Work Text:
"Alice would always remember this day as the one that changed her life irrevocably, even though it would take her the next twenty years to understand: life is lived forward but only understood backward. You can't see the landscape you're in while you're in it."
― Holly Ringland, The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart
Tamara' Twig' North could rest and find solace in this place.
A life in varying degrees of state care and guardianship teaches a person of Twig's background not to rely on any sense of stability or companionship. Ever since the loss of Johnny and Nina, everything feels temporary anyway. Still, Twig thinks that she can find good, steady work with a woman who grows wildflowers on an isolated property. The townsfolk can't decide how to describe June Hart, but the more sympathetic seem to believe that Twig could meet her need for shelter, work and distraction through approaching Thornfeild.
"You have a beautiful home, Miss Hart." Twig says as she accepts a steaming mug.
"My name is June, I haven't been Miss Hart since my mother failed to send me to a fancy boarding school. Do you have any questions?" June corrects gently.
Twig's mind is buzzing with questions like the hives they can hear in the background, but none seem relevant now. The work is hard, but the terms are fair, without the constant need for background checks or references. On the contrary, June Hart focuses on the hope of a fresh start, whatever the pain Twig and the other woman carry. Twig finds herself eager to work.
"The terms may seem strict, especially around our location and connecting with the town. There is a reason for that: safety is above everything. Some women struggle with the solutions and channels for communication. There is no shame in leaving, but please let us now; it upsets the dynamics."
"What you see as a determinant suits me just fine; the outside world is no friend of mine." Twig stares at her hands thoughtfully.
"You wouldn't be the first to stay that from beyond these gates. The wildflowers may be the economic centre of Thornhill, but they always serve as a metaphor for strength and resilience, growing and flourishing in unlikely circumstances."
"Contrary to what some people think, not every person who looks like me has a mythical connection to the earth and spirits. I know nothing about flowers or rare wildflowers, but I'm willing to learn and have good employment records." Twig holds out her hands imploringly.
"We can see how things go for the next few weeks, we'll see what suits you." June says knowingly.
Twig hasn't been here for a long; she is still finding her way around the old house, which has a long history but is relatively new to this incarnation. It presents an unusual but logical combination: the wildflower farm doubles as a refuge for women in torment and torture with nowhere else to turn. The logistics fit, insolation, land owned outright, a business that doesn't require undue attention in the main retail stores. June expects her allies to be fleeting and transitory.
"Will you tell me about the meanings of the Wild Flowers and the combinations that are important to the Hart family?" Twig asks softly.
"You will learn with the different growing seasons; occasionally, they ask us to write explanations on cards for the markets." June shrugs awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to the office space.
"Well, Boo and I will need to establish a filing system for the workshop and office before we get to the busy season, but I would still like to hear about what they mean to you, not the stories you weave for customers." Twig persists softly.
June gazes at her for a long moment, her weathered face unreasonable.
"Well, if we are going to be telling our stories, then at least let's do something productive before the sun bakes everything," June says gruffly, standing up and leading them away.
Twig ensures the other woman is a few steps ahead before smiling broadly. Their working partnership is still new, and she is still nervous, but some things are easy to read; connecting with June Hart and making her feel comfortable means working alongside her and pitching in with practical tasks. Unlike the silent chores at Twig's homes and reform schools, the work with June is calm and peaceful. There are no loud noises or shouts. June's voice is low, and Twig falls into the storytelling rhythm.
"The locals believe that the Hart family were always strange, but my parents found comfort in working the land and keeping to themselves. They were close to our nearest neighbours and other farmers on the outskirts. My earliest memories are of the scent and feel of flowers and the different ways the petals would run through my fingers. Mother telling me about the meanings, the responsibility of the Hart woman."
"All flowers have their uses and purposes, even if just to balance the bouquet. Still, as a child, did you have a child, just because it makes you smile?" Twig asks curiously.
"Whatever was newly in season, Mother would bring in massive bunches and test out ideas on me.
***
First Season
Thornfield is a sprawling mess of competing needs.
June Hart doesn't have a formal employment plan or process. Instead, she lists several tasks and tries to match people to their strengths, fears or difficulties. Twig makes a point of following June and watching her work. It's easy enough: everything on the farm centres around the twin goals of nurturing wildflowers and the woman who comes to rely on the haven.
