"You really need to get a huge 'Under Construction' sign and tape it to something," she advised, not looking up, as the door swung quietly open. "Maybe then the humans would stop complaining about every little thing."

"I did order a sign - in thirty-foot high letters of fire," a rather strained baritone voice responded. "But they got things mixed up, and left it on the Quentulus Quagzar Mountains in the land of Sevorbeupstry on the planet Preliumtarn, third out from the sun Zarss in Galactic Sector QQ7 ActiveJ Gamma." A pause, then: "I suppose it doesn't matter, though. We can tell them it's my final message to creation."

The man who addressed her came into view now; he was a short, stout, balding fellow. Now, he knitted grey brows, and gave her a quizzical look. "Say, how'd you know it was me?" 

Silviera chuckled quietly. "You forgot to turn your halo off."

Her employer's ears went pink; he snapped a switch, and the light on his circular headgear was extinguished. "Well, I had a meeting with the archangels today, and you know it does look bad if God..."

"I know, I know." She pushed short red-gold waves out of her eyes. "But listen, a few people are starting to catch on to your whole heaven scheme. There's this human..."

God waved her silent. "I'll take care of it, I'll take care of it. I've engaged the very best salesman - he's going to open the Gates once we've finished painting all the sand soothing pastel colors."

Silviera arched an eyebrow. "Yeah? And that'll take... how long?"

God looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, er... thirty-five, um, years." He hurried on hastily. "But that's not important. The only thing you need to worry about is arranging for someone to take him to the city where he'll be born. Just send the next person up here, and I'll take care of the rest. Right?"

He didn't wait for her response, but waddled out.

Silviera sighed, and the answering machine droned on.

He hated it.

Apparently, someone else did, too; for before he could ring the doorbell for a forty-third time, a small window swung open, and a young woman with brilliantly red-gold hair and feathery wings looked out. She saw him waiting expectantly by the gates, and muttered something annoyed. "Sorry, but I can't open the Gates for you right now. The pearls refuse to stick to the clouds whenever the gates move at all, and they keep dropping off into the oceans. And considering how much we paid for them to be imported from the next galaxy, they should at least be suitable for making Pearly Gates!"

Cisaytor found himself liking her in spite of himself - or at least, more than the previous angels. He laughed. "Are you new?"

"Yeah. The last secretary was more air-headed than God expected. I think she floated away." She shrugged, and jerked a wingtip towards a small door conveniently concealed in the soothingly pastel shadows to the left. "I'll let you in over there - that is, I'm assuming you want to come in."

"Well, yes... I wanted to file a complaint."

She sighed. "You and the rest of the world. Come on in."

She led him over a path composed of pale pink and baby blue clouds, and into a glaringly gold building.

"I think silver would have looked better," he commented.

"What?" She glanced up. "Oh, the colors? I had nothing do with it - and the decorator's colorblind."

"The decorator?" He caught her eye, and grinned. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know."

"You don't," she assured him, sitting down at a cluttered desk. "Now... for the record, what's your name?"

"It was Cisaytor... the first time."

"The first... Oh. I think I see. You've been reincarnated."

Cisaytor nodded glumly. "Forty-two times. And if the world wasn't fair the first time around, you wouldn't believe how things get to you by the forty-second."

"Actually, I would - because you're not the only one this has been happening to, Cisaytor. That's the good news. There are a definite number of people in the world at the moment, and when someone dies, they are reborn as someone else. Not many are astute enough to notice -" she awarded him an approving glance - "but we've had enough complaints lately that even God's realized something needs to be done."

"Why..."

"It's a system that was supposed to prevent over-population of the Earth. That's your descendants' problem, though, so if you don't think about it, it will stay conveniently in the background until it causes a world-wide crisis in the year 1313."

"A world-wide crisis... !"

The angel gave him a severe glance. "I told you not to think about it. It's like the monster under the bed." She must have caught his increasingly bewildered expression, for she sighed, and put a hand to her head. "Er... don't think about that either."

He opened his mouth to speak, and she added, "God is a semi-all-knowing salesman."

"What...?"

"I was going to save you the trouble of asking why nothing in Heaven made any kind of sense."

"Why does nothing in Heaven... Oh."

