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Natier both loved the world and hated it - usually both at the same time. The memory of the lithe cougar on top of him stirred his sheath as he ran. Another stirring, a far more unpleasant one, was happening in his stomach. After all the ale he'd drunk, Natier would have been pleasantly surprised to feel otherwise. With every painful step he took, the latter stirring grew harder and harder to ignore. Natier halted his half-crawl through the darkened passage and bent over. He vomited several times, expertly avoiding his clothes and russet fur. "Lovely." He wiped the drool from his muzzle with a 'kerchief and pressed on. His stomach was considerably lighter, but the going did not become any easier. It got harder, in fact, because his newly-freshened mind popped into the picture, asking a very important question: 'Why are you trying so hard?'

The rest of Natier couldn't agree more. Rather than all this 'trying' business, it wouldn't be so bad to just disappear again, to go somewhere far away where he didn't have to keep up appearances. His father certainly got on swimmingly without him. He didn't even bother with a search party when his only son disappeared without a trace in a remote, war-torn province. Mincing these thoughts led Natier all the way to the end of the passage.

"Well, I've come this far." He chuckled. "If I just pass out here, someone's bound to smell me." He threw open the secret door and waddled into the room. Somewhere in the distance, he heard pawsteps. Any potential morning visitors knew the kind of treatment they'd get, so it was unlikely to be a social call for him. Natier sighed and shed his clothes, fully intending to look the other way on personal cleanliness in return for a spot of shuteye.

"Your Highness, I am terribly sorry to disturb you."

Natier froze and stood stock-still. "Yes?" He adjusted his undershorts, hiding the large, dark stain on the silk fabric.

"Your father wishes to see you about the raise in allowance you requested earlier."

"Ah." Natier coughed to mask a sigh of relief. "I will go see him after my water bath."

"As you wish, Your Highness." The raccoon bowed and left.

Alone again, Natier heaved the sigh of relief he'd held in for so long. He changed out of the soiled shorts into a new outfit and headed for the baths.

On the way, he yawned more times than he could count. His eyelids drooped of their own accord as if they were weighted with lead. Natier rubbed his eyes in a feeble attempt to keep them open and pushed onward. His original plan to take a quick powder bath and go to sleep was smashed to bits with the servant's arrival. Now, he would have to look prim and presentable for the meeting with his father. 'In the end, it'll all be worth it.' That one positive thought kept Natier up on his feet.

Most of the palace denizens preferred powder baths, so he wasn't the least bit surprised to find the water baths empty. Sadly, powder alone wouldn't suffice. The cougar he'd made love to last night climaxed carelessly all over his stomach. Natier ran his paw down the crusted patch of fur on his belly and smiled at the memory. He padded all the way to the other end of the room, pushed aside a blue velvet curtain and entered another, much smaller chamber. It was a private bath, reserved for the king and his family.

"Towel, zurr?" An otter he hadn't noticed on his way in approached Natier. He wore a particularly tight-fitting uniform and balanced a stack of fluffy blue towels deftly in one paw.

"Yes, that would be nice." Natier helped himeself to a towel and looked the servant over. It was as if the uniform was tailor-made to show off the creature's strong arms, broad chest and perky rump. After all the horror stories he'd heard about nobles mixing with servants, Natier never even considered propositioning one. With the Silk Peony open every day of the week, he never needed to. This otter certainly made him rethink his stance on the issue. "What is your name?"

"Fiorin, Yoor Highness." The otter bowed.

Natier couldn't quite pin the accent down. Fiorin rolled his 'R's and pronounced his 'U's and 'O's the same way - it almost sounded foreign.

The strong scent of arousal that emanated from the otter's direction left little doubt about his sexuality. "Very good, Flirin." Natier patted the otter on the shoulder, stopping briefly to feel the rippling muscles underneath the soft fur. "How would you like to join me for dinner tonight?"

Fiorin's eyes lit up. "I would love to, zurr!" The wide eyes and the naïve smile - he was perfect.

"Good. I will send for you." Natier felt his member rub against his shorts and focused on less arousing things. Playing it coy assured him a dominant stance in lovemaking. "I will see you tonight, Florin." His trip to the city would have to wait. That cougar probably needed some more time to recover anyway; he was new and quite inexperienced - though Natier didn't mind. He liked them innocent. "Wait outside."