"Water is a precious resource everywhere in Australia, but no more so on an isolated flower farm. My mother was an expert at looking for ways to conserve supplies for the flowers." June explains as they move between the buildings and planting beds.
"Will we need to prepare for more draught conditions?" Twig asks in concern.
"Of course, but wildflowers are experts at confronting such things; even with humans doing their best to challenge everything, water restrictions will only worsen, especially in towns without connections to the main grids. Thornhill adapted then and it will do so again, whatever happens." June says confidently before digging into the soil.
"Have you ever lost a crop or had new growth fail?" Twig asks curiously
"There are times when I've had to let go of the whole yield and turn attention to ensuring the soil survives enough for hope to remain in the roots. Any farmer who claims to escape the harsh cycles is lying to the friends in the bar or getting ready to write a country song." June says with a brittle laugh.
"You can see how strong Thornhill is around every corner, the big shelter trees and the root of different colours. Who helps you take the heaviest burden with such discussions?" Twig asks softly, suddenly needing the answer.
Twig turns and looks at the other woman whose voice catches between reminiscence and pain. As she learns to plant seeds and tend flowers, she gathers and collects facts about the person who runs the farm. Some things are obvious: the whisky, snappish temper and renegade justice. Others are harder to come by; what she likes reads in the quiet predawn hours or how gently she tends to the people who show up to the farm.
"The Hart women have long been solidary with the flowers for company, and in my time, there are more reasons to connect with the outside world. There is no need to look so sad; the others need you more than me." June waves her hand dismissively.
"Are all traditions subject to reverence and need to carry into every generation? Young Clem could broaden his horizons, not so bad now, but when he gets older." Twig offers cautiously.
"You couldn't possibly..."
Twig flinches away at the implied criticism as if stuck; to her credit, June recognises her mistake almost instantly. For practical reasons, the residents of Thornhill need to know the innermost stories and pain. Who has a vengeful husband, a jealous ex-lover or a family who believes they must return to the familiar? Some unlucky few have a combination of all three, with few mixes of individual pain. Twig tells June and the others in the shield over candlelight and many tears. The loss of Johnny and Nina weaves into the fabric of this place.
"Forgive me, that was unforgivably tackles and bitter. The truth is I haven't known what Clem wants since they day we left the hospital." June looks genuinely horrified.
"That is what I am trying to tell you; like me, many of these women were once mothers or had that dream taken from them before they had the opportunity. There is love, experience and support here, all the heroics and lifesaving don't need to be one way." Twig counters gently
***
First Flower Harvest
Twig is developing a new sense of self.
While her early life revolves around a routine that was not her own, the demands of the flowers feel different and are satisfying. Twig makes it a challenge to get up earlier or at the same time as June. Each woman has various traumas and difficulties, waking up with nightmares and terrors. Things must be calm and regular, with meals simultaneously, check-ins, and security precautions.
Twig moves into the kitchen, watching the sunlight in the room.
"I am going to make your breakfast this morning." June insists without turning around.
Twig blinks in surprise but doesn't protest when she slips into one of the many chairs. The other woman on the farm comes into the main rooms at different times before coming together for communal meals, and everyone takes turns preparing. Twig volunteers to take the early shift because she enjoys the quiet time.
"My Johnny and Nina would love it here, with all the space. We were always in small social housing between jobs." Twig comments around a sudden tightness in her throat.
"Those are your children?" June asks gently, her voice soft and tender.
"Yes, I haven't seen them for a long time, but they are never far from my thoughts," Twig says, smiling.
The memories of those awful days after her boyfriend got word to the police about 'neglect' still keep her up at night. She worked frantically to stop her children from being made wards of the state. Of course, many factors are working against her, such as being black, poor, and unstable work history. There are so few people willing to stand up in her defence.
"Will you tell me about them? What are some of your favourite memories?" June asks while platting her pancakes.
"They were good kids, smart like their father and constantly curious; long hours at work meant I didn't get to see them as often as I would like, it would be amazing to see the individuals they become. That's some other mother's honour now." Twig forces the words out.
"The reunification is improving; the records are no longer so fragmented. Perhaps we could help you..." June offers her voice even and calm.
"True, they are better, but not everywhere and not with twisted and fragmented life stories like mine, June Hart.
