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

---

A chapter titled “Elfbark” follows. It begins with a brief comment about one of the White Prophets’ prophecies before turning to Fitz and Kettricken plotting out their next steps. Fitz and Nighteyes share a pleasant exchange before the party sets out, as do Fitz and the Fool.

As the party proceeds, Kettle accompanies Fitz, helping him keep his focus as they move towards the Skill road. That night, Fitz, the Fool, and Nighteyes go out to hunt. While they do, Nighteyes scents one of Regal’s coterie, Burl. The wolf moves to eliminate him as Burl works to Skill against Fitz. Nighteyes drives Burl off as Fitz is assailed through the magic; they make their way back to the party, where the Fool is still in the grip of the Skill. Fitz recalls him from it, finding a bond between them through the magic, and Kettle prepares more elfbark for the Fool to drink in the hope its Skill-dampening effect would protect him from further assault through the Skill for a time.

Kettricken demands explanations, which Kettle provides. She mulls over their situation afterward, and the Fool begins to make strangely lewd comments. Kettle presses on with the elfbark treatment, learning of Fitz’s long use of the substance–and of Verity’s. In the wake of the information, Kettle offers more to Fitz, citing its quelling effects; he considers taking it, but decides against doing so, and he immediately begins to suffer for the choice.

There might be something of a joke to be found in Kettle concerning herself so much with brewing in the present chapter. Less humorous, but more important for future work, is the mention that use of the Skill becomes almost intuitive; it is a small comment, but it is one that serves to vitiate complaints about deus ex machina that might be brought up.

Too, there is motion towards Fitz’s seeming addiction to elfbark (earlier noted here). Kettle’s commentary about the substance’s effects–and its uses–bring to mind the “go pills” reported as being given to operatives in the field, as well as far less savory experiments done ostensibly in the name of freedom. As with a number of addictive substances, the potential application for the Fool–in measure and as a response to a specific circumstance, including an addictive magic that lies outside control or experience–rings true. And there is something to be said in Fitz’s favor that he rejects indulging his seeming addiction, as well as that he immediately begins to feel effects associated with that rejection.

There may be more that could have been done to demonstrate the effects of the seeming addiction on Fitz. And I have to wonder about game-based treatment for addiction. But the fact that it is treated at all, that there is any verisimilitude in it, is another of the many points in favor of Hobb’s writing.

Nothing special today, but I could still use your help.

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

---

A chapter titled “The Stone Garden” follows. It begins with a note about a lost keep in the Six Duchies. It moves then to the party’s continued travel–off of the Skill road and onto a normal, now-overgrown track that occasions complaint from all save Fitz and Nighteyes. Fitz puts the matter of Starling to the Fool; the Fool, in turn, deflects the conversation with accustomed mockery. It does not help matters.

As they press on, Fitz ruminates about Molly and Burrich. And, as a surprise, they come to a statue of a dragon. Described in detail, it unnerves Fitz; his Wit reads it and the other dragon statues as living. His warnings do not dissuade the other members of the party from investigating the statues further. Fitz and Kettricken confer about their surroundings, and Kettricken purposes to search for Verity in the one place shown on their map that they have yet to reach.

As they make camp, Fitz purposes to go off hunting. Starling offers to accompany him, which surprises him, but he does not refuse her. She proves something of a distraction to Fitz as he works with the wolf, the more so as she tries to explain herself and her stance to him. Fitz is taken aback by it, and they confer with unaccustomed frankness. In the wake of the talk, Starling offers herself to Fitz; he ineptly deflects the offer. And that night, he dreams strange dreams once again.

As I read the chapter again, I remembered that the text is presented as if composed by Fitz many years after the events being depicted. I do not question the character’s recall; enough things are glossed over, and enough is made of his training in various mental disciplines, that it does not pass credulity. But I am struck by the degree to which he recalls his dreams; I rarely if ever do, and certainly not for long after I have them. That is, I occasionally remember that I have dreamt, and I remember waking with the memory of a dream in mind, but I almost never remember the content of my dreams with any detail. I know I am not necessarily representative in this; a lot of people remember their dreams vividly. But it is something that stands out to me.

