left up to lesser minds or lesser ponies. We need the best to look at this from every angle without being sabotaged by the likes of others who would see Ponies brought under their heels and hooves. We cannot let that happen. None but the Crown of Equestria should wield that kind of leverage and power, only it can be trusted.”

Instead of bristling at the perceived insult, knowing full well that 'The Equestrian Crown' has been Celestia alone for a millennia, Luna sucks in a breath at the same time that the chancellor takes a hesitant step forward. She only halts when seeing his shakily drawn breath.

Neighsay nerves himself up for what was no doubt going to be a bitter request. “You are unpredictable, volatile, headstrong, stubborn, and aggressive. You have belligerently stymied our attempts at keeping the situation contained, and therefor nearly revealed all of our safeguards. But you are also, in a sense, correct. Princess Luna, if Ponykind is to get through this and emerge in a position of strength, we cannot continue on this course. Understand that tomorrow will be an exercise in, as the ancient ponish goes, quid-pro-quo.”

The Unicorn stallion stiffens for a moment, then bows his head, following it with a genuflection on the cold office floor. “I implore you, help us Princess Luna, you are our only hope.”

The Primarch's eyes refocus, washing away the small hints of glassiness obscuring the gold visage. Marr straightens further, reflexively flinching away at the merest sensation of the Warmaster's rising choler.

“She's in a meeting.” he sneers mockingly, lifting the corner of his lip and staring down at the unfortunate duo. Captain Loken stands next to Marr, sharing the moment of uncomfortable awkwardness as their Warmaster positively bristled. “Our little fairytale princess is in a 'meeting', and us-” He juts out his chin and towers over the 10th company's captain. “apparently we're on our way to some picnic in the outer rim. Captain Loken.”

“Yes, Commander?” Loken's eyes peer unfalteringly ahead, seemingly inured to the Warmaster's flinty glare.

“Is there any sign of other legion vessels besides our own?”

The question was entirely rhetorical. Even a cursory glance at the rapidly flickering bank of hololithic projections at the center of the Vengeful Spirit's strategium shows the small foreign vessel alongside the behemoth. “Just one of the third legion's frigates, sir, the Eagles Reach.”

“Any other replies to our requests for emissaries, Captain Marr?”

Snapping out of the momentary stupor, Marr takes a sharp breath. “Commander,we have replies of assent from multiple legions, but only the third has arrived with a delegation.”

“Strange, is it not?” Horus takes a long breath through his nostrils. Seeing the look of confusion from Marr and blank stare of Loken, Horus continues, “Two legions are currently embattled in the Auritian debacle, and only one has managed to send representatives when I call. We've passed close enough to Chogoris that the Warhawk should have sent outriders, even in his absence. And we're already well past the boarders of my brother's fanciful realm of Ultramar.”

“Sir,” Loken twitches his cheek and turns, hearing the main doors to the bridge hiss open. “To be fair, Angeron's legion has become somewhat more decentralized as of late. The majority of the White Scars legion are at Chondax, and the Ultramarines-”

“Have never seen eye to eye with us after Ulanor.” Horus redirects with a scowl, sweeping his purple cloak back, wearing only the thick Garou pelt and the tidy grey officers uniform denoting his 63rd expeditionary force. “He tasks us, this is his petty revenge: to put us in a queue and wait until he deems it necessary. And I will not push... no, not for now.” he stalks the tall railings as a cluster of Horusian legionnaires comes into view.

Horus grips the rail, overlooking the whole of the enormous seat of power. Spotting both Torgaddon and the amethyst clad delegation. “But at least I can count on one of my brothers when I need him.” Though muttered seemingly to himself, there was no way the astartes genhanced hearing or preysense couldn't pick that up.

Spotting the gaunt, sallow figure striding next to the obviously uncomfortable Captain Torgaddon, Horus cracks a smile and leans a little more heavily on the plasteel railing. Few would be able to see past the facade, “Lieutenant commander Fabius, I trust my captain has welcomed you to the Vengeful Spirit properly?”