Twig is familiar with the idealism that comes from believing things have been challenging for the better. It's hard to explain the strange combination that comes from having failures with her previous boyfriend and desperately trying not to say the wrong things to social workers, police and children advocates. It's been a long time now, and how can she make the case for being a mother anymore?"
***
First Secret
June Hart is afraid of the outside world.
Twig North knows plenty about fear and its many variations. She lived with the fear of separation from her children, which was a heartbreakingly justified terror. All the women who join Thornfield bring different types of pain and things that keep them from sleeping or make them sleep too much. Many look for solace in June, who patrols the place, argues on their behalf and keeps them employed. June's sorrow is a closely guarded secret.
Clem Hart needs to go for a check-up.
June's son appears to be making all the right progress, if on the quiet and listless side. She seems reluctant to consider this regular monitoring, but Twig and the others convince her otherwise. The authorities do not look kindly on unconnected children in rural Australia, and it can bring unwelcome attention. Besides, a young child needs more than science and the routine of flowers, even though there are plenty of women to dot on him.
"Do you want me to carry him?" Twig offers implosively.
Her words don't seem to provide a reaction; June stands stiffly, cradling Clem against her chest. She scans the familiar, quiet town streets as if looking for a thread. Twig doesn't know these people well, but everything seems in place, and even the town gossip isn't out in full force. She leans over and brushes Clem's exposed arm resting by June's elbow.
"June, are you okay?" Twig asks again, worried that she has frozen.
"Yes, please, one of the detectives is following us, or at least what passes for it, in a town with little more than one main street." June declares as she gently hands over a thankfully contented Clem.
"Women from Thornfield are rare outside the schedule for flower delivery. There might not be any meaning behind it. Twig points out gently.
They were still on one of the side streets, away from too many prying eyes.
Twig fights against the tears that well up whenever she feels the familiar weight of a child in her arms. Clem has a different weight and scent to Nina or Johnny, but it is easy enough to rearrange her arms to support Clem's head and limbs. He is warm and starts to whimper, but Twig instinctively starts to hum, whisper nonsense and rock him back to sleep.
"I will take him to the clinic and hear what the nurses say; why don't you visit that newish gift shop and see if they have any requests for tourist season?" June suggests her tone is sympathetic.
All the mundane things she didn't get to do with her children hang in the air.
"No, I'll come with you, and we will take him around town, pass the playground. You charm the vendors, thank you for worrying about me." Twig impulsively leans up and kisses her cheek.
June freezes for a second before clearing her throat awkwardly.
"You're welcome; let's not feed fuel to the rumour fire, Twig. We don't want them thinking that the witch June Hart is promoting deviance." her tone is bitter and a little broken.
"That's not..." Twig protests immediately.
***
Frist Disagreement
Jane Hart is terrible at trying new things.
"It will not bite you or turn into bug and attack your precious cuttings." Twig teases as she puts down a plate.
June Hart looks like a cowboy out of the Western movies, sitting outside one of the greenhouses with a gun in her lap. Twig is glad she brought the extra chair and small foldaway table. Boo will need somewhere else for her card playing; she suspects the older woman will forgive them, especially if it's a mercy mission for June. It's not like the reheated pasta and sides are anything special or practical for the setting. Still, June is looking at the spread with wonder and suspicion.
"You need to take better care of yourself. The farm needs you to stay healthy." Twig cannot help the familiar refrain.
"I have been taking care of myself for several decades, long before you were here with your new meals." June picks up her fork.
"Having a committed relationship with multiple liquor suppliers does not count. When was the last time you slept between patrols of the parameters?" Twig challenges with a frustrated sigh.
"Have I ever asked you for such commentary, Twig?" June grumbles
"Well, somebody needs to start. you may believe that a new flower and day brings opportunity, but that is only true if there is a foundation is strong. These women have lost far more than we will ever know, including trust in people being there. They need you to show up, not to mention Clem." Twig points out, waving her hands in a vague, all-encompassing gesture.
June looks at her with a mixture of frustration and affection.
"I am eating your sandwiches, Tamara. I'll have the fresh fruit in the morning and sleep in a few days; not going anywhere yet. The police would be so disappointed, not having anyone to hold them to account." June takes a large bite to prove the point.
"It will take more than a few decent meals, but it's a start. I will start sitting out here with you for a while; others should know this side." Twig gets more comfortable.
