Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, it would never have been cancelled and there would have been way more episodes about Aramis ;)

Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"

And here we are again! This one is done early, as I'd hoped. With baby boy due any day now, I wanted to go ahead and get it written while I had the chance (and the energy haha). I hope to be back next month (and also soon with my multi-chapter fic) but that will all be dictated by how much little man lets me sleep lol

So, this is my entry for the May Fete des Mousquetaires challenge which was "April showers bring May flowers". This, of course, can be taken all sorts of directions but ultimately can be broken down to 'difficult times can lead to something great' or something of the like, which you'll see is kind of the road I took with it. As with previous month's entry, this fits into a greater universe within the Musketeer's fandom. My awesome beta and I are almost done with the edits for the huge multichapter fic that will introduce that universe properly.

Speaking of my beta, special thanks to the wonderful Arlothia for her time and expertise!

To my VPU readers from the Avengers 'verse, I'm almost done with a one shot for you guys too and hope to have it ready before baby comes!

Read on!

All the adversity I've had in my life, all my troubles and obstacles, have strengthened me…You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.
Walt Disney

Aramis hid his clenched hand under the council table as he listened to one of the members prattle on about cutting the funding to the military. Next to him, at the head of the table, Anne's gaze slid toward him, silently warning him to keep calm.

He forced his jaw to loosen and painted on a patronizingly patient smile.

"You do realize we are still at war," Aramis pointed out when the council member paused for a response.

"Well yes, but…" the man began. Aramis went on before he could continue whatever defense he'd come up with.

"And you do realize it takes soldiers to win a war? Soldiers who, I can assure you, expect to be paid."

"Of course, but…" the man tried again, but Aramis cut him off.

"The winning of a war also requires supplies…those trivial things you mentioned such as ammunition, horses, food…all, most surprisingly, happen to be vital to the process." His voice sharpened slightly with sarcasm and thin, but strong, fingers dug into his knee beneath the table.

Heading Anne's second warning, Aramis smiled genially, nodding for the council member to speak.

"I merely suggest rationing the amount of…"

Aramis couldn't do it, he couldn't allow the man to even finish such a ridiculous thought.

"Have you ever been on a battlefield, monsieur?" Aramis asked simply.

The man cleared his throat uncomfortably, casting a glance around the table for support. However, the rest of the council members deftly avoided the searching gaze. Aramis had developed a reputation in the three years since he had been named First Minister for expertly talking his opponents into a corner where they had no choice but to agree with him, be they fellow council members or arrogant dignitaries. Many of the men at the table had been subjected to such conversations, especially in the early days when they had been determined to prove him unworthy of his new title.

His current target was saved from replying by a sudden knock at the closed door.

Aramis shared a wary glance with Anne. It wasn't often the council was interrupted while in session.

Anne gave him a slight nod and Aramis repeated the gesture to the Musketeers standing guard at the door. They dipped their heads in acknowledgement and opened the door.

Claudette, Louis' governess stepped in, looking strained and worried.

Aramis stood immediately.

"We will resume discourse on this in the morning," he informed the rest of the council firmly, leaving no room for argument. The men around the table obediently gathered their things and filed out while Claudette moved quickly to Anne's side when the Queen Regent stood and gestured for her to approach.

Aramis stepped up to Anne's side and waited to hear what Claudette had to say.

"The king was climbing the trees in the garden and fell." Claudette shifted a stern look in Aramis' direction, no doubt blaming him for such behavior.

Anne's hands turned white where they were delicately folded across her abdomen.

"Is he alright?" she asked with a slight strain in her voice.

Aramis shifted a slight step forward, just enough so his arm brushed hers but no more.

"He cut his leg badly," Claudette replied. "I sent for the palace surgeon but the king is refusing his care."

Anne started purposefully towards the door, Claudette and Aramis both falling into step behind her.

"Did he happen to say why he is refusing care?" Aramis asked.

He received another stern look from Claudette, though he wasn't sure this one was as deserved as the first.

"He insists that Minister Aramis be the one to tend to him. He says that you are a renowned 'battle medic.'"

Anne's gaze flashed over her shoulder to arch a brow at him, but there was nothing but hidden amusement in her eyes. Aramis cleared his throat sheepishly. Louis liked to hear stories and Aramis liked to tell stories. They had passed many hours in such a fashion over the years since Aramis had come to live in the palace.