She smiled ironically. "Because God is a semi-all-knowing salesman. Listen, my name is Silviera... that'll give you something to go on. I'm one of the minor angels, and I work for God. God is also the supervisor of Heaven, and supposedly, when everything's done, another of his collegues will open it to the public and people will come here after dying."

"When everything's done?" Cisaytor arched an eyebrow. "And when will that be?"

Silviera shrugged. "Thirty-five years, more or less."

"Thirty-five years? Thirty-five years until I get to stop being reborn?" He gaped.

"Yeah, 'fraid so. Right now, the designers are painting everything obnoxiously soothing pastel colors and installing televisions that only play soap operas on the ever-so-slightly marred beaches. Then, I suppose they'll work on the condominiums." She caught his eye, and nodded. "Actually, you might prefer reincarnation over this." A broad gesture included all of Heaven.

"Nuh-uh. You don't know what it's like."

"I'm sure you're right." She considered for a moment. "Although... I wouldn't wish the job on you, but God wants me to draft someone as the one who will prepare the way for his fellow salesman."

"What are my options?"

"Well, you could go back to Earth... or hang around here for a while. I doubt they'd notice and throw you out for a couple of years."

"Well..." Cisaytor bit his lip. Perhaps Heaven would be more appealing in thirty-five years, but he didn't really care to stick around now, although talking to someone with a sense of humor was a pleasant change. "I'll do it."

"If you say so." She turned, opened a pastel-cloud door in the floor behind her. "The exit's that way."

He looked, drew instinctively back, but forced himself forward again. It wasn't that he was really acrophobic... but if he had to fall several miles, it would have been nice to be able to see exactly where he would land.

Silviera noticed his hesitation, and looked apologetic. "I'd let you out the gates, but you'll need a new body, and you have to die first."

He nodded numbly, and stepped down and out.

Four minutes later and still falling, he realized that her statement should have been frightening. But then... death wasn't that bad, only monotonous.

And as he hit a rather surprised sheep, some time later, his last thought was that it didn't even hurt, really...

What? Cisaytor wondered for a moment, disoriented, and then it came to him. The sound had been a donkey's bray; more specifically, his own startled cry.

A donkey. It just didn't seem possible. He'd always been human before, and Silviera had said...

"...one who will prepare the way for God's fellow salesman..."

There must have been some mistake. What could... how could...

"A donkey will do fine, Terhe. Thank you." A human - male - voice, followed by the clink of coins being exchanged. Cisaytor's long eyes pricked; at the first sound of footsteps, he turned - at least, as far as the rope restraining his head would let him.

He couldn't see the speakers, but heard their approach; two humans, by the sound of their sandaled footsteps, which his long ears twitched to pick up. And low voices...

"Is this wise, Josef?" a woman's soft alto asked, and was answered by the man's voice.

"We don't have a choice, Marhi. Caesar himself called the census, and we dare not disobey."

The speakers - a cloaked man with work-callused hands and his young but obviously pregnant wife - came into view; Cisaytor regarded them with curious brown eyes.

"Will it be safe for the child?" Marhi questioned, laying her hands on her round belly.

Josef sighed. "I don't know, love. But you'll ride the way, and with God's blessing, we'll be at Bethlehem within a few days."

Marhi nodded, though she was only half-listening. She had seen Cisaytor and come to stroke his silky nose with all the interest of a young girl. "He's so little!" she exclaimed.

Her husband smiled. "Small, perhaps, but his breed is strong. It'll be a long journey, but easier for him than for you." He lifted her to Cisaytor's back.

The sudden weight surprised the donkey, but he did not buck or shy, and walked obediently at Josef's side when the human tugged at his lead rope. Perhaps he should have tried to rid himself of these people and wait for instructions concerning God's affiliate. And yet... the young couple interested him. Besides, if God's idea of a joke was to turn him into a donkey, he wasn't so sure that any associate of His would be an improvement. He wasn't sure that he really wanted the Heaven of irritatingly-pastel condominiums to open, anyhow...

The worst part was that there was still so far to -

"Oh!" Marhi breathed, gesturing, and Cisaytor drew his gaze up and away from his hooves to see where she pointed. There, ahead, was -

"It may only be a mirage, love," Josef reminded, but Cisaytor whinnied disagreement - it was a town, for no mirage could so deceive his keen ears and twitching nose. A slow stream of people flowed into the town, gathering for Caesar's census.

