A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 464: Assassin’s Fate, Chapter 5

Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series
here.


After a brief excerpt from Bee’s dream-journal, “The Bargain” returns to Fitz as he readies himself for a meeting with the people of Kelsingra. He finds himself pleased with preparations undertaken by Spark and others. Perseverance asks Fitz after Spark and the Fool and their fluid identities, the boy enheartened by the man’s considered answer and behavior. The Fool and Lant join the group, and, after a few comments about Lady Thyme that confuse Lant, the group moves to meet with the leading Traders in the city.

Once again, the lady’s not nearly so pleasant.
Image by Greenmars – Own work,
CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26179639

Fitz, the Fool, and their company are conducted to a meeting of the dragon keepers, who are named and described as some introduce themselves. Others join, and dinner is served, over which conversation commences. Discussion is made of Fitz and the Fool’s errand to Clerres, and Reyn and Malta, grateful for the death of Ellik for his treatment of Selden, offer their aid to the group, and it is fulsome. It does not extend to a gift of the dragons’ Silver, however, despite Amber’s request for the same; it does, though, take in the conveyance of messages to Dutiful, which bespeak the prospect of Skilled healers and open trade, as Fitz and Amber remark as they retire for the evening.

Fitz spends long composing his letter to Dutiful with circumspection, after which he and the rest await the Tarman for conduct down the river. As they wait, Rapskal repeatedly attempts to press them, and Fitz realizes he must press the Fool for details of Clerres. Perseverance and Motley have an encounter with a dragon that the boy relates with some delight, and Fitz finally has an encounter with Rapskal in which the latter apologizes, convinced by Heeby of his intentions towards Clerres. Rapskal also offers Fitz advice about dealing with the memories that speak from the stones of Kelsingra before conducting him back to his chambers.

In Fitz’s chambers, he and Rapskal confer about the dragons and their memories. Hearing Rapskal’s yearning for something to enhance Heeby’s memories, Fitz recognizes an avenue through which he can find more information about what he will face, and he moves along it, learning more about the bond between keeper and dragon as well as about earlier depredations of Clerres and its people. The possibility of other populations of dragons and their systematic elimination is raised, and Rapskal notes continued doubts of Fitz and his party. But he, having been urged to do so by Heeby, gifts Fitz vials of Silver. As others arrive, he takes his leave with ominous words, and Fitz secures the gift.

Fitz’s group regathers and exchanges news. The theory that the Servants had systematically destroyed dragons is voiced and discussed, and new dangers begin to present themselves to Fitz’s mind as he purposes again to press the Fool for details about Clerres.

The conversation between Perseverance and Fitz early in the chapter regarding the fluid presentations of Spark and the Fool attracts attention for me, as might be expected. After all, I’ve commented no few times on how the issue of gender presentation pops up and confounds characters, including some who probably ought to know better (perhaps most recently here, with reference to any number of earlier portions of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus). That Fitz seems finally to have accorded himself to the Fool’s fluidity is a good thing, although I have to wonder at his arrival at it–but then, he did recently have some transformative experiences, so perhaps something shook loose in him to bring him around. Perseverance’s easy faith in the prince he serves…if I was ever so trusting, it has been a long time, indeed.

The related joke about Chade as Lady Thyme, playing on Lant’s ignorance, comes off as being a bit mean-spirited, the more so because it juxtaposes with the aforementioned acceptances. I like a good joke, and the timing of the humor is not out of line, but it is pointed in a way I’m not entirely sure Lant has coming this time. Other times, yes, because Lant has been and can be a pompous ass, but not this time.

