Decided to try my hand at some Green Ember fanfiction. This might be the start of a series, which will take place during the latter chapters of Ember's End. As such, it will naturally contain SPOILERS for that book and the series as a whole. I expect most folks who frequent New Seddleton are all caught up, but Sam was pretty big on making sure we make sure new fans are aware of possible spoilers during the most recent Q&A session. Consider yourselves warned.

Whitbie Joveson stood on the palace roof in First Warren, watching as the Royal Fowlers Auxiliary flew into action against the swarming Preylords above the city. His heart burned with admiration for the young bucks, even as his hands trembled on the hilt of his sword at the horror they were throwing themselves against. However, the prince had little time to worry about the battle in the sky, for he and the palace defenders had their own foes to deal with. Riding the floodwaters of the freed Lake Merle, an armada loaded with wolves had swept into the city, and one such ship had drawn up alongside the palace.

By chance, or perhaps because the wolves relished the prospect of drawing out the rabbits' terror, the ship came alongside the roof on the opposite end of the palace from where Whit stood with Emma, their mother, and their friends and defenders. As if the hulking predators jumping from the deck weren't enough, a small squadron of raptors had arrived at the same time. These birds had deposited a dozen or so rabbits clad in black uniforms with red collars, who stood alongside the wolves. Their winged mounts hovered above the palace, harassed by a handful of valiant archers doing their best to counter the hated predators.

Whit looked at the line of waiting enemies, knowing that they were too many for the few defenders remaining on the roof. He turned and looked at those who stood with him: Lords Blackstar and Booker, Heyna and Mrs. Weaver, his mother and the royal guards. He looked at Emma, the baby sister he had come to love and respect despite not even knowing she existed before Helmer and Picket had arrived in the city. She stood brave and defiant, holding a sword he knew she had only the slightest idea how to wield.

"Lord Blackstar, I leave the queen and princess to your care. Guards, half of you remain with him. The rest of you, Lord Booker, with me, if you please."

"Whit, what are you doing?" Emma's eyes widened, and he could see fear for him in them. The sight warmed his heart, even as he felt it break a little. If only he could live to see her as queen...if only she could live to be queen. Even that hope, oh so slim, was worth fighting for.

"My blood for yours, dearest sister," Whit said, giving her a sad smile. Turning to the queen, he felt tears in his eyes. Grief for how he had disappointed her, for all that he had longed to say to her, made his heart crack a little more. "I love you, mother."

"I love you, my dear Whitbie," she said.

And with that, the second son of King Jupiter the Great turned and charged towards the force of invaders, Lord Morgan and a pitiful band of brave rabbits just behind him. They heard Emma cry out in protest, but heard as well the sound of Heyna Blackstar blocking her from running after them. His sword raised, Whit prepared to fight like his father had fought as the rest of Blackstar's oath burst from his lips. "'TIL THE GREEN EMBER RISES, OR THE END OF THE WORLD!"

For a moment, the enemy rabbits stood frozen, stunned at what both they and Whit knew was a desperate action. The wolves, on the other hand, howled eagerly as they charged forward to meet Whit's assault. Several of them, including a stout brute in a captain's uniform, came with such speed that they managed to bull through, around, or over the attacking rabbits. Whit despaired at the thought of them charging Emma and the others, but could do nothing as he crossed blades with a wolf who had set its sights on him.

His sword locked against the wolf blade bearing down on him, Whit somehow managed to spare enough attention to gaze over its shoulder at where the red-collared rabbits were now beginning to advance, and even at the ship behind them. The sight gave him pause, and his honest shock was so much that his adversary turned to look over its shoulder. And so it was that both of them saw a second ship, entirely unlike the wolf craft, ram the enemy vessel amidships with such force that the wolf craft cracked nearly in two.

Over the bow of the ship came a wave of strangely clad rabbits, several of whom moved to engage the red-collared rabbits while others came at the wolves. Taking advantage of the distraction, Whit struck a fatal blow to his dumbfounded enemy, dropping him to the roof. His action opened a gap, and several of the newcomers-led by a short, older rabbit carrying a bow-raced around him to go to the aid of Emma's party. Too stunned by this sudden development to do anything but stare, Whit found himself looking on as one of the red-collared rabbits faced off with a tall figure among the newcomers.