Too, Fitz’s sudden insight into Starling’s situation resonated with me. It is clear to me that part of the way in which Fitz subverts expectations of common fantasy protagonists (about which I write somewhat ineptly here) is in treating such concerns; protagonists typically either need not treat them or never know they need to do so. Fitz may belatedly realize others have the perspectives that they do, but he does come to realize so much, and that marks him as rare among his kindred–both in the milieu and in the genre.

It’s almost Tax Day in the US; help me meet my bill?

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

---

The next chapter, “The Rooster Crown,” starts with a brief description of a Mountain Kindgom game before moving into Fitz and Kettle’s return from their sortie. Kettricken notes that the Fool seems to be improving, and Fitz considers both the presence of Regal’s coterie and his own actions. He very nearly falls back into a Skill-reverie, but Kettle calls him out of it before he can slip in, but after the night passes, he is pulled into the Skill Regal plies through his coterie.

Fitz is understandably shaken by the vision, and Kettricken and Kettle make to ease and redirect him. The party proceeds uneasily, but doggedly, and the Fool notes that his present illness seems to be a natural occurrence for his kind. He also elaborates on that kind to Fitz as they proceed, as well as laying out more of the scope of his prophetic powers and his purpose in plying them.

The next morning, the party sets out with more vigor. Nighteyes offers to have the Fool accompany him and Fitz on the hunt; the Fool accepts, surprising Fitz. As they proceed, they come to a place where once a village stood; Fitz and the Fool are both swept into the place’s history and visions. The rest of the party is able to pull them out of it, and Kettle berates them both, but the Fool exults in renewed confidence, and they press ahead with something very much like joy.

Later, that joy is somewhat blunted when Kettricken points out Starling’s affections and evident jealousy to Fitz. Fitz denies the allegations made against him, and Kettricken notes some attraction to him before leaving him alone.

The action in the present chapter was easier for me to follow on this re-reading, which pleases me; I had been worried about my ability to follow a narrative anymore. The discussion of the Fool’s upbringing and abilities, too, seemed to make sense to me, and it seems to me, too, that there is something of a parallel between what the White Prophets are described as doing and the work of humanistic study.

The chapter describes the brand of prophecy the Fool practices as being more of a backward look than a forward one. That is, there are omens and portents and visions, but it is only after events have come to pass that those prophecies can be understood for their full meaning. (Connecting back to earlier comments about the series and its evocation of Asimov’s Foundation novels, I am reminded of the equations displayed by the Prime Radiant in the later-in-milieu books; psychohistory can predict to some degree, but events as they happen occasion adjustments to and recalibrations of the mathematics.) Similarly, the remarks those who study the humanities make, using the works of human minds and hands to help understand the human conditions (and, yes, there’s a reason I’m using the plural), can only be understood fully in retrospect–and even then, as with the Fool’s visions, the interpretations change as new information comes to light.

Of course, that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Give me something to crow about?

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

---

The next chapter, “The Coterie,” starts by musing on the strange dearth of depictions of the Elderlings in the Six Duchies. It proceeds then to Fitz’s debriefing–punctuated by angry commentary from Kettle. Nighteyes expresses his concerns to Fitz through the Wit, and Kettricken examines the map Fitz has brought back from the strange city. With that information, they make to rest and ready for further travel to Verity, and Fitz becomes concerned for the Fool, who seems to be fevered. Fitz prepares elfbark for him, raising some mutterings from Kettle, and the two talk of the Fool’s health and physical nature.

Fitz wakes early the next morning, and Nighteyes stalks out to scout. The two determine that there are approaching riders, and the party makes for an armed withdrawal. They proceed until they encounter a rockslide they must cross; Nighteyes provides intelligence on their pursuit as they make to pass. The crossing is made with difficulty, and the illness that has taken the Fool is painfully evident as Fitz assists him.

In its wake, the party considers the intelligence relayed by Nighteyes and tries to puzzle out their pursuit’s intent. It becomes clear that Regal has sent pursuit to follow Verity and Fitz; surely, their work must have led to some end? Fitz purposes to backtrack and, with Nighteyes’s aid, ambush their pursuit; the rest of the party presses on, save Kettle, who surprises Fitz by volunteering to assist him. Their sortie is successful, eliminating half of their pursuers and acquiring their provisions. In its wake, Kettle asks Fitz about his assassin’s work and reveals to him that she had been exiled for killing a member of her own coterie through the Skill.