(The thought occurs, or reoccurs, that Rosemary becomes an excellent name for someone trained by Chade, and the question of whether there had been a Parsley and a Sage before rises for me. Hobb is of an age to have access to the reference…)

The theory Rapskal motions towards and that Fitz and the Fool discuss openly, that the Servants in Clerres purposefully destroyed the dragons, perhaps as a self-protective measure, intrigues. In retrospect, it does seem odd that a people as demonstrably widespread as the Elderlings were–consider the map-rooms in Kelsingra and Aslevjal–would be undone so suddenly even by a cataclysm that reshapes the coastlines; a more spatially restricted dragonkind and Elderling civilization might well be undone by a volcano, but even a supervolcano would struggle to completely kill off what seems an intercontinental body. Even with the clearly large passage of time involved–remember that the Elderlings are attested in early Six Duchies materials, and there is enough language change between those materials and Fitz’s present that translation is an issue–there should be more evidence of the Elderlings and the dragons that made them available than seems to have been the case. Armed with foreknowledge, however, a dedicated and malevolent group might well be able to seize upon the opportunity presented by a massive natural disaster to enact a genocide and work towards something like a damnatio memoriæ–and the Servants, as has been repeatedly demonstrated, are a dedicated and malevolent group.

While I still contend that Hobb moves in many ways away from the Tolkienian fantasy literature tradition, I do think that there is some motion towards the bones in his soup in this–and I remember that Hobb grounds herself in having read Tolkien, too…

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A Yet Further Rumination on Labor Day

Once again, the time has come for me to wax loquacious on the subject of work. I did it last year at around this time, just as I’d done in the preceding years, and there’s no reason for me not to do so this time around. As it happens, I’m actually in the same lines of work this year as last, which is nice; not having to retrain for a new job all of a sudden is a good thing, and getting better at a job held for a while is a better one.

There are still some…
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

As far as that job goes, things are better. I know more about the work I do, I do more of it, and word has spread and is spreading in the community that I have at least some idea what all I’m doing. I’m glad of that much, to be sure. I am still well aware, however, that the work I do is less work than the work a lot of other people do. For the most part, I plug away on my own in an office space, communicating with clients through email and making my workspace more or less commodious to myself. I don’t have to be on a sales floor listening to customers complain about things that they did wrong and now have to pay for; I don’t have to be out in the Texas Hill Country summer sweating and struggling. It’s an inside job with minimal heavy lifting, so how fitting it is that I should take the day off–and I did take the day off, more or less–is an open question.

Admittedly, given that my work is what it is and that most of those with whom I would have to conduct business are themselves closed, it makes sense that I would save on the utility costs associated with my being in the office. Since my wife and daughter are also both off from work and school, for much the same reasons, it makes sense that I would take the chance to spend time with them–which I am, and happily. And I am minded of some old wisdom that bids each and every one of us to take every opportunity to rest that presents itself.

So much said, I still find myself somewhat ill at ease with taking for myself a holiday intended to honor the laborers that have made this place. I am not among them, not anymore, although I yet rely upon them, as do many. What right do I, who do so little, have to be at ease, especially when many who work are even now at work–and some at work doing things because I have bidden them be done? At the same time, what good would it do for me to work now, to be at work now? Would my setting to the tasks that await me–and there are some of those, certainly–somehow ennoble me?

I do not know, and that uncertainty bothers me for several reasons. It’s the kind of thing that pervades my thoughts, not just today but on many holidays and observances. I try to set such things aside and enjoy what opportunities do present themselves…but there’s always the nagging voice in the back of my head, just loud enough that I can’t quite ignore it…

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On Another Football Season Starting

The time of year has come again in the part of the world where I live for high school football. To be fair, the past couple of weeks have seen scrimmage games in my area, the local schools playing games to test themselves but not worry (so much) about season standings, but scrimmages do not get a whole lot of attention. The accoutrements that go along with high school games–the cheerleaders, the bands, and the stands filled with those groups’ parents and much of the broader community–are not on display for what amount to extended practices, although there are certainly some die-hards who attend them and watch as new players start to settle into their roles and teams begin to see how they function when they’re not playing against their own teammates.