Marhi smiled, sharing Cisaytor's surety; but her smile was quickly wiped away in a grimace of pain. Josef gave her a worried glance. "Why don't you sit down in the shade, here. I'll find a place for us to stay before you have to go into Bethlehem..."

Marhi looked unhappy, but managed a weak smile for her husband's efforts.

And so, minutes later, Cisaytor stood, lead tied to a tree, while Josef busied himself in the stable just out of sight. In his concern for his wife and the arrival of their child, he had completely forgotten the donkey. Annoyed and uncomfortable, Cisaytor had brayed indignantly, until his parched throat hurt. Now he stood, silent though resentful, and alone.

A flutter of wings startled him into shying; a familiar voice behind him chuckled, amused. "You should have stayed in Heaven like I said." But quick fingers were at his neck, unbinding the halter, and in a moment, he tossed his head, freed. He stretched, unbending taut muscles, before looking up at Silviera.

"Awwhee-haw!"

She nodded, whether understanding or simply interpreting what he was likely thinking, Cisaytor could not have said. "First, I'm sorry you're a donkey. I didn't know; I would have drafted someone else."

"Whee?"

"Someone who wasn't smart enough to understand, of course. Oh, don't look at me like that - there are plenty of them. And second... I imagine you're confused, but you have done what was necessary - at least, God thinks it's necessary, and from what he said, I think you've done it."

"Whaaw?"

"The one who will open Heaven is Marhi's son."

Suddenly, Cisaytor didn't feel at all so pleasant towards the young couple he had accompanied along the road to Bethlehem. Strange how wary he'd become of anyone in league with God, lately...

He opened his mouth to whinny something to Silviera, and discovered that he could talk. This surprised him so much that he forgot what he had been about to try to say. He would have let his jaw drop in shock, but it was already open; so he merely closed his mouth and looked to the angel for answers.

She arched an eyebrow, though a smile quirked her lips. "Don't look at me. All animals can talk tonight, as of two seconds ago, per order of God. His notorious affiliate has just entered the world. In fact, a multitude of angels should arrive any moment now." She glanced at her digital watch. "They're late."

Cisaytor took this in without comment. "So why are you here?" he asked, over the screechingly soprano angelic chorus who had just appeared over the stable in a tangle of wings and feathers. The area was beginning to look distinctly crowded.

"Well, you don't want to stay a donkey until Heaven's opened, do you?"

He shook his head, and she put a hand to his muzzle. Dark blinds were drawn slowly across the world; the next moment, he found himself at the top of the steps that led to the Pearly Gates (still shedding the pale gems.)

Silviera looked justifiably smug. "Those who travel with angels don't need to climb stairs."

"And while I understand that you were only trying to be nice to the human - a commendable intention - if you explain things so thoroughly, you'll only make us look bad."

That, then, was the root of the matter. Someone of the mortal race had realized that Heaven was being built and run by humbugs and the clear solution was to punish someone who was low enough in the hierarchy not to make a difference anyway.

"Is that all?" Silviera's tone was unusually cold, but then, she was extremely tired of God's condescending manner. Besides, she'd be sacked in a moment, so it didn't matter, really...

God coughed, looking uncomfortable, and she smiled slightly upon noticing. "Well, you see, there is one other matter of concern... You see, traditionally, angels have blond hair, and well, a few people have noticed..."

"I see." She gave him an icy stare, and stalked out of the office. As she crossed the threshold, her wings vanished.

Cisaytor met her just outside the reception office, his eyes flicking immediately to her conspicuously missing wings. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean you to be fired -"

She discovered that she really didn't need to hear it, and cut him off accordingly. "Not your fault. I'm not attractive and ditzy enough for the tastes of God's old cronies, so he doesn't want me. It's not even personal, he says - angels are simply supposed to be blond - platinum will do - with starry blue-violet eyes and perfect figures."

"That's not -"

She shrugged ironically. "Hey, no one ever said Heaven was fair."

At that point, both disappeared, never to be seen again on Heaven or Earth, and their conversation was effectively ended.

"Silviera?"

She glanced over at Cisaytor, frowning. "Don't ask. I don't know anymore than you do, except that there probably isn't religion here."

Her companion gave an over-exaggerated sigh of relief. "Thank Go - oh."