They arrived at Louis' chambers and filed inside.

"Mon cher," (My dear) Anne strode over to the eight-year-old boy sitting obstinately opposite the scowling physician, "what is this about not letting the doctor treat you?"

"I wanted Aramis," Louis replied bluntly, turning wide, beseeching blue eyes up at his mother.

"And I am flattered, Your Majesty," Aramis knelt at Louis' other side. "But perhaps Doctor Durand would be a better choice," he suggested with a warm grin.

"But it's only a cut and I know you can do it better," Louis insisted. He lifted his leg to show Aramis and Anne the bloody wound. Aramis slid a glance at Anne in time to see her clench her jaw and look briefly away before resting a hand on Louis' unruly blonde curls and giving Aramis a beseeching look identical to the one the child king was directing at him.

Clearly she wanted him to cater to Louis' wishes in this. The realization sprouted a proud grin on his face. That they both trusted him so completely warmed his heart beyond measure.

"Porthos told me once that you can stitch better than any doctor he had ever met," Louis went on, intending to cement Aramis' commitment, no doubt. "Better than any seamstress, even. He said that you used to say your needlework is fine enough for the Que-"

"Alright, you've convinced me," Aramis interrupted with a smile as he patted Louis' knee. The king fell silent and smiled triumphantly. Aramis felt Anne's curious gaze, but ignored it in favor of addressing the physician still scowling over them.

"I will take it from here, Durand, thank you." He stood and escorted the doctor to the door. He managed to talk the man into leaving behind his medical bag and turned back in time to see Anne escorting Claudette out another door.

Finally, the three of them were alone.

"Climbing trees, Louis?" Anne chided gently as she sat in the chair next to the boy and took his hand in hers.

"Aramis says it's good exercise," Louis defended.

"And it is, so long as you exercise caution as well," Aramis replied as he knelt in front of Louis and pulled at the soiled pant leg. He felt Anne's patiently chiding look on the side of his head and offered her a grin as he reached for his main gauche and used the dagger to cut away the dirty material. "I climbed many trees when I was his age and younger and survived to tell the tale," he reminded.

"You also broke your leg," she shot back with an arched brow.

"Yes, well, I was never very good at caution," Aramis replied with a sly grin and a wink at Louis. The king giggled and then tensed when he noticed Aramis preparing to clean the wound, dousing a cloth with cleansing spirits.

"Tell me a story Aramis?" Louis asked pleadingly, anything to distract himself from what was to come.

Aramis looked up at Louis through his lashes and then over at Anne for permission. His stories and influence are what had brought them here after all. But Anne just smiled warmly and squeezed Louis' hand.

"What stories would you like Aramis to tell, mon cher?" she asked.

Louis smiled brightly.

"I want to hear about battles and fights and all the times you saved Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan!"

Aramis chuckled.

"As you know, they saved me more often than not."

"Our Aramis bears a certain attraction for trouble," Anne added teasingly.

Louis nodded gravely.

"That's what Porthos says."

Aramis sat back momentarily and tilted his head in mock exasperation.

"Just how often do you and Porthos exchange letters?"

"All the time!" Louis replied brightly. "He tells me the stories you won't, the ones where you're the hero!"

Aramis laughed and leaned forward again, resuming his task.

"He says you're the bravest, truest Musketeer that ever lived," Louis went on reverently.

"Well Porthos is a bit biased in his opinion," Aramis replied with a chuckle.

"That doesn't mean he's wrong," Anne put in quietly.

Aramis glanced at her to find her smiling softly. Feeling his neck redden in embarrassment, Aramis cleared his throat and returned his gaze to Louis' damaged leg.

"Tell me how you learned to do this," Louis decided.

"Do what? Clean and stitch wounds?"

"And the rest. I want to know how you came to be such a brilliant battle medic that even General Porthos says you're the best."

Aramis nodded agreeably and gently started cleaning the wound.

"Well, as with all triumphs – and I consider the approval of a man such as Porthos a great one – the path to it was littered with struggles. Learning to treat wounds was not an easy task, nor one I undertook lightly. And as with many things, you first must fail before you can succeed."

A glance up at the king showed bright blue eyes fixed on him with rapt attention.