Such is Friday vespers for the national religion of Texas…
Photo by John Sullivan on Pexels.com

This week, at least here where I live, is the start of the regular football season. My local high school has an away game, and I’ll be attending it; the band program, of which I am a proponent and for which I do some boosting, has asked me to announce them at halftime once again, and I am pleased to do so. It’s a privilege to be asked, and to be asked again; it’s a privilege, too, to have the kind of flexibility of schedule as allows me to say “yes” to the request. I’m mindful of those privileges, mindful that they need not be mine, and I am mindful, too, that I have the opportunity to do some other good for the kids in the band than calling out over the loudspeaker that they are taking the field.

Last year, when I volunteered with the program, I did a fair bit to help the woodwinds in the stands. Reeds needed trimmed and replaced, keys and linkages needed adjustments and repairs, and tuning needed doing–all of which I was happy to help address. And, because the directors asked me to do it, I looked with such eyes as I have at how the students performed on and off of the field, making notes that I think were of some help to the program. They were able to pull off a superior performance at regional contest and gave a good showing at area (the next level up, for those not conversant in Texas marching band competitions), and I flatter myself that I had some small hand in it. Certainly I cheered for them as they entered and left the field, and I congratulated them when announcements came of how they fared.

Even if they didn’t advance, they gave a good showing, and that’s something of which to be proud.

I watch the games, themselves, of course. If nothing else, I know that how the local team does will be the subject of a great many conversations in town, and I do need to be able to talk to people hereabouts. But I am not at the game for the game; I’m there because I believe in the band program, and not only because my daughter is in it and looks forward to her own marching band days. I’m one of the many for whom band was a bright spot; I’m one of the many who has delighted in having a horn in hand, sitting among others and winding it to the joy of ourselves and others. I’m one of the many who has seen greatness emerge from behind flip-folders, and I want to see more of it happen in the world around me.

I do not think I can be faulted for it.

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One Practice

When they are gone who should be here,
I keep the porchlight burning clear
So they can always find a way
Back to our home, by night or day.

Knock, and it will open…
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

When I accept that they have left,
And home of them has been bereft,
I then will let the light go out–
But only when I have no doubt.

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 463: Assassin’s Fate, Chapter 4

Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series
here.


After a commentary from Chade about the decline of the Elderlings and the legendary alliance between them and the early Farseers, “Chalced” begins with Wolf-Father speaking to Bee of his being carried by the scruff of his neck as she emerges from the Skill-pillar into a hollow in the ground. Dwalia and the others–including Reppin–are crammed into the hollow with her, and Reppin finds herself pushed back into the stone as Wolf-Father helps Bee ground herself. She assesses her situation as Dwalia and the others fret and begin to panic.

Not unlike this, maybe?
Photo by Ivan Xolod on Pexels.com

At Wolf-Father’s urging, Bee attempts to pass back through the Skill-pillar, to no avail; at Wolf-Father’s further urging, Bee sleeps. When she wakes, Bee assesses her situation again, and she is somewhat taken aback by Kerf’s blunt discussion of their prospects and offer to kill her rather than let her suffer through what will come. Bee demurs, and the sounds of life outside the hollow begin to reach the group. Light begins to filter into the hollow, revealing it as the result of a collapse rather than a deliberate construction, and Kerf manages to move the fallen stones enough for Bee to slip out. She hides and watches as the others emerge, and Kerf notes his recognition of their location. Bee takes advantage of the others’ distraction to hide herself better, free from them but in a strange place.

The present chapter is not the first to bear the title “Chalced”; a chapter late in Blood of Dragons does so, as well. It is tempting to read the present chapter against the earlier, the coincidence of titles alone suggesting it as a short project that might well be done; the content of the present chapter, emerging from the content of the earlier, affirms it. I’m not going to do so at this point; it is very much the thing that makes for a decent scholarly someday, perhaps a good thing to take up in a post to this webspace that is not part of the rereading series, proper. I do always need to find outlets for my desire to write, after all, and turning to something resembling literary critical practice provides them in plenty. How the rest of my life will allow for such, though, I am not sure–hence the “someday” bit.