The enemy rabbit, a brutish-looking fellow who reminded Whit uncomfortably of Daggler, stared at his opponent with ill-concealed shock. However, Whit could see it had nothing to do with the stranger's appearance, which was striking. The other rabbit's face was split down the middle, one side appearing normal while the other was even more cruelly scarred than Whit's own. He wore an eyepatch on that side, while his surviving eye looked on his adversary with grim resolve.

"Commandant! What are you doing here? What is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning of this, Lieutenant Long, is that your Preylord masters will fall this day, as will any who stand with them. The meaning of this is that you have two choices: surrender to me, or fall by my hand. The meaning of this is that I was never your commandant, and held that office only as a means of opposing Morbin from within his own cruel regime. The meaning of this is that I am Prince Samual Goodson*, and I have come home at last!"

The brutish rabbit, Lieutenant Long, took all of a second to process these pronouncements. Then he charged his former superior with a howl of rage, attempting to end his adversary with one savage blow. His enemy responded with a flurry of swordplay that, if nothing else could have, proved that he was a member of the line of Whitson Mariner. Long's attack was thwarted with a series of moves that Whit remembered seeing his own father use in combat training, but ended with the outclassed buck lying on the roof near Whit's own enemy, and just as lifeless.

A quick glance around showed Whit that no more living attackers remained on the roof. Emma's party had not been touched, with the unexpected allies and, surprisingly, Cole Blackstar now mingling with the rabbits who had been in peril a mere moment ago. Gratified to see his mother and sister safe, against what all reason had suggested he should expect, Whit turned back towards his newly arrived kin. The rabbit who had introduced himself as Samual Goodson was walking towards him, a look of wonder on his face not unlike the one Whit expected must be on his own.

"Prince Samual Goodson?"

"Yes...or at least, that was my name once."

"Welcome home, Your Highness. I am Prince Whitbie Joveson."

The other rabbit nodded, a surprisingly warm smile appearing on the unmarred side of his face. "I thought it must be so. You have a look of your Grandfather Walter about you. You also have your father's bravery, which isn't as easily obscured by...facial decoration."

"At least I still have both my eyes," Whit responded, smiling in spite of himself. His long-lost uncle's answering chuckle showed that he recognized Whit's words as a jest, just as his own had been. That connection made Whit feel comfortable in asking a question. "If you don't mind my saying, Samual, you actually look surprisingly well for a rabbit I've been told died years before my parents were even married."

Samual's grin fell, a memory of past pain evident in his eye. "Ah yes, the raid that killed my father. I had heard I was presumed dead in that attack; in truth, I was carried away captive to Akolan. I was the only rabbit to be carried off in that fashion, and no rabbits who ever came to Akolan afterwards knew who I was. That anonymity proved useful, and Morbin and his pets never suspected that the officer who served them so faithfully was in fact the brother of his most hated rival."

As though in response to that revelation, a piercing scream rent the air over the city. It recalled to Whit the cry of Falcowit, but was filled with helpless pain where the white falcon's had been filled with hatred and pride. For the first time in several minutes, Whit looked around to see that, impossibly, the sky was empty of birds. The ones that had brought Lieutenant Long and his cohorts had been shot down by weapons from Samual's ship, and their bodies were even now floating away with the floodwaters.

Even more incredibly, as Whit looked toward the Standing Stones, he saw the massive form of a black hawk tumbling from the sky above the seventh. Barely visible atop that same stone was the form of a short white rabbit in golden armor, holding aloft something Whit was too far away to make out. However, there was no mistaking Morbin Blackhawk as his enormous form, its wicked life snuffed out, crashed into the water still rushing into the city. And as he heard the splash, Whit somehow knew, without doubt, that it was a knell that signaled the death of the final foe.

A week later, Whit found himself busy in the midst of a crowded city center, looking over a scroll as he made his way through the milling rabbits. He felt somewhat numb, with every moment since his uncle Samual's ship had arrived at the palace bringing developments he could never have predicted. Learning that his brother Smalden, thought dead, had returned to strike down Morbin with the starsword of legend. Seeing the sword's hilt, its blade broken, laid in state in place of all the brave rabbits whose bodies had not been recovered during the final battle. Seeing Picket, horribly wounded, laid in a hospital bed with his fate still uncertain days later.