She smiled wrily. "Yeah, I guess you'll have to find something else to swear by."

Would Faranth work?

Both looked up, startled, at what was undeniably a green dragon.

"What?" Cisaytor passed a hand over his eyes.

I said... Oh, shardit... Never mind. Jainor, care to help me here? I'm not good with humans!

She glanced between Cisaytor, Silviera, and the green dragon, and sighed, folding sunset-tinged wings. I can tell this is going to take a while. 'Myrcieth, what happened?

The green gave her a nasty look. It isn't my fault, Jainoreth!

I know, Jainoreth soothed peaceably. But humans don't usually appear out of nowhere, Emyrcieth.

They did! Emyrcieth complained, jabbing her tail accusingly in Cisaytor's direction. He stared back at the fuming dragon.

"We didn't appear out of nowhere," Silviera corrected. "We came from Earth - at least, Cisaytor did. I'm Silviera - I used to be an angel."

The green dragoness gave her an odd look, but made no comment. Jainoreth caught her companion's expression, and began to chuckle. I think, Silviera and Cisaytor, that you'd better come with us...

They were on Pern, Jainoreth had explained, a world of dragons. More specifically, in Darkling Dawn, a dragonWeyr - and Weyrs were as dragon-ish as you could get. They were home to many dragons - greens, blues, browns, bronzes, and golden queens, in increasing rank and rarity - and their bonded riders.

That was the real shocker. The dragons bonded at hatching to someone, usually a human or humanoid, and the pair remained together, in constant telepathic connection, for the rest of their lives.

Jainoreth and Emyrcieth were, then, a bit of an oddity. Green Emyrcieth had been abandoned by her chosen rider; she had later bonded to the hatchling Jainoreth. Of course, Jainoreth was unique in herself, being sunset purple. Cisaytor had surmised that there was also more to Emyrcieth's story than he knew, but the touchy green had stubbornly refused to explain.

Also according to the purple dragoness... Silviera and he himself had been brought to the Weyr because the dragonpair had sensed them as being suitable for Impression.

It was amazing how quickly the ex-angel had adapted, Cisaytor mused; but then, Silviera had already been aware of the existance of other worlds, though not Pern in particular. She seemed especially drawn to the great dragons, and Cisaytor suspected that she missed her wings, however self-possessed she seemed.

In fact, she had Impressed a firelizard - a little brown miniature of the dragons, who, while unable to communicate telepathically, was moderately empathic. She had named the little creature Ksche early on, and it now answered to nothing else, despite the fact that the name was virtually unpronounceable. Cisaytor had commented on the fact to Silviera; she'd merely laughed, and asked if he'd like her to get him a flit of his own.

He'd refused, but perhaps her fascination with the dragons was growing on him; he found himself regretting his choice, a little. Some pet, some companion would be nice, until and if he Impressed a dragon...

And yet, though Darkling Dawn had canines, felines, and flits... none of them really appealed to him, until he found the little fox-like kit.

She wasn't quite like any animal he'd ever seen before: a little creature with a triangular head, silky golden-brown fur, and intelligent brown eyes. She would trail just after him, almost like one of the canines, but had a cat's dignity. She was just about the right size to drape herself over his shoulders, but she rarely permitted him the informality. 

He called her Khistryne, and brought her, one day, to Emyrcieth. The green was more volatile than her bond, but also had senority and a greater knowledge of the other worlds, of which, Cisaytor was learning, there were many.

An Alskyrian aifre, Emyrcieth told him after a moment, giving Khistryne an appraising glance. She's one of the rarer multi-colored breeds. They sell for no small amounts on the islands. You must be lucky.

Now if only his luck would hold, Cisaytor thought, cuddling Khistryne to his side and wondering whether she was the source of his luck. At any rate, he'd try to keep her near him - for it would take luck, and love, and talent, to Impress...

But she could have wished that Eoth's clutch had better timing.

Ksche woke her up one night, in the cold predawn, fluttering around her head in excitement, and sending images of eggs into her mind. She sighed, covered her head with a pillow, and tried to go back to sleep, but he dragged the covers away, leaving her rather annoyed but also proud of his strength.

Resigning herself to not being able to go back to sleep, she quietly left her room, and was immediately aware of the humming of the dragons.