Among other things, the chapter offers a useful reminder that FitzChivalry Farseer is not a nice person; he is, in fact, rather the opposite, a by-blow acknowledged as necessary even as he carries out markedly distasteful duties. Early on in the rereading series, I remarked on the emblematic nature of his name; events in the succeeding books have not always reinforced the fundamental nature of the work for which Fitz is trained and at which, when he is thinking clearly and paying attention, he excels. The present chapter, however, does so, and it reminds readers through Starling’s reaction to Fitz’s open statement of his planning that Fitz is not a traditional hero, even if he partakes of that tradition in some ways.

The revelation about Kettle, though set up in previous chapters, does seem to be somewhat convenient, bordering on a deus ex machina. I’ve commented on the phenomenon before, and my comments remain in place; the presence of the device does not mean the writing is bad. But it does seem somewhat jarring in the present circumstance.

I could use a cup of coffee; pick one up for me?

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

---

The following chapter, “The City,” opens with comments about a reported old road in the Mountain Kingdom. It moves thence to Fitz’s addled stumblings through a strange city that befuddles his senses–mundane and otherwise. It takes him some time to regain his bearings and begin to puzzle out what surrounds him, and even then, what he encounters confuses him.

The day draws on, and Fitz finds himself growing chill; he builds a fire to warm himself, and its light reveals the decrepitude of his actual surroundings, different from the bustling city that presents itself to him from the past in images excited by his touch. At length, he begins to sleep and to dream in the Skill; he first sees Molly and Nettle, their daughter. He then sees Chade conferring with a lover and ally about Regal’s actions against the Mountain Kingdom; they seem to make little sense.

When morning comes, Fitz begins to explore again, moving through the recollected city in some awe. Among the images are dragons, and Fitz proceeds to find a position to survey his surroundings more thoroughly. The survey reveals the aftereffects of a cataclysm, as well as a map that Fitz realizes Verity will have used and copied. He scrambles to make his own copy before falling into Skill-visions again. Bewildered and frantic, he staggers back to where he had entered the city: a stone pillar. Passing through it, he emerges to find Nighteyes happily greeting his return.

This was another chapter where I found myself having difficulty following along. I begin to worry about it; I am supposed to be a damned good reader, and having challenges in rereading something I have read several times before–more than several times, really–does not suggest itself as a good thing. Admittedly, the action in the chapter is described as being confusing in itself, with Fitz shifting frames of perception from his present circumstances to those recorded and re-presented by the construction of the city without much obvious transition; my earlier comments that the reading should follow the action still obtain. I’m just taken a bit aback that I’m not used to it again by this point, is all.

Maybe that is more revelatory of me than of the text. I’ve noted, perhaps too often, that I am out of academe, moving from trying to earn citizenship in that strange country to being an expatriate from it to being now only an occasional vacationer therein. (I do still list as an “academic expatriate” in conference registrations, though perhaps “intellectual vacationer” might be a better label to use henceforth.) As I am farther and farther removed from daily work of reading and thinking and writing, it makes sense that my abilities to do such things fade. I am less than I was in those ways; I wonder what I have earned from the exchange.

Care to shower me with money to alleviate the drought of my wallet?

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

---

The following chapter, “Signposts,” opens with comments about relative valuation before moving into the party’s continued travels. Kettricken notes to Fitz that the way will become harder and may force him onto the road; he replies that he can but go forward. Fitz continues to ponder the stone-game puzzle Kettle had put before him, and Starling continues to press Fitz for details about the Fool before asserting the belief that the Fool is a woman enamored of him.

Fitz rejects the idea. He also finds himself forced back to the road by a sudden shift in the terrain; Nighteyes helps anchor him in himself, noting some of the distinctions between wild and domesticated animals. Kettle then starts to accompany Fitz, and she sets him to considering the seeming nursery rhyme she had recited at an earlier camp. He realizes that it discusses Skilled ones, and Kettle offers little more before returning to stone-game puzzles. It makes for a slow march through the rest of the day–until Fitz makes to follow a road he sees but that no longer exists, and the rest of the party must save him from himself again.