The demands of a city filled with rabbits who, to their amazement, still had to go on with the business of living, had quickly taken over after that. Emma had surrendered the Whitson Stone and her role as the city's leader to Smalls and was now busy with tasks of her own. Whit, after a long chat with his youngest brother that both hoped was a promise of a stronger bond to come, was now helping to coordinate the many rabbits in need of shelter in a nearly demolished city. His task was somewhat alleviated by personnel from the various citadels leaving to return home, but that still left First Warren's original inhabitants and the former denizens of Harbone and Akolan to be dealt with.

Confronted with yet another family looking for somewhere to stay the night, Whit smiled kindly and consulted his scroll before giving them directions to a new area of temporary shelters. Spotting his uncle, Samual, with a scroll of his own, Whit made his way over to him. The two had bonded over the shared work, and even more over catching each other up on family history during their brief mealtimes. Samual had proven invaluable in settling the former Akolan rabbits, whose trust in him had only deepened with the revelation that he was the brother of the fallen king.

Walking up to his uncle, Whit saw him crossing off an item on his list. Silently, he held his own up, and the two compared them for a moment. With a sigh, Samual-or Sam, as he had insisted Whit call him-shook his head and rolled up his scroll. "You know, I thought that leaving Akolan would mean an end to paperwork."

"Clearly you've forgotten what being a royal is like," Whit said with a rueful grin. Seeing the look in his uncle's eye, he laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But you have plenty of time to get used to it again. I can assure you that you have over a dozen nieces and nephews who will be happy to unload-I mean, share, royal duties with you."

Sam smiled, and Whit matched the expression with his own. This, he thought, was a true taste of the Mending they were just now beginning to live. Before he could say more, though, Sam's eye suddenly lifted past him, and his smile changed to one of pleased surprise. Whit, guessing he had spotted some beloved acquaintance, was about to step out of his way when a doe's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Is...is that you, Whitbie?"

Though it had been years since he had last heard that voice, which was thus noticeably older, Whit would have recognized it anywhere. That voice had once been as familiar to him as his own, and more familiar even than those of some members of his own family. Once, he had felt that any day he went without hearing that voice speak was a day wasted. For many years, however, he had heard it only in nightmares, visions in which it had uttered words of blame, of condemnation, of bitterness, and of loathing.

His heart hammering, Whitbie slowly turned towards the sound. There, a few feet away, stood a doe whose face had aged along with her voice. It was marked with lines of care and worry from years spent in the very shadow of Morbin Blackhawk, and had a thinness to it that broke his heart. For all that, he still saw the beauty of it, in the instant before her expression changed from uncertainty to horror at the sight of his own face.

Greeted with that look by Angelica Rake, his dearest friend of childhood, Whitbie Joveson dropped his scroll and ran from the square as though Morbin had risen, alive and vengeful, from the Brute's Gorge.

Whit ran until he reached a small, wooded area, some distance south and east of the palace. It had long been something of a park and had thankfully been spared the worst of the afterterrors, Morbin's reign, and final battles of the war. After taking a moment to slow his racing heart, Whit made his way to a stone bench and sat down on it. Head bowed, he struggled to come to grips with what had just happened. He had thought he was getting used to impossible things happening...but then, he'd never expected this.

For the first time in years, he thought back to the days when he had known Angelica. Her father had been Lord Rake, perhaps his father's closest friend apart from Perkin One-Eye. It had thus been natural for the Rake and Joveson children to meet each other, and to continue seeing each other at various functions which their respective fathers attended. But none of them had been quite so close as he and Angelica had been.

From the time the pair had met as young children, they had been virtually inseparable. They were always happy to run off and find some fun together, with or without their siblings or, for the matter of that, their parents' permission. As they had grown older, their outings had shifted from the fun and exploration of young children to their developing interests. Then, in those fleeting days of seeming peace before his father's death...

Whit shut his eyes, feeling afresh the pain of King Jupiter's loss...and of all that came after it. So much had gone wrong when his father was murdered. And the thing that felt most wrong was what he himself had done...and what he had failed to do. Indeed, in spite of all he had done...was doing...to make amends, the past still haunted him. And now one of his greatest mistakes had apparently risen, as if from the dead, to confront him.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and without looking he knew that Angelica had followed him. Without a word, she sat down on the other end of the bench from where he'd situated himself. He couldn't bring himself to turn and face her, and out of the corner of his eye he could see that her eyes were turned forward just as his were. For a long moment the two of them sat like that, each apparently waiting for the other to break the silence.