"There is no chance in trying to change your mind, is there, Twig?
"Glad you are starting to realise that, June Hart." Twig declares with a delighted laugh.
Twig takes a deep breath, inhaling the night scents and faint sounds of the sprinklers clicking through their cycles. June continues to eat the food, making small sounds to indicate her pleasure, giving her a sense of satisfaction. Twig manages to hide her smile of satisfaction but resolves to keep making these offerings. June may protest against people caring for her, but she won't turn down and waste resources.
"I don't come out here every night like a Lone Ranger, Thornhill isn't a secret; people that are angry at our work, they come here and try to break through the fences. It helps the others sleep if they are having nightmares." June shrugs uncomfortably.
"Does the same thing work for your nightmares?"
"Hence the whisky?" June gestures to the bottle.
***
First Vulnerability
Twig finds June crying amongst the seedings,
She knows the farmer well enough by now to know that the other woman prefers; she turns around and leaves, pretending ignorance to the red eyes. Still, Twig hasn't got this far at the Thornhill by letting June Hart's every whim go unchallenged. The women starting to show up at the gates are much easier to soothe and tend; June is no less worthy.
"Do you need a hand?" Twig asks gently while sliding down so they are sitting together.
June is hunching protectively; the tears are silently streaming down her cheeks. June Hart is an expert and shrinking way, taking up less space, not wanting to burden anybody else. Twig reaches out and twists their hands together; it's a triumph when June doesn't pull away. They continue to stare outside at the seedings under the spray of water.
"It never gets any easier to lose one of them, even when chances are slim; you still put together the path, ID, new contacts, money. Sometimes they can't put the pieces together. I hope the idea of sanctuary gives you some sense of peace, but it doesn't always work out." June says, wiping angrily at her eyes.
"You aren't telling me anything new, June Hart. It's not your fault, but I know what it is like to live with guilt. Would you like to talk about it? Run through what could have gone differently. Twig asks, reaching to twirl a grass stem.
"What good would that do?" June asks dismissively.
"It's hiding here, waiting for it to be socially acceptable to be blind drunk and hide in your shed?" Twig asks, reaching out to grasp her hands.
"It works for me so far." June grumbles.
Slowly, the story comes out in bits and pieces. It's a familiar story Twig knows all too well, a script that plays out repeatedly. June works through each of the decisions and the road less travelled. Twig asks probing questions, pointing out many complexities when saving people with a lifetime of pain without much faith in humanity. June starts to argue for the first few times, but that eventually loses steam. Twig continues talking, bringing in her own experiences.
****
The First Understanding
"Twig can handle this; she is practically running the place anyway."
Twig North has always been a good worker. It wasn't an option not to be in the reform dormitories, not for someone fiercely protective of the younger ones. Still, June Hart rations out compliments like water in the desert. She doesn't want to make a big deal about this moment, but she still grins broadly.
"That is high praise indeed, not that anyone else would want the job of keeping the books and deciphering June's handwriting." somebody says from the background.
The comment prompts good-natured laughter and teasing; everybody knows that June has no talent for admin and often neglects the 'running of the business. Twig won't let them know, at least not now, that she would enjoy having such a safe, predictable task. It is rare for a poor woman with no family and a history in state care to feel valuable and put her skills to good use. She would be comfortable creating order out of chaos in this small part of Thornhill.
Besides, if June Hart had a second language besides flowers, it would be practicality and getting things done.
"June's writing is not so bad once you figure out where the vowels and consonants begin and end. We will make the system work." Twig says confidently.
Everybody around the large room accepts her proclamation; Twig feels pride. It's been a long time since somebody has faith in her, much less a group of those in vulnerable positions. Twig North feels her shoulders straighten under the new determination that she will support the refugees and what it represents for all the people coming through the halls. June is giving her a curious look as if she suspects something of her thoughts.
Twig wants to show June, in small ways, that she cannot refute.
***
First Intimacy
The night times seem to be the hardest.
Clem Hart is the type of baby that challenges everything Twing thought she knew about children and the process of raising them. Others would claim, with degrees of charity, that he takes after his mother. From Twig's perspective, there is no profound mystery to June; she is a tender heart buried under desperate and frantic defences.
Twig creeps into the bedroom; June is sitting in the rocking chair, staring at her son, who still looks angry, even in a fitful sleep.