Marr could hear the sharp Terran accent well before the astartes could stride up the curving staircase. “He has, Lord Warmaster. Fulgrim sends his greetings and wishes you to know that he and the Pride of the Emperor will be underway just as soon as the Auritian issue is remedied.”

Horus's smile never falters, but he follows the Emperor's Children's process up the stairwell before slowly turning to greet him at the summit.

“That's comforting.”

Marr merely shoots a quizzical look to Loken. The fellow captain catches the glance, both knowing the unasked question. The Auritian campaign was a mess, with some Imperial analysts predicting a two year campaign of compliance, carried out by both the Emperors Children and World Eaters. It was hard to see any primarch, let alone Fulgrim, leaving a task undone.

They both look to the top of the steps, but only the two stately banners of red and white poke up above floor level.

“But you had requested my presence, and I am here to serve in any capacity you desire, lord.” Fabius steps onto the strategium's main deck and smiles. It's not a pleasant look, more teeth locked into a rictus grin than genuine gleam. “But I do come bearing dispatches from the Auritian front, and information ahead of a more practical delegation.”

Fabius retrieves a sizable onyx data slate from a hip pouch, but tucks it under his arm just long enough to retrieve a small box. It didn't escape the notice of the Spirit's warden terminators, the slight buzz of their power armor telegraphing their readied response to the sudden motion. The tiny marble box gleams of white marble inlaid with streaks of onyx, banded on its edges with gold. “My lord Fulgrim also wished to impart upon you his personal correspondence, and a token of his continued esteem and friendship.”

The Emperors Children Chief apothecary presents them to Horus who nods his thanks magnanimously, though Marr could see it starting to fray around the edges.

“I always value my brothers wise council. Now, I'm quite sure that you have much to do. I do believe you know of our current situation?” Horus begins to open the box.

“Yes, Lord Warmaster. The loss of Chief Apothecary Vaddon has been related to us, as is the incident surrounding Davin. If I may-” Marr's attention slowly strains towards the small object Horus had grasped and raised from the box.

It was a small length of perfect platinum chain, braided like a cord and suspending a partially convex plate of aged seagold. From here, Marr barely catches a glint of an animal form carved into its surface. An ox, or perhaps some other bovine descendant.

“Tybalt?” Loken asks, catching Marr's attention. He follows his fellow captain's gaze to his own bracer, where he'd unknowingly begun tracing his armored fingers over the silver half moon sigil.

“Is. That. So." Horus's deep guttural voice snaps him out of the momentary lapse, like he'd fallen asleep and been awoken by an alarm.

“Yes, the vast majority of the Rout have already gathered at Beta Garmon.”

The smile that had so recently graced Horus Lupercal's face was gone, replaced by the same snarl as moments before.

“Is that so.” Horus repeats to himself, turning as he tucks the box and messenger packet into his coat pocket and returns to his rarely-used command throne. “Lieutenant Commander Fabius, I'm sure you have much to get acquainted with. I'm sure captain Torgaddon can lead you to the Medicae at once while your glory squad settles in.” His terminator wardens still make themselves known, pointedly watching both Fabius and his whole squad.

“Lord Warmaster,” Fabius looks on as Horus returns to his seat of authority, “should I not inspect your own wound fir-”

“I'll be fine, apothecary.” Horus grunts, seizing the handle of something hidden just behind the imposing high-backed throne. His left hand tightens fiercely on red leather cords, shaking to betray the strength that would have shattered steel. “I have other matters to attend to.”

Fabius only nods, and Marr feels the uncomfortable shiver of someone watching him. Eyes shooting up, he spots Fabius staring straight at him. Or, more specifically, at his silver-embossed bracer.

“Commander?” Loken says, watching as Horus drags World Breaker from behind the throne and hoists it to his shoulder like an ancient athlete.

“Take command of the bridge, Captain Loken. I will be back shortly. It seems that I have a meeting now, as well.” Stalking off, strides eating up ground as a practical thundercloud emanated from the Warmaster, Marr found himself already following after before he could register doing it. A faint hiss came from the Warmaster's lips as he quietly mutters to himself, “You're not the only one enduring 'meetings' with so-called important people, you miserable malady of a mare.”