"If you wanted to hide, Prince Whitbie, you should probably have chosen somewhere less familiar. My time in Akolan wasn't so long that I'd forgotten about this place. Our fathers brought us here many a time, and we came here often enough on our own. Still, I suppose you could be forgiven in light of the apparent shock it was to see me again. I don't believe I ever had the chance to even offer my condolences about your father."

The formality of her tone, especially the way she said "Prince Whitbie", tore a fresh wound in his heart. To be addressed as such by a doe who had once spoken to him with such warmth... "Indeed not. And...have you been told...?"

"About my father? Yes." The sorrow in her voice was audible. "Heather Longtreader brought the news of his fall to the Seventh District in Akolan. He died without ever knowing that I survived the afterterrors. Undoubtedly, he thought I was killed along with my mother and the rest of our family.

"It was a comfort, in a way, to hear that he was entrusted with raising Princess Emma. I'm sure it must have helped him, to have her to care for, in spite of how it must reminded him...of us. She certainly couldn't have asked for a better guardian. Of course, I wish she could have known her true father, as I was blessed to know mine."

Silence settled between them again, this time accompanied by the weight of shared grief. Whit thought of Lord Rake, who had been almost like an uncle to him growing up. Of course, what with never having known either of his uncles until Samual jumped onto the palace roof, he'd never had much basis for comparison. He knew about loss from his own experience, but had to wonder what pain Angelica might have suffered, hoping perhaps to see her father alive again one day only to be told-by a stranger-that she never would.

Briefly, he felt the slightest sense of consolation; this, at least, was not something he could have changed. And yet, even as he thought it, shame filled him. Who knew what he might have accomplished, had he not been such a coward? And even had he not been able to prevent Rake's death, it would have been more fitting if he could have been the one to give her the news. Or, far better, to have been with her when it was brought to both of them, and to have been able to offer what comfort he could have at the height of her grief.

Angelica turned, and he felt her eyes upon him. "Are you even going to look at me, Prince Whitbie?"

Call me Whit, he longed to say. Instead, he rose from his seat and turned to face away from where she was sitting. "Judging by your expression when I last looked at you, Miss Rake, I expect it's more pleasant not to see my face. Given what happened the time before that, I am frankly surprised that you followed me when I fled. Few rabbits would call the change in my appearance since then an improvement, but if any rabbit had cause to do so, it would be you."

She gasped at this, and he winced, hating himself for matching her coldly civil tone. Then, before he could process what was happening, he felt her hand on his shoulder. Gently but firmly, she pulled him around so that he faced her. Her left hand remained on his shoulder, holding him in place, while her right hand came up slowly to his face.

Once again he closed his eyes, fighting a shudder despite the gentleness of her touch. Her fingers moved across the tracery of scars that, for so long, he had kept hidden behind a mask. They moved up his head to the severed stump of his missing ear, before sliding down his head to cup his cheek. The familiar gesture, almost forgotten in the long years since he had last felt it, caused his eyes to open so that he looked into hers.

The horror he had seen when they first confronted each other back in the square was gone, replaced with sorrow and something he had never expected to see: pity. His surprise must have shown, for both emotions deepened on her face as tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. "Did...did Win have this done to you?"

"No," Whit replied, surprised to hear her say his older brother's long disused nickname. It had been a long time since anyone, himself included, had spoken to Winslow with that degree of affection. "It was done on Falcowit's orders, after I...well, I suppose you could say I spoke out of turn."

That was putting it mildly. After years of going along with Winslow's policies, which were in reality the Preylords' policies, Whit had attempted to assert some authority as a member of the royal family. He had hoped, foolishly as it had turned out, that perhaps he could effect some positive changes. These had included relaxing the watch of the raptor sentinels of First Warren and, more significantly, the return of rabbits who had been taken away from the city during and immediately following the afterterrors.

Falcowit had quickly shattered any illusions Whit had harbored. However cooperative he had been with the regime in the past, Morbin's rule was in no way to be opposed. Then, in a show of his characteristic cruelty, he had ordered Daggler to teach him the price for daring such an action. The white falcon had also warned that any further such infractions would result in Whit's next punishment coming from Falcowit himself.