"Clem came nine months after an encounter by the river...one I didn't want." June whispers, her voice blank in the dark.
"Oh, June..."
The words may be heartbreakingly, but that doesn't mean things are so surprising. June's dedication to supporting the woman, her difficulty trusting people and the secrecy surrounding Clem's birth. It's a far too familiar story in every town, especially for women who live in remote places. June carries many secrets, and the heaviest are her own. Twig feels her heart clench, but she doesn't let the tears fall; it's not her reaction to having.
"I have never wanted to be with a man in that way, in case those particular rumours have failed to reach you." June says bitterly.
Twig feels a strange tension in her body release; of course, she suspects the truth of those words long ago, but the confrontation is meaningful. June looks awkward and vulnerable, holding the son she never expected to have; Twig moves over and scoops up the baby, settling on the floor with the baby, knowing that the contact may help.
"I learnt long ago that the morning you listen to gossip, the more dangerous it is for you. Gossip hounds me to these gates. I'm not going to start changing those rules now." Twig says quietly.
"Can I make anything for him when he comes from such rotten and twisted beginnings?" June whispers into the darkness.
"I am the last person to ask, but many people have done such things before. It's already obvious that you will keep trying, no matter how long he screams and turns away. If a child is going to find his language, then it will be amongst the wildflowers." Twig says hopefully.
"There is hope in this soil, especially since you came."
***
First Touch
The kiss happens unexpectedly.
Twig is not one for hope, especially in circumstances that may disrupt her security. Still, she doesn't deny the longing for the connection between this hard and beautiful woman to go further—their partnership amongst the wildflowers' strengths in every other respect. However, the touches and romance are fragile and happen in infrequent moments. Twig is waiting for things to happen in the summer breeze.
One of the Flowers leaves Thornhill with her children and her parents' strong support. So far, the restraining order against her husband is holding. June is taking a rare moment to celebrate; they share cake and some wine.
"You do amazing work here, June, keeping people safe and staying in the shadows. The police should laud you for taking on half their most neglected caseload without pay or status." Twig grumbles, revisiting an old point.
"We both know that is not going to happen.
Twig and June Hart's experiences divide many things, but they have a mutual distance from authorities and everything they represent. Twig still wishes there was a way to acknowledge a genuinely off-the-grid refuge's thankless and tireless work. June looks a mixture of beautiful and weary in the evening sunlight. She lets over and threads their fingers together, and they sit silently.
June Hart leans over and presses their lips together in a soft collusion.
Twig freezes for a second, taken off guard by the sudden gesture, but she isn't foolish enough to let this opportunity slip away. She leans further into the kiss and gently reaches up to cradle June's cheek, which has a streak of dirt that she brushes away under her finger. At once, this feels like a huge deal and the most affirming and natural thing, as June is the person she has waited to kiss all her life.
Perhaps her friends at the dormitory, who dream of happily ever after, weren't so ridiculous after all. Her whole body feels alive with bees, and she wants to capture this feeling.
"I am sorry..." June whispers, her voice hoarse as she pulls back.
Twig reaches out and grasps her hand; she is half afraid that June will run away, which would be bad enough. What would be worse if the other woman used the time to convince herself that she was a terrible person who was wrong to kiss Twig? Her face flushes in a way that has nothing to do with the heat.
"Now, you don't need to be the witch that the townspeople believe to know that there is little I wanted more than for you to kiss me, other than perhaps a clear run of invoices with the new suppliers." Twig says gently, trying to lighten the mood.
"This is not something I was planning or expecting.." June starts to ramble, wringing her hands together.
Twig leans in and kisses her again to ease the tension and worry. June murmurs something close between a protest and a high before leaning into the touch. Twig has a fleeting moment of wishing it wasn't unseasonably cool, or she would suggest something reckless that would send June fleeing for the whisky bottle.
"June, Twig. There is somebody on the phone, says they are returning your call." a loud voice echoes from the main house.
Predictably, June scrambles away, looking like she has been stung by a swarm of bees. She briefly blinks at Twig before straightening imaginary wrinkles in her working clothes and hair. Twig's only regret is not getting to the stage when they must worry about such things. They step together before viewing the large deck and several Flowers.