"Yes, zurr." Fiorin bowed and retreated behind the curtain.

Natier removed his clothing and climbed into the marble pool. The water was perfect as usual - cool enough to climb into, but warm enough to remove all the dirt and musk of the day. Natier rested his head on a small pillow on the edge of the pool and closed his eyes. The jasmine in the water soothed him and lulled him into a gentle daze.

"Yoor Highness?" Fiorin's voice brought Natier back to consciousness. The otter peeked out from behind the curtain. "I brought Yoor Highness fresh powders and an outfit from yoor closet."

"Good, I'll be right out." Natier yawned, cracking his jaw, and climbed out of the bath. He dried himself off, pausing several times for Fiorin's benefit, and then sat down on the marble bench next to the bath. "You may brush me."

"Right away, zurr." Fiorin placed Natier's outfit on the bench and took a large brush and an ivory comb out of his pocket. "Would Yoor Highness like to pick a scent?"

"Cinnamon." Natier kept his eyes closed, not wanting to get any more aroused by looking at the otter.

He hated cinnamon, but his father enjoyed it. Whenever Natier wanted to get something out of the old fox, he always made sure to wear the scent.

"Yes, zurr."

Natier heard the clatter of ceramic pots and felt the soft tug of the comb.

Like all the other servants, Fiorin was quite gentle. He combed the fur in slow, even strokes, then dusted it with a light layer of cinnamon powder. "All done, Yoor Highness."

Natier stood up and wrapped the towel around his midsection. "You may go, Fiorin; I can dress myself."

Fiorin bowed. "As you wish, Yoor Highness." He collected his brushes and left.

Natier watched Fiorin's rump move playfully as the otter walked. He got aroused again and sighed, letting the sensation wash gently over him.

Most nobles allowed others to dress them, but Natier hated being so dependent. It reminded him of his younger days - days he wanted to unlive or at the very least forget.

He finished dressing, buttoned his vest correctly because his father liked it that way, and headed upstairs.

The king's guards were always a sight to behold - two titanic bears, armed with swords so large that Natier could easily hide behind one. They stood sharply at attention when they saw the prince. "Good morning, Your Highness."

Natier looked at them impassively. "Good morning." He stifled a yawn. "I am here to see my father."

The bears pushed open the heavy oaken doors and stood to the side. "Come right in, Your Highness."

Gracing the guards with a wan smile, Natier walked through the doors.

Riius, the Royal Secretary, jumped out of his chair when Natier entered. "Your Highness!" He scurried around his desk and kissed the prince's paw. "What a pleasure to see you. You are here to see your father, I presume."

"I am, yes." Natier tugged his paw disgustedly from the squirrel's grasp and wiped it on a 'kerchief. "Announce me."

"Right away, right away, Your Highness." Riius bowed and scurried further down the corridor.

Natier followed in his wake, walking in a deliberate, slow pace. He reached the end of the hallway, where Riius stood waiting.

"Right this way, Your Highness." He pushed open the door. "Your Majesty, Prince Natier is here to see you." He bowed to Natier. "Please go right in."

"Thank you, Riius." Natier patted the squirrel on the shoulder. He never liked Riius much - the squirrel was always too enthusiastic about his job. Natier had long since decided to fire him once he took the throne. He smiled inwardly, imagining the hurt look on Riius's face when he found out, and proceeded inside.

"Good morning, Son."

All Natier could see of the king were the large, black ears peeking over the stacks of parchment. "Good morning, Father." He bowed.

Rasdill shifted some of the parchment aside for a better view and got straight to business. "Natier, I will give you the raise you requested, but I must insist on a reason first. I cannot just give out gold left and right, I'm afraid. Your grandfather did it and pushed the country into economic chaos." He coughed into his paw. "I won't bore you with the details."

"Thank you, Father." Natier had made his hatred of economics abundantly clear in the past. He sat down in one of the velvet-upholstered chairs across from Rasdill, resisting the urge to slouch. He sighed. "I do not know if this is a good reason or not." He knew it was a good reason. He'd spent hours in front of a mirror practicing and rehearsing it.