"There are many types of wounds, and I recall one instance where Athos broke his leg. Years ago, before you were born or Captain d'Artagnan was even a Musketeer at all, Athos, Porthos and myself were chasing a villainous, explosive-obsessed criminal by the name of Bertrand across the countryside…."

"You've told me this one!" Louis protested.

"Ah, I've told you how we caught him, but I haven't told you how, days before, a cliffside gave way beneath us and cast all three of us down into a rocky valley."

Louis' eyes went wide at the prospect of a new part to the story.

Anne shifted forward in her seat a bit, eyes dancing as she, too, listened closely.

"There we stood, unaware of the danger beneath our very feet, considering how best to proceed with our mission…"

April 1627

"Can you see anything?" Athos asked as he examined the map he and Porthos were holding between them.

"A wisp of smoke from a fire perhaps," Aramis replied, eyes narrowed as he searched the countryside before them. He strode back to Esmé and retrieved his spyglass from his saddle bags. He then returned to the cliff side they were standing on and raised the glass to his eye.

"Anything?" Porthos prompted.

"Definitely smoke," Aramis answered. "But impossible to tell whom the fire belongs to. It could just be travelers, or hunters and not Bertrand at all."

"His tracks led this way," Athos reminded. "It's worth investigating."

"If it hadn't rained and washed away the trail he left, we'd have a better idea," Porthos lamented, stepping up to Aramis' shoulder while Athos folded the map and stowed it in his doublet.

"Considering the rain, perhaps you two should back away from the edge."

"It's perfectly sound," Aramis protested, jumping a bit to prove his point.

Sure enough, the ground seemed steady.

Athos just rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to reply. But a sudden boom rattled the world around them and the ground beneath their feet shook ominously. Porthos and Aramis both reached out, fisting a hand in the sleeve of each other's doublets to hold their balance.

Athos reached out to grab at them both, but a second explosion sent him stumbling forward.

A large hand latched onto his doublet even as the earth gave way beneath them.

Aramis woke to someone shaking his shoulder.

"Open your eyes, Aramis. Now."

Porthos.

Aramis obediently forced his heavy eyelids open, blinking dazedly up at the set of worried brown eyes hovering over him.

"There you are." Porthos' relieved smile seemed somewhat shaky and strained.

Then Aramis remembered the explosions and the fall.

"It seems we found Bertrand," he realized aloud as Porthos gently eased him up to sitting. His stomach rolled immediately, upset as always when he took a substantial knock to the head. Porthos, aware of how Aramis handled head injuries, angled him to the side just in time for his stomach to empty itself.

"Alright?" Porthos asked, gripping the back of his neck tightly.

Aramis nodded carefully, dragging a hand across his mouth.

"Good, then you need to see to Athos."

Aramis let Porthos pull him to his feet.

"What's wrong with Athos?"

"His leg," was all Porthos said as he pulled Aramis towards their third.

Aramis went to his knees next to the older man, who it seemed had dragged himself, or been dragged, to lean against a large chunk of rock.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked through gritted teeth, blue eyes flickering over the blood Aramis could feel around his left eye.

"Better than you, I think," Aramis replied as he inspected Athos' injured leg first with his gaze and then carefully with his hands. Athos tensed and hissed under his prodding fingers. Porthos sat down beside him and gripped his shoulder in support. "Well it's broken," Aramis announced, "but not badly."

"Can you fix it?" Porthos asked.

Aramis, eyes still fixed on the misshapen section of Athos' leg, nodded slightly.

"You'll need to brace him, Porthos. And we need something to use as a splint, two pieces roughly the same length as his lower leg and straight as you can find."

Porthos nodded, rising immediately and disappearing to somewhere behind Aramis.

"Did you hit your head?" Aramis asked Athos even as he looked the man over fully, searching for more visible injuries.

"Somehow, no."

"Did Porthos?"

"I don't know. He didn't take long to wake if he did."

Aramis nodded slightly, intent on inspecting Porthos for injuries once he returned and Athos was seen to.

"Bertrand?" he asked.

Athos scowled.

"I saw him ride away as the dust settled."

Aramis blew out a frustrated breath and nodded again.