Days after the horrific punishment, Winslow had come to watch the bandages be removed. He had reacted in much the same way, at least initially, as Angelica had in the city square. However, he was also quick to condemn Whit as a fool, to insist that he had only himself to blame for daring to defy their "masters", and that he was fortunate to have gotten off so light. Such cruel indifference from his own brother had shattered any hopes Whit had that he might be able to improve things in First Warren from within the Preylord regime.

That night, he had left the palace, leaving only a note bidding his siblings farewell. By that point news had spread throughout First Warren of what the authorities deemed his disgrace, not that he could sink much lower in the eyes of most of the inhabitants. Captain Moonlight, however, had seen things differently, and had sought out the despondent prince. With the new lease on life he had offered, Whit had set out to make amends for his faithlessness.

"Spoke out of turn? What could you have said that would justify this?"

"Daring to speak at all was justification enough for them. The words themselves hardly mattered; they were a misguided attempt to make up for things I failed to say years before. I was a fool to hope that they could be reasoned with. After it happened...I sometimes wished that they'd taken my other ear, and both my eyes, while they were at it."

Angelica's hand went to her mouth to smother a gasp of horror. "Whitbie! How could you say such a thing? And before...about me...what did you mean?"

The shame he had bottled up for so long welled up in him then and poured from his eyes in twin streams of hot liquid. Long ago he had fought it with cold logic, repeating Winslow's sickening justifications to himself. Then, when that had ceased to be effective, he had made his foolish attempt to oppose the tyrants with mere words. Fighting with the resistance had eased his feelings of self-loathing, but now he had been brought quite literally face-to-face with it.

"Because...I deserve it. Because I saw you, Angelica, that day when you were carried off to Akolan. I saw you with the other children of nobles and officers who refused to become part of Winslow's sham of a government. I saw you about to be taken...and I did nothing.

"I doubt my word would have made any difference, but I should have argued for you to stay in First Warren. Failing that, I should have been willing to go with you to Akolan, instead of staying here in a slavery of my own. You were true to what was right, while I chose to go along with Winslow's deluded pretenses. My father received more honor from you than from his own flesh-and-blood. When you needed me most, when love and duty demanded that I act or speak...I. Did. NOTHING!"

He would have turned and run again then and felt like he might run out of the city altogether. His misery was such that he felt it could have carried him all the way to deserted Akolan, to live out his days in the same pit to which he had allowed her to be taken. But both of Angelica's hands were on his shoulders now, gripping with a strength that would brook no attempt at escape. Then, in a movement so sudden it seemed instantaneous, that same strength was in her arms, which she had flung around him as she pulled him into a tight embrace.

The gesture was so unexpected that Whit simply froze for a moment, not knowing how to react. Then, he realized that there was no need for him to do so; it wasn't expected of him. Instead, he settled into his long-lost friend's embrace and sobbed, the tears flowing freely as his body shook. And Angelica stood and held him, a firm presence despite the fact that a steady stream fell from her own eyes as well.

"My poor, sweet, handsome Whitbie. I saw you that day too, and my heart ached not to stay with you or to have you come with me. Then, through all the years in Akolan, from working as a slave to masquerading as a leper, I was both glad you did not share my sorrow and all the sadder because I didn't have you to turn to. I never gave up hope that you would find your way again and hoped dearly that I would one day find my way back to you. But never in all that time did I imagine that you could think I hated you…”

Automatically, Whit's arms lifted and wrapped around her, returning the embrace that he had never expected to receive from her. Then they just stood there, holding each other as they wept. Grief for the time they had lost, for the fathers they had been robbed of, and for what each of them had suffered without the other soaked the grass about their feet. It seemed a long time indeed before the wells of sorrow ran dry.

However, as they shared in each other's pain, a miraculous thing occurred. In each other's embrace, the two wounded souls found peace, comfort, and unspoken reconciliation and forgiveness. No power could take the king's son and the lord's daughter back to their happy days of long ago, undoing what time and the cruel deeds of others had inflicted upon them. But, together again at last, it seemed that they could find a new beginning.

At last, the two moved apart slightly, arms still around each other as they looked into each other's eyes. Whit looked at his oldest friend, and marveled to see affection where he had expected he would only find contempt. The hopes he had once had for their future, long buried, seemed to stir in him once again. "Angelica..."