"I need the raise in allowance to help combat my constant feelings of loneliness and isolation." He watched the smile on his father's muzzle fade. "Father, I have never had many friends. My playmates were paid to like me and my nannies hated me. I always felt so alone." Rasdill wasn't crying yet, so Natier pressed on. "Ever since Mother died, I've never really had anyone to talk to. All I ever do is sit in my room and pine to have even one true friend. Going to the market is an addiction, I know, but these material possessions, Father, they're all I have." He'd hit perfect note, keeping a slight twinge of sadness in his voice.

Rasdill broke down crying even before Natier had finished his speech. "I'm so sorry, Son." The king wiped his eyes on a 'kerchief and blew his nose. "I had no idea what you go through every day. Of course I will give you your allowance. In fact, I will even give you fifteen gold instead of the fourteen you asked me for." He stood and walked around the desk to embrace his son.

"Thank you, Father." Natier returned the embrace, burying his muzzle in Rasdill's shoulder to hide his triumphant grin.

"Remember, Son, I am always here for you." Rasdill held Natier at arm's length and looked him in the eyes. "No matter what happens, if you ever need someone to talk to, just let me know. I will be happy to listen."

"Again, Father, I thank you." Natier bowed. "I will leave you to your work."

"Thank you, Natty." Rasdill kissed his son on the forehead and returned to his desk.

Natier walked out of his father's study, no longer attempting to hide his smug grin. The plan worked flawlessly - better than expected, in fact. He could go to the Silk Peony every day of the week if he pleased. His cougar lover would be very happy to hear the news, no doubt.

He'd almost let his emotions get in his way back in his father's study. That would have certainly ruined things. If he was going to continue to get what he wanted, he needed to keep those pesky things in check. They were the reason he lost his mother.

Fortunately, Natier had found the perfect way to release his sexual desires without be worrisome burden of attachment. All those young males at the Silk Peony only did what they did because there was a gold piece waiting for them at the end of the ride. They didn't care who Natier was, what his hopes and dreams were or even what he had for breakfast that day. The complete detachment felt so freeing back when Natier had first discovered it he'd spent four months' worth of allowance in the span of just a few weeks.

Back then, everything was new. He'd just found a way to sneak out of the palace undetected and the city opened up like a massive door right in front of him. It beckoned him with all the carnal delights he could ever want. Even the more harrowing events he'd lived through - like being chased through the slums and almost raped - carried a certain excitement that made Natier's heart race.

He opened his bedroom door and headed straight for the massive canopy bed on the far side.

Natier lay there, trailing his claws through the blue silk sheets as he pondered his next move. He no longer felt sleepy after his meeting and he'd long since grown bored of everything in his room. 'Time to spend that allowance.' Natier stood up, stretched and quickly got on his way.

He stopped at the exchequer's to collect his gold.

The old raccoon - whose name Natier couldn't be bothered to remember - gasped when he saw the prince. "Your Highness." He cleared his throat and adjusted his pince-nez. "I have received the note from His Majesty." His muzzle opened and closed several times as he searched for words. "Erm... Are you quite sure you would like to withdraw the amount all at once?" He cleared his throat again. "I mean, fifteen gold is a very substantial sum. If you would like, I could give you a few gold now and you could come collect the rest later."

"Well, that is all very well and good, but I plan to spend the entire sum today." Natier smiled, watching the old raccoon's jaw fall open. "There's no sense in coming back several times, is there?"

"Your Highness, I-"

"Oh, just hurry up, would you?" Saving money was the exchequer's problem, not his. "I have a lot of things to buy before the market closes." He sniffled. "Not to mention the fact that I am allergic to dust and this room hasn't been swept in millennia." He sneezed, not bothering to cover himself for added effect.

Defeated, the exchequer sighed and counted out the gold. He placed the coins into Natier's black silk purse and slid it across the desk. "Here you are, Your Highness."

"Thank you." Natier threaded the purse through his belt. "I will be back for more next week."

Before the exchequer could reply, he turned on his heel and departed.

Natier left the palace under the protection of two guards. He walked down Market Street, enjoying the warm weather and the lively chatter of merchants. They all wore their finest wares in an attempt to show off and often looked more like display mannequins than people. The guards at his back and his impressive outfit garnered Natier instant attention from every merchant.

They dropped whatever they were doing and tore after him, forgetting all about their stalls. "Your Highness, might I interest you in some of my wares?"

Natier enjoyed the merchants' attention almost as much as he enjoyed completely ignoring it. He walked down the street, a swagger in his step, buying up anything he fancied - he could afford it.