He stared down at Athos' leg, planning where to put his hand, how to manipulate the bone back into alignment, and how to splint the leg afterward. He must have lost himself in thought because he blinked and suddenly Porthos had returned, two sturdy sticks in hand.

"You alright?" Porthos asked quietly.

Aramis nodded, giving him a thin smile.

"Shall we, then?"

Porthos helped Athos lean forward and sat behind him, wrapping his arms around Athos' torso.

Aramis carefully took Athos' leg in his hands and took a slow, deep breath, suddenly remembering with startling clarity the first time he had attempted something like this.

Jacques scream was still ringing in his ears even as Aramis fought not to drop the broken arm in his hands. He hadn't gotten it right; the bone was still misaligned.

"Calm," Henri murmured from over his shoulder. "Try again, take a breath, and move with purpose. You cannot fumble about with broken bones."

Aramis nodded, meeting Jacques pain filled eyes. The other Musketeer drew in a deep breath and gave him a grim nod. Feeling supremely unworthy of such trust, Aramis lowered his gaze to the broken arm and drew in a breath.

He sharply straightened the bone back into place.

Jacques screamed again, but then seemed to nearly wilt in relief.

"Well done," Henri squeezed Aramis' shoulder. "Next time you'll get it the first time."

Aramis blinked rapidly, dispelling the memory. He had never again failed to set a bone on his first attempt.

"Ready?" he asked Athos, who nodded tightly.

Aramis drew in one more breath.

Move with purpose, Henri's council drifted through his mind.

So, he did as he had been taught.

Present

Aramis set aside the cloth he'd used to clean the wound. Other than wriggling and squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to stave off tears, Louis had remained strong through the process.

"Did Athos cry?" Louis asked, subtly wiping at his cheeks.

"I think he would have, had he been 8 years old, and no one would have thought any less of him."

"Did you cry?" Anne asked. "When you fell from the tree and broke your leg as a child?"

Aramis glanced at her and then at Louis, leaning closer to the king who was waiting with misty eyes for the answer.

"Like a little girl," he whispered. "Tears everywhere."

Louis laughed and Anne smiled. Aramis smiled as well and dug into Durand's bag for his sewing kit.

"What else did Henri teach you?" Louis asked.

"Oh, a great many things," Aramis replied. "How to remove musket balls, for one."

"Musket balls!" Louis sat up straighter. "Tell me a story about that one!"

A glance at Anne earned him another permissive, though a tad reluctant, nod so Aramis cleared his throat.

"Very well." He located the sewing kit and started to ready the needle. "The day had begun as many others. The three of us on horseback carrying out a mission of grave importance. When, without warning, we were ambushed by bandits! Though as you well know, any man who crosses a Musketeer must be prepared to meet his end."

"Especially the Inseparables!" Louis chirped.

"Most especially them," Aramis agreed.

June 1626

Aramis pulled his rapier free of the body as his final enemy fell. He turned, searching for his brothers. There had been pistol fire, and a shout of pain that was all too familiar.

"Porthos!" he shouted, eyes searching.

"Over here," Porthos growled in response, making his way towards Aramis with his right hand clamped over his left shoulder. Aramis sheathed his sword and walked to meet him.

"How bad?" he demanded, forcing Porthos down onto a nearby log.

"Bad enough," Porthos muttered in response, growling low in his throat as Aramis pulled at his doublet to try and see the wound. He could see already, though, that the ball had not gone through.

"Athos!" he called over his shoulder as he helped Porthos free of the leather and urged him to slide off the log onto the ground and lean back.

Their third appeared a moment later, sword glinting with fresh blood.

"The ball is still in his shoulder. Would you be so kind as to prepare the patient?"

Athos glanced from him to Porthos and then simply stepped forward and drove his clenched fist into Porthos' temple. The large man slumped back, unconscious.

"You could do that yourself, you know," Athos commented dryly as he moved to Esmé and retrieved Aramis' medic kit without being asked.

"And risk ruining the hands I need to heal him? I think not."

"But my hands can be ruined with no regret?" Athos shot back.

"There, there," Aramis teased. "I'm sure there would be some regret."

He quickly rinsed his hands with water from the skin Athos offered and then opened his kit. Athos sunk down wearily next to Porthos and retrieved a flask from his doublet. Aramis ignored him and withdrew the tools he would need to extract the ball.