Anyway, the present chapter is relatively brief, only some eleven pages in my copy. (Again, I really need to get a cohesive run of the Realm of the Elderlings novels to see how the page numbers all line up. I really do think there’s something to the chapter-length, although I acknowledge that that might well be me digging deeper to find something than is needful or even useful. Such is life.) It does a good job, I think, of reinforcing something that a number of prior chapters in the Realm of the Elderlings novels point up: the danger of Skill-pillars. Repeatedly throughout the works, mention is made of the perils of traveling to unknown pillars, the thought of what would happen if the destination pillar was submerged (as here), broken, or buried. Bee and her captors–save Reppin–were lucky in the event (although so much could be expected, Bee being a deuteragonist and so needing to be around for the duration), but they need not have been. And the fact of Reppin being pushed back into the pillar…there are some implications there that stand some interrogating, I think.

Perhaps another scholarly someday is in order for that.

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I Can Still Write a Sonnet That Is Not Angry

The stacks of books and magazines rise high,
Each thing that’s piled upon them seeks my eye,
And I lament that I must oft pass by
Some well-worn volumes. Long they’ve graced my shelves
And gathered hand-oils and dust to themselves,
Those mines in which a glad mind often delves,
Those comforts, blankets shutting out the cold
Of which the world has plenty. I had sold
Myself to their devotion young; now old,
I scarce sustain that practice I enjoyed,
The ritual rereadings that upbuoyed
My soul–but I am not by this annoyed,
For though I seldom visit anymore,
I know with them I’ll never find closed doors.

Such beauty!
Photo by Ivo Rainha on Pexels.com

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About Some Reading My Daughter Is Doing

That I have a daughter, Ms. 8, is not new information for those who have read my blogging these past many years. (Thank you who do so, by the way; I really appreciate seeing that you see what I put here!) That I take great delight in her is also not new information, and I do not think it would be a surprise if I were to note that I take more delight in her each day; as she grows and matures, Ms. 8 reveals more of herself to the world, and, biased as I am, I find it captivating.

Here kitty, kitty, kitty…
Photo by Alexas Fotos on Pexels.com

As I try to be a good parent for her, I work to remain engaged in what she does–and at the moment, a lot of what she is doing is school. Central Texas schools tend to start back up in mid-August, and as I write this, Ms. 8 is in the second overall and first full week of classes for the year. She’s adjusting to having homework (really just completing things from class, although there’s a lot more of it now than she was accustomed to having in earlier grades–but that’s not unexpected), and she’s not necessarily thrilled at the same, but she’s doing reasonably well with it so far. (Some learning curve is to be expected.)

One of the things Ms. 8 is being asked to do is to read a novel. It’s not an issue, really; it’s the kind of thing students in language classes should, generally be asked to do. The novel in question is CS Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which I did not read until graduate school. (I had a class on the Inklings; my sixth-grade read was Tolkien’s The Hobbit. You can guess where that took me.) When I learned about the assignment, a number of questions about it did pop into my head (“Why not Tolkien?” being prominent among them), and I looked through my old notes to see if I had anything that might be useful for Ms. 8 as she moves into treating the text (I didn’t, alas; I focused on Tolkien in my Inklings class, as might be expected). I also let her borrow my copy of the collected Chronicles of Narnia, which she delighted in taking to school.

I have asked Ms. 8 if she would consider taking some time to write about her experience of reading the text as she moves through it, noting that it might be something good for her to have later on in her life. Literacy narratives are commonplace assignments in higher grades (and in college), and it’s possible that she will, at some point, want or have occasion to reread the book; in the latter case, having her initial impressions on record would offer her a useful contrast. (That I see value in rereading is also a factor, yes). So far, she seems reasonably amenable to the idea; I can hope that she will remain so.