Clothes and other assorted knickknacks piled higher and higher, and soon a whole cavalcade of merchant's aides and apprentices had gathered in the prince's wake, carrying his purchases.

The Royal Market came to an abrupt end. The stalls became shabby and merchants were all poorly dressed, smelling of cheap powders and sweat. Natier pinched his nose in disgust and turned around. He brushed off a street urchin, who was attempting to sell him some sort of despicable-looking pastry, and headed back up the street to see if he'd missed anything else worth buying. He took another sweep of the stalls, picked up a few more bits of tat and headed back to the palace.

His raccoon servant met him at the door. "Your Highness." He bowed and kissed the prince's paw. "I trust your trip to the market was pleasurable."

"It was." Natier smiled. "Take those clothes up to my room." He gestured to the line of people behind him. "Have them folded and arranged in my closet. Oh, and use the rest of the things to decorate my room. You know my tastes by now."

"Yes, Your Highness." The servant bowed and gestured for the clothes-bearers to follow him.

Natier cut ahead of the line and made his way to the dining room. He ate a quick lunch of baked hen and potato casserole and returned to his quarters.

He checked up on his new purchases, trying on a few of the articles in preparation for his evening with Fiorin. He knew he'd need to wear something extra special. Any one of the outfits in his closet would impress the otter, but Natier wanted to make Fiorin howl with envy - a little bellowing would make sex all the more pleasant. He stripped off his street-going ensemble and busied himself with picking out a new outfit. He settled on a blue velour waistcoat with matching pants, pale-blue hose and a black leather belt with a large gold buckle. The ensemble was worth more than Fiorin's salary for the year, he was sure of it. Natier smiled.

He set the clothes out on the divan in his room and got into bed.

All this shopping had worn him out. If he was going to be as dominant with the otter as he'd hoped, he needed to recover his stamina.

Natier imagined Fiorin's lithe, muscular body on top of him, the curiously shaped member pressing against his stomach.

His paw strayed over his shorts and came to rest on the fully-engorged maleness throbbing just beneath the delicate silk fabric. Pawing off sounded incredibly tempting, but Natier resisted. "A little bit of fun now would only spoil the fun later."

"Did you say something, Your Highness?" His servant came in, carrying a carafe of wine.

"I said wake me up an hour before dinner."

"Of course, Your Highness." The raccoon placed the carafe on Natier's bed stand, bowed and left.

Natier poured himself a glass of wine. "A toast! To one hell of a fantastic night." He drained the glass without taking a breath, collapsed on the bed and promptly fell asleep.

"Your Highness!" The raccoon startled Natier for the second time that day. "It is approximately an hour before dinner; you requested I wake you."

"Ah yes, that's right." Natier sat up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Set a table for two, I will have company." He pushed all thoughts of Fiorin out of his head. He needed to concentrate. "Meanwhile, put vanilla oil into the powder bath."

The Servant bowed. "Of course, Your Highness."

Natier nodded in acknowledgement and fell back asleep. The servant's voice awoke him several minutes later.

"Your Highness, the bath is ready."

"Yes, yes, I'm coming." Natier shook off what was left of his daze and stood up. He sauntered to the bathroom, where the raccoon stood waiting for him by a shallow copper tub.

"Everything is ready, Your Highness."

"Good." Natier stripped off his clothes and climbed into the tub. He rolled around in the sweet-smelling powder until the smell became too overwhelming. The sweet scent turned to bitterness on his tongue. He climbed out and sat down on a wooden bench next to the tub. "You may brush me."

"Of course, Your Highness." The raccoon opened a hidden cupboard in the wall, producing several brushes of different sizes and textures. He proceeded to brush the excess powder out of Natier's fur and straighten it with gentle strokes of an ivory comb. Fiorin hadn't taken nearly as long back at the water baths, but the outcome of Werill's laggard brushing was absolutely immaculate.

Natier stood up and admired his nude form in an ornate mirror that hung on the wall. His fur was combed perfectly - not a hair out of place. The raccoon even did a fantastic job with blending the white fur at the edge of his belly and neck, allowing it to flow seamlessly into the russet and gold that covered the rest of his body.

"Very good." Natier patted him on the back. "What is your name again? I forget."