"Oh please, Whitbie; call me Angie."

"Only if you'll call me Whit."

She smiled, then pouted playfully. "I suppose you are a bit old for me to call you Biejo."*

Whit laughed, the sound of the pet name she had given him when they were both younglings sparking fond memories of those treasured times. Gently breaking his embrace, he took her hands in his, then lifted one to his mouth and kissed it. "I will always be your Biejo...and I'll use your old name too, if I may. For indeed, never have you seemed more like an angel to me."

Angelica looked down, suddenly shy, but then met his gaze again. "There were days when I never thought I'd hear you speak sweet words to me again, Whitbie Joveson. Yet now, standing here with you, I think I shall love the soul you have become more than I ever did that dashing young prince. And I can tell you now that, though I wept for your scars and the pain that must have come with them, I shall give them no more regard."

"You were always the kindest doe I knew, Angelica Rake, and time has only crowned your good heart with wisdom and generosity. But what are we saying? You and I are not so old as all that. Though we have spent years apart, now the future is ours to make of it what we will. We need weep no more for the past, but may from now on let our tears be tears of joy."

"May it be so," Angelica replied, "in...this Mended Wood."

The pair walked from the park to find Samual, who had been leaning against a tree with an anxious frown on his face. It changed into a fond smile as he saw the two of them, Angie with her arm through Whit's, and came forward to meet them. Whit soon learned that his uncle had known Angelica in Akolan, and had known her father when they were both young bucks. Having accompanied her in pursuit of Whit, he had allowed her to enter the park alone, sensing that there were things the two of them needed to address by themselves.

With that done, the trio made their way back towards the palace, Sam walking ahead while Whit and Angie followed behind him. Upon arriving, they learned that the rest of the royal family had gathered for a midday meal and were only waiting upon the absent princes. Whit would not hear of Angie leaving, and with Sam's help he persuaded her. The three went directly to the small-by palace standards-dining room where the kings of Natalia had long eaten with their families, preferring it to the grand hall used for great occasions or events with visiting dignitaries.

As they walked in, all eyes came to land on Whit and Angie, with the faces of most of his brothers and sisters filling with startled recognition. Pain flashed across Winslow's face briefly, while Lady Glen's warm smile brought an answering one to Angie's face. Smalls and Emma were the only ones not to recognize the newcomer, and so Whit led her over to where they sat. "Angie, this is Crown Prince Smalden Joveson and Princess Emma. Your Highnesses, allow me to present Angelica Rake, daughter of the esteemed Lord Rake, recently arrived from Akolan."

Now it was Emma's eyes that were startled, but shock soon turned to happiness. Rising from her seat, she came forward and threw her arms around the older doe. Angie looked somewhat dazed at the unexpected display of affection but returned Emma's gesture as the princess spoke warmly. "My dear Angie, I cannot tell you what joy this brings me! I thought I had met all my family that was to be found in First Warren, but if you are Lord Rake's daughter, then we are sisters in all but blood!"

This kind pronouncement brought warm tears to Angie's eyes, and she hugged Emma more tightly as the rest of Whit's siblings rose from their places. Many, remembering her from long ago, were soon expressing their own happiness at seeing her alive and well. Winslow held back a moment, obviously remembering his own part in Angie's departure from First Warren. However, Whit caught his eye and gave him an encouraging smile, and the prince moved in to join the happy huddle.

Standing back from the crush of rabbits with Whit, Sam leaned over to whisper in his nephew's ear. "I suppose you should let them get to know each other before you tell Emma that her new 'sister' will soon be her sister-in-law."

He smiled as Whit turned to face him with a startled expression. "I may only have the one eye left, Whit, but a blind rabbit could see what lies between you and Miss Rake. Oh, I suppose you have some catching up to do, and of course you'll want to actually ask her if she wants to marry you. But I get the feeling I know what the answer will be. Now, if you excuse me, I think I'll see if the palace luncheon menu is up to the old standard."

The Beginning

*I was inspired to name my version of Prince Goodson after S.D. Smith. However, given that he used an alternate spelling of the name Lemuel in Prince Lander & the Dragon War, it seemed appropriate to use a similar alternate spelling for this character.

*Pronounced bee-joh.