But before he could approach Porthos with them, he was horrified to see his hands shaking.

Some things never got any easier.

"You can do it," Henri instructed. "The ball hasn't vanished."

Aramis wiped at the sweat on his forehead with his shoulder. He tried to ignore the way his hands trembled.

"I can't get a grip on it," he replied.

Henri's hands came down to rest on his, stilling the shaking.

"The ball is not going anywhere so there is no need to rush," the physician reminded. "Just breath and feel what you can't see. Close your eyes, they do you no good when you cannot see into the wound anyway. Breathe and feel."

Aramis drew in a steadying breath, shifting to lean over Porthos and pushing the tools into the wound. Then he closed his eyes.

Breathe and feel.

He found the ball and, with steady hands, withdrew it.

Present

"Were you afraid?" Louis asked quietly.

"It's a frightening thing every time another's life is in my hands," Aramis answered honestly. "There is no greater burden." He propped Louis' foot on his thigh and examined the wound one last time, preparing to start the closing process.

"Was it worse because it was Porthos?" Louis wondered. "Because he's like a brother?"

Aramis met the young king's gaze seriously.

"It was always worse when it was one of my brothers. Always. But it only made the skills and knowledge I had gained all the more valuable to me. For instance, Captain d'Artagnan once…well he did this much more than once, but this particular time, he took a very serious knock to the head."

"Mama says your stomach gets sick when you hit your head," Louis pointed out, no doubt remembering the run-in Aramis had had with would-be assassins several months ago that had left him severely concussed and the contents of his stomach all over the garden path.

"I do," Aramis agreed. "It wasn't always so bad, but do you remember the story behind this scar?" he tapped the right side of his head and the old scar from Savoy hidden beneath his hair.

Louis nodded gravely.

"It was always worse after that. But I learned much from my own suffering and was able to help d'Artagnan when he suffered a similar blow."

May 1631

"Just keep it there," Aramis whispered softly as he stopped d'Artagnan's hands from removing the cool cloth he'd just placed on his forehead. "You'll thank me for it."

"But I'm fine," the young Gascon insisted.

"Of course you are," Aramis agreed blandly, standing to hang a cloth over the window to block the sun. He smiled softly at d'Artagnan's audible sigh of relief. "How bad is the headache?" Aramis asked gently.

"What headache?" d'Artagnan replied stubbornly.

Aramis chuckled softly and sat lightly on the edge of the cot next to the younger man's hip. How the tables had turned. Henri was probably laughing himself silly from his grave that d'Artagnan was giving back what Aramis had so often given to his old friend and mentor.

"How are the headaches?" Henri asked.

Aramis stared at him, putting on his most innocent expression.

"Headaches?" he questioned as if the very suggestion was unfounded..

Henri raised his brow doubtfully, obviously not fooled.

"Yes, boy, headaches. Defined as pain in your head, sometimes sudden, sometimes lingering," Henri explained with a teasing grin.

Aramis treated him with a dry glare in response though he could appreciate the sarcastic humor.

"I know you pride yourself on your head being harder than most, but even you would likely not be immune to such things," Henri pointed out.

Aramis' eyes narrowed in contrived offense and he fought down a wave of amusement at the gentle teasing.

"How often and how severe?" Henri asked firmly.

Aramis sighed, fingers drifting to his temple..

"Not very on both counts," he lied.

Henri, though, had known him a very long time.

"Would you lie to an old man, Aramis?"

Aramis would lie to almost anyone given the proper motivation. So he smiled widely and innocently.

"Of course not."

The old physician snorted disbelievingly and rolled his eyes.

"Well, if you were to suffer such an ailment – as most who've endured such head injuries tend to – there are steps that can be taken to alleviate the pain. Find a quiet, dark place. If you've access to cool water, wet cloths and place them on your neck and head. Mostly, try to sleep."

Aramis dipped his chin to show he understood.

He shook his head sharply to dispel the memory, turning his focus down onto the man on the cot.

"What you don't realize, my young friend, is that I invented that lie and won't be fooled by it," he teased quietly.

D'Artagnan's brow quirked in confusion.

Aramis turned his head, parting his hair so the scar hidden beneath was visible.

"A token from Savoy," he explained simply. "Headaches and I are quite familiar with each other."