"Werill, Your Highness." The raccoon bowed elegantly and smiled.

"Ah, yes." Werill was the one servant whom Natier refused to mistreat. He'd helped the prince on many occasions in the past and was an invaluable ally. "Very good, Werill, please go make dinner preparations."

"Yes, Your Highness." Werill put away the brushes and left Natier alone in the powder room.

Natier rinsed out his muzzle with some rosewater and returned to his bedroom. He took a few moments to admire the outfit he'd selected for dinner and proceeded to put it on, carefully doing up each button and polishing all the gold bits with a 'kerchief. Dressed and ready, the prince went to stand in front of a mirror to admire his new outfit for just a little bit longer.

The blue velour provided a perfect complement to his russet fur. He made a few last-minute modifications to the outfit, adding a diamond brooch and a blue beret he'd found in the closet. Rules of etiquette stated that headwear should never be worn indoors, but Natier had spent his whole life ignoring rules. He sat down on the divan and waited patiently for his guest to arrive.

Thirty minutes later, agitation set in. "Werill!" Natier cupped both paws around his muzzle, guiding the sound into the sitting room. "When is my guest due to arrive?"

"Your Highness." Werill walked into the bedroom and cleared his throat. "While you mentioned that you would have company for dinner, you neglected to mention whom."

"Oh, that's right." Natier slapped a paw to his forehead, trying to remember the otter's name. "His name is Fortin, or Frion... Hm, maybe it was Froin." He chewed his tongue, thinking. "You know what, I don't even remember. He's a towel boy down at the baths. About a head shorter than I am, well built. You'll find him."

"I will send for him right away, Your Highness." The raccoon's disapproval of Natier's dinner guest was clearly evident in his features.

Natier ignored it. "Yes, please do so." He poured himself a glass of wine and sat down at the dinner table.

Werill returned some minutes later with Fiorin following in his wake. "Your Highness, your guest has arrived." He stepped aside and bowed to Fiorin. "Right this way... sir."

Fiorin wore what was obviously his best attire. It was the sort of thing Natier would wear on his excursions to the city when he wanted to pose as a commoner.

'No matter; those clothes won't make it past dinner anyway.' He stood up. "Welcome, Frion!"

"It is a pleasure to be dining with Yoor Highness." The otter bowed and went to kiss the prince's paw.

"It is a pleasure to have you." Natier freed his paw from Fiorin's grasp and clapped twice.

Four servants entered bearing ornate silver trays laden with food and carafes of fine wine. Werill helped Natier into his seat and then went to help Fiorin.

The otter waited patiently for his host to serve himself and take the first bite.

Natier noted his guest's manners. "You are quite genteel, Fronin. What do your parents do?" He took another bite of his Cornish hen, chewing the delicate meat in a slow and deliberate manner.

Fiorin spoke only after thoroughly chewing his smoked salmon. "My parents were shop owners up north. They have both passed, I'm afraid."

"Ah, I see." Natier sipped his wine, continuing to freely admire his guest. Fiorin had the bearing and speech of a noble. He'd make a great count or duke, but he was never to become anything more than a towel boy; pity. "How are you enjoying your salmon?"

"It is phenomenal, Yoor Highness." Fiorin's polite manner did not apply to his eyes. They wandered around, exploring the prince.

Natier knew that the otter was just as excited as he was for dinner to end. He halted the conversation, and they ate the rest of their meal in stoic silence, stopping briefly to shoot occasional glances at one another.

Natier finished his food and put his fork down. The servants swooped in moments later to clear the table. They worked in unison, collecting forks, wiping spilled wine and helping the prince and his guest clear the crumbs off themselves. They finished in record time and went to stand by the door. One by one they wished the prince a good night and departed.

'Oh, you have no idea.' Natier smiled, already salivating in anticipation of things to come. "You may go, Werill." He tossed the raccoon a gold piece. "You are free until tomorrow morning."

Werill pocketed the gold. "Thank you, Your Highness." He bowed and left, shutting the door behind him.

Natier turned the key in the lock and walked across the room. "Let's adjourn to the bedroom, shall we?"

"Of course, Yoor Highness." Fiorin went into the bedroom. He stood next to the prince, shifting nervously from paw to paw.