Whether or not I post anything about what she writes, other than that she writes (which I know will creep into things; I know me), I do not know. Whether or not I do, though, I look forward to reading what she writes, to seeing the evidence of how she thinks and thereby learning my daughter a little bit better than before.

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 462: Assassin’s Fate, Chapter 3

Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series
here.


Following an excerpt from Bee’s dream journals, “In the Mountains” opens with Bee waking to find her efforts at escape noticed. Dwalia rebukes the others in her group and orders Bee secured more stringently, which orders are carried out with complaint. Dwalia, angry at needing to remain in place for another night, commands the others to seek out wood, and while they do, Bee finds evidence of her father’s presence and the bear attack he suffered. Dwalia also notices and retrieves some of what Fitz had carried.

The local environment is something like this, perhaps?
Photo by Simon Berger on Pexels.com

Dwalia considers her findings, snapping angrily at the others in her group as she does, and Bee considers them. Wolf-Father speaks within her, offering counsel for how to proceed. In the night, she hears dissension brewing among Dwalia’s group as they lay out details of how their mission began and how Dwalia came to lead it. Bee notes not understanding all of what is said, but she takes from their conversation what she can, and not only about Clerres. At the group’s discussion of dreams, Bee considers her own, her captivity-enforced inability to record them, and the increasing urgency of the dreams as they go unrecorded. Pretending to write eases her somewhat.

More days pass, and matters among Dwalia’s party deteriorate. The one Bee had injured, Reppin, suffers the effects of the injury, and the others question Dwalia. Bee, advised by Wolf-Father, notes the nearby presence of a bear, and she finds herself confronted by Kerf, who is much taken by the Skill-visions that pervade their location. Strangely sympathetic, Kerf does offer her some ease, and she makes another attempt at escape that Dwalia violently interdicts. In the wake thereof, Kerf speaks to Bee again, and Dwalia arrives at an understanding of her location. Prompted, Kerf offers information about where he has seen one of the runes the local Skill-pillars display, although he hesitates to tender more assistance. Bee makes another unsuccessful attempt at escape, and Reppin is abandoned as Dwalia compels the group through another Skill-pillar.

The present chapter does fill in a bit of lore hinted at but not, to my recollection, presented before: the name of the Pale Woman. So far as I recall or have notes of (and I will acknowledge that my memory is not what it used to be, as well as that my notes may well not be complete), the Pale Woman was only referred to by that epithet or addressed directly previously. To have confirmation of her name as Ilistore does not necessarily change any previous reading, but it is nice to have a bit more information, a bit more depth and detail in an already well-built narrative world. It’s something I appreciate.

The present chapter also speaks to something I’ve noticed in Hobb’s work before: a focus on writing as writing. There’s a lot to say on the topic of how Hobb presents writing, even outside the present series that makes as much of both Fitz’s and Bee’s writing as it does–it’s probably another scholarly someday to trace it out. I will note, though, that there are times Hobb gets fairly heavy-handed about her thoughts about writing; Words like Coins, a minor entry in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, and one I will eventually treat in this reread, offers an example, as I’ve noted before. Bee’s need to record her dreams, the way the dreams press upon her consciousness until she does so, seems another such comment. It’s not necessarily revelatory, admittedly; among others, Asimov quips about the demands of writing for a writer, and I, myself, have made comments about it (here and here, if not also elsewhere). But that something is not new or unique does not mean it does not merit attention; indeed, how much work done to understand literature (or any art), and how much of the enjoyment of the same, inheres in finding what a given piece pulls from and references?

I also note with some joy the ponerological thrust of the chapter (not least because I delight in the opportunity to use the word). The nature of evil has been a topic in the Realm of the Elderlings novels before, of course (here, for example), and I have written about the cartoonishness of some of the later iterations (here, here, and here, by that term). Dwalia’s readiness to abandon her companions and their plotting against her, with reference to higher-level plotting and infighting, seems to align with that, and I’m unsure how I feel about it. Part of what I like about Hobb is her nuancing of tropes; this seems less in that line than I have been used to seeing, although it may be that my reading has shifted as I have gotten older. Like I note above, my memory isn’t what it used to be.