She ran back to her room on light feet, quickly donned the white robe that marked her candidacy, ran a hand through tousled red-gold hair, and joined the throng of people headed sleepily for the sands.

She saw Cisaytor among the other candidates; he caught her eye and grinned encouragingly, as she fell into place among the other hopeful girls...

As the stands finally filled, the first egg cracked, revealing a blue so dark he appeared almost black. Another, paler blue emerged just as his brother bonded, and he too chose his rider, as did the pair of greens and the brown who followed.

And then a bright bronze dragonet broke free from his egg, to his father's proud bugle, and went straight to Cisaytor's side. Have you ever been a dragon before, C'saytor? he inquired, curiously.

C'saytor laughed. No, Ithtyruith, I haven't. I was a donkey, once, though. He grinned down at Ithtyruith. I like being a human best, though -

Because you have me! Ithtyruith completed, looking smug. And I'm hungry.

His rider grinned wrily. What does that have to do with it?

I think you'll find that sometimes things on Pern don't make perfect sense, either, Ithtyruith told him, and C'saytor was reminded of Silviera's explaination of heaven. But that's okay - we can cope. If, that is, you get me something to eat!

Laughing with his imperious young bronze, C'saytor did as he was bid.

But it was Silviera who calmed her, lifting the slim golden head to meet the hatching's still-red-whirling eyes. "Alequveyth! It's okay, it was just an accident..." And then she realized what she'd said, and simply stared, at a loss for words.

Alequveyth gave her a slow smile, her opalescent eyes returning to blue. Then I forgive them, if you wish.

Silviera grinned in relief. Then perhaps you'd prefer to spend your energy on some food, Ale'?

Alequveyth nodded appreciatively. A marvelous idea, my rider.
 

They met Cisaytor and his bond in the Weyrbowl, where the new bronzerider was also feeding his hungry dragonet. "Congrats, Cisaytor," Silviera called, upon seeing him.

He glanced up, and smiled upon seeing her. "The same to you. I'm C'saytor now, though, according to Ithtyruith. And who's your lovely bond?"

"Alequveyth," Silviera introduced, while cutting up meat for the young gold. And then both were silent, for some time.

Finally, Ithtyruith looked between them, and tossed his head impatiently. Why're you two so formal? Alequveyth and I don't make you different people!

They all laughed at that, and the slight tension in the air eased. Things were back to normal - if, that is, there was indeed such a thing as normality.

Doubtful... Alequveyth mused.

Why must we wait for them to teach us how to fly? Alequveyth wondered, casting an impatient glance at the Weyrlingmaster. You used to be able to fly, Silviera. Why can't you show us?

The ex-angel coughed rather uncomfortably, not looking at C'saytor. "I don't think that angel-wings are much like yours, dear heart. And anyway..." She trailed off.

But bronze Ithtyruith had been listening carefully, Anyway what?

"Well... I couldn't, erm, really, well, fly." She tossed her head, and stared at Ithtyruith, daring him to laugh. The young bronze managed to contain himself, though his eyes swirled with brilliant blue amusement.

It was C'saytor who cracked first. "You what?" he exclaimed, staring at her. "My god, Silviera, you were a sharded angel! What do you mean you couldn't fly?"

Gold and goldrider exchanged glances, and began to laugh almost hysterically at his expression. "It's very simple," Silviera told him, grinning a trifle maliciously. "I... was... incapable... of... flight. The wings were purely decorative."

"But..." C'saytor frowned, shaking his head. "I know you flew, when I was a donkey."

"Oh, that?" She smirked. "Magnets."

"Nothing ever got done on my sharded planet because God was busy rigging magnetic systems for the angels!" C'saytor exploded, eliciting further laughter from Silviera, and a rather condescending glance from her Alequveyth.

Even Ithtyruith hid a smile as he asked, Do you really mind that you're here with me rather than being reincarnated on a planet run by salesmen?

"It's just..." He leaned against the bronze for support. "The universe has a very, very cruel sense of humor." And then: "If I ever meet whoever's supposed to be running it, we're going to have a very long talk."

You could give him directions to that hut where the man with the feline called Lord lives, Alequveyth suggested, in response to the question her rider was pondering, and Silviera smirked.

I just might do that, Ale-my-love...

But we'd have to go, too, the gold added, imperiously. It would be highly amusing. I wouldn't want to miss it.