"You should take this one; the suppliers like talking to you far more than me, anyway. We can't going to negotiate on the price; those Wattles are hardy but not that easy to grow." Twig instructs, her voice trembling around the edges.
"I won't let you down." Twig nods solemnly.
"That was never the problem." June wonders off, solitary as always.
A few longer-term and more astute workers look at Twig with speculative looks and hidden smiles. Her feelings for June Hart aren't a secret, not in a place that runs on a gentle, hopeful form of gossip. It's not the same as everything outside; they genuinely want everyone to be happy, whatever form that does or does not take.
***
Twig wins the war of attrition through stubbornness and tenderness.
Jane Hart is not the type to sit down and discuss their relationship. For her, a lifetime of communicating through action and cultivating an eccentric reputation has made more than her vocal cords rusty. Twig North hardly comes to the situation with a clean slate and excellent interpersonal skills, but she has enough courage to try. At least to stop whatever self-doubt is eating away at June this time.
"Your book needs more pages or perhaps an appendix."
Twig makes the statement as they work side by side, putting soil into the seedling pots. The smell of flowers, earth and cuttings is comforting and familiar. She wouldn't be foolish enough to start this conversation without something practical involving the farm's flowers and routine. Jane Hart isn't somebody who will sit and talk about her feelings; she is more likely to startle like a here who senses danger on the breeze.
"I will take that under advisement. Is there a particular flower whose meaning baffles you? It would be best to know now before we head to the markets." June asks as she carefully divides the seed and methodology plants them.
"There are flower combinations fit to convey that last week wasn't a mistake, and I'd like things to repeat if given a chance, or at least try a dinner date." Twig says quickly, drawing a deep breath.
June freezes, tension evident in her back and hands loosely clasping more seeds. Twig almost regrets raising the topic, but the words are overdue; the pressure wouldn't last forever, like waiting for the summer rains.
"Any of those combinations is a terrible idea and should be treated with the same scepticism as whoever wants us to expand our range to hybrid June replies, her voice rough and neutral.
"Is this where I buy you a new set of gardening tools and wrap them up in ribbons? Would that be more acceptable?" Twig asks, only half joking.
"Look, I'm sorry; I won't cross that line again..." June risks a glance at Twig.
"Is it so hard to believe that I remember things entirely differently? There is nothing to apologise for, at least not to me." Twig reaches out and touches her shoulder.
Twig feels a strange mixture of emotions: tenderness, uncertainty and avoidance. She suspects June will make an excuse to run away; there are always things to do on the farm. Everybody's work revolves around the Hart woman. Twig holds her breath, waiting for the other woman to turn away from the seeding pots. She may learn much about flowers during her time here, but June's body language is an equally important study.
"Frankly, yes, the township is small but is not without opportunities for connections. There are opportunities to build a routine while using Thornhill as a base..." June offers while clenching and unclenching her fists.
"I would consider being with you many things, June Hart, but an act of desperation and last resort wouldn't be one of them. I have wanted to kiss your for weeks, months even and its not for a bloody lack of viable options or the ability to read a map between here and town." Twig scoffs at the notion.
"I'm sorry that sounded..."
"Patronising and defeatist, yes and a few others. You gave me a reason to use those words from all those books in the library." Twig huffs with a mixture of gentleness and frustration.
"May I try again?"
June stands up and comes to stand before Twig, gently putting down her garden sheers and gloves. Twig freezes on what is happening; the taller woman comes closer. She wills herself to breathe and absorb every detail like a dream. June leans in closer and presses their lips with the softness of a butterfly wing. The touch has passion and tenderness; there is no mistaking it for chaste.
"Of course, could I make you dinner with multiple courses and cloth napkins and somebody else doing the parameter sweep?" Twig whispers when they pull apart, gazing at each other.
"Blue Lady Orchids and Cockthorn Orchids would be a good starting point for admiration, growth and progress. We have some lovely options with lush green leaves and steams." June smiles into another kiss.
"I'll keep that in mind. Can we stay here for a few moments?" Twig whispers
"Well, I have a dinner date to prepare for in a little while with an amazing woman, but aside from not dressing up for several decades. I have all the time in the world."
Twig North leans in and kisses her again.
There may be many parts of her that will break still, a mother without children. Still, she feels the reaching of fragile new roots, reaching for the tough lands of Thornhill and June Hart's domain.