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Oh, Yes, It’s from the Archives

It has been close to eleven months since I last posted this kind of thing, looking back into earlier materials I drafted to help one tutee begin to acclimate to testing culture. With school back in session and thus testing looming once again, I figured it would be a good time to remind people that I am capable of generating original testing material free from plagiarized AI hallucinations and responsive to emerging classroom needs.

Scenic.
Photo by Ivan Drau017eiu0107 on Pexels.com

The passage below contains 182 words at a grade-level equivalent of 9.5–midway through the first year of high school. There has been some adaptation for medium.


1Despite the overall seriousness of Arthuriana, there is some humor to be found in Malory. 2For example, early in Le Morte d’Arthur, Arthur’s father, Uther Pendragon, sends an ultimatum to Gorlois, Duke of Tintagel. 3A dire warning, the message bids the duke to be ready to stuff and garnish himself. 4On its own, the comment reads as one about the duke’s courage, stuffing and garnishing is what is done to such poultry as chickens, and chickens are reputedly cowardly. 5To call the duke such a thing, then, is an insult, albeit one delivered with some style and laughter from the reader. 6Modern readers can take another joke from the comment. 7Tingatel is a castle in Cornwall, and the dominion of Gorlois over it marks him as Cornish. 8The most popular breeding stock of chicken is also named Cornish. 9Associating Gorlois with the chicken—and, indeed, the core stock of chickens—not only marks him as a coward therefore, but marks all his people as cowards, too. 10That the comment works at multiple levels, then, helps to engage even current readers through laughter.


  1. In sentence 2, “ultimatum” is a
    A. Noun
    B. Pronoun
    C. Verb
    D. None of the above

  2. In sentence 2, “ultimatum” means
    A. Hits hard
    B. Leers intently
    C. Runs through
    D. None of the above

  3. Sentence 3 provides what kind of context clue for the meaning of “ultimatum?”
    A. Antonym
    B. Example
    C. Synonym
    D. None of the above

  4. The relationship of sentence 2 to sentence 1 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  5. The relationship of sentence 3 to sentence 2 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  6. The relationship of sentence 4 to sentence 3 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  7. The relationship of sentence 5 to sentence 4 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  8. The relationship of sentence 6 to sentence 5 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  9. The relationship of sentence 7 to sentence 6 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  10. The relationship of sentence 8 to sentence 7 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  11. The relationship of sentence 9 to sentence 8 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  12. The relationship of sentence 10 to sentence 9 is one of
    A. Addition
    B. Comparison/Contrast
    C. Illustration/Exemplification
    D. None of the above

  13. The main idea of the paragraph is in sentence
    A. 1
    B. 5
    C. 10
    D. None of the above

  14. A punctuation error appears in sentence
    A. 3
    B. 4
    C. 5
    D. None of the above

Answers: 1,A; 2, D; 3, B; 4, C; 5, C; 6, D; 7, C; 8, A; 9, C; 10, A; 11, D; 12, D; 13, A; 14, B


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Still Another Weekend Piece

It’s possible I’ve mentioned that I had a busy series of weekends for about the past month at this point. It’s likely I noted around this time last week that one more of them was coming. It’s certainly the case that this past weekend, the last one before Ms. 8 started back to school, took my family and me afield, and it ought to be the case that I let you know how all it went. Hence what follows.