C'saytor shrugged. "Not too different, except..." He glanced up at Ithtyruith, whose gaze was fixed intently upon Alequveyth. The gold's expression was smug; she seemed well aware of the attention, and was enjoying every minute of it. She flashed wings that seemed to glow even more brightly than usual at the bronze, who crooned softly.

She's beautiful, C'saytor, he commented dreamily, causing his rider to elbow him sharply.

For Faranth's sake, Ithtyr, she's your sister!

It does not matter. She is gold; she deserves a strong bronze like me.

C'saytor was torn between horror and amusement at his bond's arrogance. It matters to me! He got out, finally.

The bronze gave him a long look. Why? You like Silviera well enough.

Not like that! He protested. Silviera and I are friends - we've been through a lot together. But nevertheless, he stole a glance at the ex-angel who sat beside him, gaze resting lovingly upon her golden dragoness. Ksche curled around slim shoulders, peering out through short red waves streaked gold from long hours of weyrling practice under the warm sun. The flit chirped inquisitively at him; he quickly averted his eyes, but not before catching Silviera's own brown eyes, which sparkled with amusement.

"Except that Ithtyruith has finally started to notice the females of his race," she finished, laughing. "I'd sign him up to chase, if I were you." And then, when he stared at her in surprise, she shook her head. "Don't look at me like that - I didn't mean he should chase Alequveyth. We've decided that she'll rise here at the Weyr - so I think it's your duty and Ithtyruith's to spread the proud Darkling Dawn lineage among other Weyrs." Her smile broadened. "Incidentally, Lantessama Isle is looking for chasers."

"You planned all this," he accused, and she tossed her head, smirking.

"Nonesense."

We merely thought that you might need some assistance.

"You two are devious," C'saytor announced, and turned his back on the laughter of gold and goldrider.

Khistryne appeared from - where? - and condescended to allow him to ruffle the silky fur between her ears. Finally, she rose, and slipped over to the bronze to bound to his back, sinking anchoring claws into the wherhide of the riding harness. Ithtyruith barely afforded her a glance; he'd come to accept her comings and goings.

Instead, he lowered his head to meet his rider's sulky grey eyes. C'saytor? I won't laugh at you, I promise... But you know, going to Lantessama does sound like one of Ale's better ideas...

C'saytor through up his hands in defeat. I give up. Go ahead and chase wherever you want.

Thank you, Ithtyruith responded, brightly, and extended a forearm to help his rider up.

Not on Pern, Ithtyruith announced happily. Lantessama is between dimensions, and... there's nothing beyond the ocean.

It just stops? His rider lifted an eyebrow, skeptical and not quite sure he wanted to believe, in any case.

Don't think about it, the bronze advised, reminding him once more of Silviera. And don't think about her, either.

I suppose I should follow your admirable example and take up flirting with every female in sight?

Why not? Ithtyruith inquired at his most charming; and then his eyes whirled a faster violet, and he shook his head rather violently. On second thought... no. You may devote your attentions to Eryka, for now.

Eryka?

Princess of her world, rider of the lovely Kyrenath, his lifemate offered. And Kyrenath is truly worthy of a royal bond; her jade, snow-touched hide, and wings with the purety of crystal...

Poetic, aren't we? C'saytor observed drily, and then shook his head in mild surprise. Besides - I thought you had visions of gold?

Kyrenath's kindness is no less than her beauty, Ithtyruith continued, ignoring his rider's comment.

You mean she puts up with your ego? the bronzerider guessed, interpreting the dragon's evasive praise.

And she has horns! I mean, how much cooler can you get?

Silviera, who had seated herself against her bond's warm side, scooted back to search the dragoness's face. ... You mean that?

Well, no, not really, the gold conceded, but it would have been most amusing to see C'saytor's reaction if his bronze caught me. She laughed, mischief in her voice.

Hmm, her rider agreed, consideratively. C'saytor wasn't so bad looking, himself, if one liked black hair and deeply tanned skin, and the wry humor always present in his grey eyes. And he'd unknowingly picked up some of his bond's mannerisms and natural charm; though they seemed predispositioned to banter in a good-humored way, he was quite the bronzerider. He'd probably make some greenrider happy.

But we're better? Ale' inquired, half teasing, half in agreement. Ithtyruith could not catch me anyway.

So who can, my golden love?