Natier took the lead. He slammed the door shut and pressed the little otter against the polished wood. "Oh, I've been waiting for this," he said, his smooth baritone reduced to a ragged pant as he hurried to undo the buttons of Fiorin's waistcoat. He ran his paws up and down the otter's broad chest, sealing his lips to Fiorin's in a passionate kiss.

The otter's breath tasted of mint and fish. Natier pushed his tongue deeper and deeper into the creature's muzzle, exploring the unfamiliar territory with all the fervor and passion of his arousal. He inhaled Fiorin's strong musk, allowing it to dominate his senses.

The otter returned the kiss, stroking Natier's tongue with his own. He unbuttoned and quickly discarded Natier's waistcoat onto the floor. "Let me help you with that, Your Highness." Deftly, he unbelted Natier's pants and pulled them down past the fox's supple thighs.

Natier was fully out of his sheath by that point. He put his paws on the otter's shoulders and lowered Fiorin to his knees. "Here's something you can help me with." Grabbing his throbbing member by the knot, he offered it to Fiorin.

The otter took Natier's hardness in his paw and fit as much of the length as he could into his short muzzle. He wrapped his tongue around the shaft, licking it from base to tip.

Natier spent his last bit of mental energy pondering where the otter might have acquired his obviously vast experience in fellatio. Every lick brought out newer and stronger sensations. Fiorin knew exactly what he was doing and he did it with incredible proficiency.

"Would Yoor Highness like to finish in my muzzle or under my tail?"

Natier realized then just how close he was to finishing. His member was quivering and leaking fluid like a cracked wine goblet, and the sensation in his abdomen had gotten so strong that he had trouble standing up. "Under your tail sounds wonderful." Natier stumbled over to the bed, dragging Fiorin in his wake. He collapsed with the otter on top of him and gave him another kiss. "Top drawer."

Fiorn nodded. He stood up, walked over to the bed stand and produced a ceramic flask from the top drawer. With a sweep of his paw, he shed his pants, exposing a very large, throbbing erection.

Natier watched the otter bend over and smother the slick oil from the flask around and inside his tailhole. The sight of the pink opening brought him back to full arousal. "Hurry." He rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. "It isn't nice to make your prince wait."

"Of course, Yoor Highness." Fiorin hurried over to the bed. He ran his slick fingers up and down the length of Natier's engorged maleness, coating quickly it with oil.

The anticipation had grown to the point where Natier could no longer stand it. He grabbed Fiorin's thighs and dragged the otter atop himself. "Let's get started." With a loud moan, he thrust himself inside.

The otter's eyes widened but his hid his excitement well. He let out a soft purr and repositioned himself. "Just lay back and relax, Yoor Highness." He rested his paws on Natier's shoulders and slid all the way down the fox's erection.

Natier gasped at the unfamiliar tightness. He'd experienced it many times, but each time it somehow felt new and foreign. He let his newest conquest dominate his senses. The wolf at the pub, the cougar at the Silk Peony, they would all be there when this was over. For now it was just him and the lovely otter. Natier dug his blunt claws into Fiorin's muscular thighs, eliciting a guttural moan from the creature. He thrust his hips hard, burying his member up to its growing knot, then pulling it back out in the age-old rhythm he'd come to know and crave.

Fiorin's composure disintegrated before his very eyes. The otters stoic nature turned to a series of moans and pants as Fiorin rode the length of Natier's shaft in blissful ecstasy. He closed his eyes and wrapped his paw around his own member, stroking it with a rhythm to match the fox's thighs.

One last look at Fiorin's muscular chest pushed Natier over the edge. His thrusts grew more and more powerful. With a final push, Natier forced his knot through Fiorin's tailhole, sealing himself inside the otter with a soft pop.

Fiorin's eyes flew open. He moaned and stroked his member until a rush of warm white fluid spilled all over Natier's belly. The two lovers rocked and moaned in dual ecstasy through an orgasm which suspended the rest of the world in a still silence.

Natier threw his head back against the bed, his body still abuzz with vibrations of the receding orgasm. The haze of sleep settled in a gentle mantle over him. He yawned. Through the mist of an oncoming dream, Natier saw the otter pull a wicked-looking curved dagger out of his waistcoat pocket.

"Goodbye, Your Highness."

---

What happens next?

Find out in The Prince of Knaves - Now available from Rabbit Valley!

Get your copy HERE!