Something not at all unlike this…
Photo by Eddie Ortiz on Pexels.com

We left Wednesday for and returned Sunday from Foxfire Cabins, where we lodged at around the same time for the last couple of years, as noted. On Wednesday, we made the drive out, and, as in previous years, the drive was pretty. We did go by a bit of a circuitous route, admittedly, one that showed the ongoing effects of the 4 July 2025 flooding in the Hill Country (rebuilding continues, and having support continue would also be helpful); had we gone by our preferred route, I think it would have been harder to see. But we arrived in good form and good time, and we were able to settle into our cabin–which was lovely, with an expansive deck and direct access to the upper Sabinal River–easily. I even joined my wife and Ms. 8 for a brief swim in the river, something I don’t often do. (Since I sink with a life-jacket on, swimming isn’t usually my thing. But it was hot, the upper Sabinal is usually fairly shallow and cool, and it seemed the thing to do.)

On Thursday, the three of us stayed more or less at the cabin. My wife and daughter spent a lot of time at the river, wading and swimming; my daughter also tended to a loose rockwork dam that had been set up to help pool some of the river-water and which a group of hooligans had spent the morning doing their damnedest to destroy, hucking rocks at it loudly to the cheers of their father. She also conceived of a like for frogs, and I have to wonder if she will take up batrachology as a field of study later on. For my part, I joined Ms. 8 and her mother on the water for a while, enjoying short floats on borrowed inflatables–but I also made a point of getting in a long nap. I’ve been tired, and for a while; it was nice to be able to rest quietly for a time, and I did feel somewhat refreshed by the time it came to light the grill and start dinner. I appreciate it greatly.

On Friday, we went into the nearby Lost Maples State Natural Area once again, where we went on a hike on the Maple and East Trails. We made it to Monkey Rock before the heat started really getting to people; temperatures reached the century mark (37°C for the metrically inclined), which takes some getting used to. (I used to be used to it, but I’m older now than I was then, and I work an inside job with no heavy lifting.) Some time in the air conditioning later, my wife and daughter found their way back to the upper Sabinal near our cabin, and I spent some time reading. (It was, admittedly, reading for work, but it was also reading I enjoyed doing, and I might well write here about what I read there. Maybe.) Dinner was grill-work for me, which I was pleased to do; it’s a part of outdoor living that I do actually enjoy, indoorsman though I am.

On Saturday, we went to Concan again, floating on the Frio River with the help of Happy Hollow. The river was higher than when we visited last year, and so there were more people in attendance; I am given to understand that it was a much more normal year than last year was. It made for a decidedly different experience, one that I am not sure I enjoyed; the crowds were friendly enough and seemed to be having a good time, and I’m not complaining about them, but I was unable to relax. For one, I was worried about running into people; I’m not the smallest person or the lightest, after all. For another, I was worried about revisiting the approach to drowning; again, I sink with a life-jacket on, and I had flirted with it on the Frio last year. For yet another, parts of the river seemed intent on beating me up; the riverbed punched me in the butt and back several times, and one cypress tree kneed me in the shoulder rather forcefully. Still, my wife and daughter enjoyed it, just as they enjoyed going to the Frio Float for a bit of refreshments afterward. And I was glad to fire up the grill again that evening to make dinner; I usually am.

On Sunday, we made our way back home. My wife and daughter took one more chance to wade in the upper Sabinal as I got our stuff loaded back into our vehicle for the drive back; they enjoyed it, and I’m glad to have facilitated their enjoyment. We did make a stop in Kerrville on the way back, as it was my nephew’s birthday; we had presents for him from our trip, and we enjoyed a lunch and birthday cake with him before his mother came up to take him off to see her family. The drive home thence was easy enough, and after we packed in and got some briefing on Ms. 8’s coming school session, I fired up my home pit and cooked both dinner and some meat to eat across the next several days (we’re still working on it as I write this, in fact). So it was a good day, and one I’m glad to have had.

I’ve got some more fun and adventures coming up in the next weeks. School has started here, and that means football season is soon to follow; I work with the local band, and so I’ll be driving to a number of games, both home and away. Too, I have some travel for work coming up, and there are already some plans for another brief getaway, depending on how matters go for Ms. 8 as she moves through her new coursework. I’m sure I’ll have something or other to say about at least some of what’s coming after I manage to make it through–which is good, because I like to write, and I like to write here.

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