Deep sympathy lit d'Artagnan's gaze and Aramis patted him on the chest.

"If nothing else, it gives me the knowledge to help you now. So please, just close your eyes and let me do so."

Obediently, the Gascon did as he was asked.

Present

"Does it still hurt?" Louis asked, eyes wide with empathy.

Aramis looked up from the first few careful stitches he'd done and met the boy's gaze.

"Sometimes," he admitted. He couldn't help but glance at Anne and her lips quirked a bit in sympathy. She had nursed him through more than one such episode over the last years. "But there is something to be learned from all struggles."

Louis bit his lip and looked away.

"What is it you want to ask?" Aramis prodded gently.

Still Louis hesitated.

"I won't be upset, whatever it is," Aramis promised.

The young king met his gaze again.

"What did you learn from Savoy?"

Aramis let out a sigh. Time had softened the jagged edges of those memories. The truth had brought long delayed closure and healing years ago. And though it would always bring him pain to remember that dark time, it no longer threatened to bring him to his knees.

"I learned that even the most broken soul can find a way to heal."

Louis' brow drew together in confusion.

Aramis turned his attention fully back to the stitches, carefully pulling the wound together. He took a moment to formulate his explanation.

"After what I endured in Savoy, I found myself lost. I was adrift in a sea of pain, guilt, and grief. I lost many men I considered brothers that day and it left my soul broken in a way." He glanced at Louis and saw a warm blue gaze full of empathy and sadness. The boy did not know the full story of that awful tragedy, but he knew Aramis had been the only survivor. "It was in that brokenness that I sought a way to heal."

"What did you do?" Louis asked softly.

"I turned to Henri and asked him to teach my hands to heal," Aramis replied, not looking up from his careful stitches. "It was in that journey, that I found a way to mend at least one piece of my soul that Savoy had destroyed. I would never again have to watch a brother suffer without knowing how to help him."

"That's why you learned battle medicine. Because of Savoy." Louis realized.

Aramis nodded, tying off the last stitch and sitting back on his heels where he met the young king's gaze.

"And that is also why I look back on that day and feel a sense of… gratitude, hand in hand with the grief that still lingers. Because that tragedy, and all the struggles I faced to learn what I know now of healing, yielded a reward worth far more in my eyes. Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan...each of them is alive today because of what I know."

"So it was all worth it, even Savoy, because you knew what to do to save them?" Louis wondered.

"I would suffer every bit of it many times over if it meant I could save them when it counted," Aramis agreed.

Louis nodded solemnly, bright blue eyes full of the potential for wisdom far beyond his years.

But the moment passed and Louis looked down at his leg. As soon as the boy's attention was diverted, Aramis felt a small hand lightly touch his hair. He turned his head towards Anne and smiled warmly to try and dispel the worry and sadness in her gaze. She smiled softly in return.

"Will it scar? Will it be ugly?" Louis asked suddenly.

"Are scars so ugly?" Aramis asked with a chuckle. Louis' eyes flashed up to the prominent scar on Aramis' cheek and then to the older one across his forehead.

"I think you'll find many find such marks quite dashing," Anne put in suddenly. "Most especially when there is a heroic story behind it."

Aramis couldn't fight down his suddenly wide smile.

Louis tilted his head thoughtfully.

"But I got it falling from a tree."

"Well no one said every story would be a heroic one. You're young, you've time to build up to such things," Aramis assured, patting the king's knee.

"But all of your stories are heroic," Louis protested.

Aramis chuckled.

"Remind me to tell you the story of myself, a river, and a very angry cat."

End of A Healer's Hands

So experimenting with something technically post-series was fun. I really enjoyed headcannoning (is that a word?) the relationship Aramis would be able to have with little Louis. With as much as we were shown Aramis is great with kids, I imagine Louis would have adored him.

I got this one done early on purpose. Baby boy should be here any day now *fingers crossed* so anybody that wants to send me prayers or good vibes, or whatever your thing is, it is all greatly appreciated!

Any of my VPU readers that are here too, keep an eye out for a one shot in that fandom soon too, promise!

Until we meet again my friends! Drop me a line if you feel so inclined and I'm sure there will be other wonderful entries to this month's challenge, so when the time comes, go read them all and vote for your favorites!