Kettle frets in the discussion that follows, but the Fool, acting the part of the White Prophet, offers some words of comfort. Kettle allows Fitz to indulge his habit for elfbark, though not nearly so much as he would prepare for himself. As he takes the drug, Kettricken solicits his opinion regarding Verity’s likely course; Kettricken purposes to split the group to search for him, but Fitz persuades her otherwise, aided by Nighteyes. Verity reaches out to him with the Skill, and Fitz once again comforts Kettricken before he is distracted by the call of the Skill once again.

Once again, I found myself having trouble reading and keeping straight in my mind what all happens in the chapter–my earlier comments about such seem still to apply here. And it occurs to me as I think about what I have just read again that there might be some comment to be found in the chapter about the perils of making too close a return to a past that is not a person’s own. Such a comment suggests itself to me, given my training as a medievalist; the whole of the work such folks do is in approaching a past to which we might be heirs but which is not our own. There is always a threat of becoming too lost in the work, as old tropes of absent-minded professors and the partial home lives of many, many scholars can attest. Even now, even after I have left off academe almost entirely, I feel a pull when I do look back into scholarship, and I know that I may still find myself stepping off into space when it seems to me a road still stretches before me–though I trust that there will be hands to pull me back from it.

Too, there is something to be found in Kettle’s grudging permission for Fitz to take a small bit of elfbark. Allowing someone who is addicted to a substance to partake of that substance is a perilous thing; relapses happen, and there is always peril in making chemical modifications to a body. At the same time, there are effects of withdrawal that sometimes make such needed. I have seen clients come into the treatment center where I work who could not simply stop drinking; doing so would kill them. And there are concerns, too, usually associated with painkillers in the real world, that dosing as (should be) prescribed is fine–but the medicines lend themselves to dangerous overindulgence. How much can be taken from the text about such matters is unclear, but there is clearly something there to consider…

If you’ve liked getting this stuff, please help me keep doing it.

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

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The next chapter, “Strategy,” begins with what seems a nursery rhyme before turning to continued efforts to keep Fitz centered and attentive. The efforts are not entirely successful, and they seem less so because Fitz uses the Wit. That the road they travel is to blame is clear, and that it is a strange and powerful road is also clear. Strangely, amid the discussion of Fitz’s situation, the Fool and Starling arrive at some rapproachement. Nighteyes brings meat with him when he returns, which also helps.

With bellies full and needing to keep Fitz focused, the party takes turns singing and reciting through the evening. Kettle dislikes Fitz’s selection and seems to aim hers at him, though he does not understand why. Kettricken confesses her feelings of failure, and Fitz begins to learn a strange game under Kettle’s tutelage. Kettle avers that it is a game from Buck, though Fitz does not know it. She sets a puzzle in it for Fitz that he takes to sleep with him; Nighteyes gives him the answer to the puzzle, equating the puzzle to a hunting pack.

When Fitz presents the solution, Kettle is surprised at it. She asks him after his Wit-bond with Nighteyes. Starling and the Fool comment after Fitz answers, and the party slowly breaks camp. Fitz is bidden walk, accompanied, beside the road rather than upon it; the Fool goes with him, taking the opportunity to confer about Kettle and try to puzzle her out. That afternoon, Starling succeeds the Fool and inquires about the Fool’s history–particularly the romantic history. That evening, Kettle puts Fitz to another puzzle; he does not come to an answer before joining Nighteyes in a nighttime romp and sleeping deeply until morning.

The stone game Kettle presents to Fitz is a point of particular interest, not only in the chapter (where it occupies a fair bit of the text, as well as of the narrating protagonist’s attention), but also in terms of worldbuilding. All fiction depends for its effectiveness on what Coleridge calls the “willing suspension of disbelief,” the audience’s gracious acceptance that, within the fictional milieu presented, the actions presented can happen as they are shown and should happen as they are shown. In “On Fairy-stories,” Tolkien can be paraphrased as asserting that the willingness to suspend disbelief is aided by the closer correspondence of the fictional world to that of the audience; Hobb herself reaffirms such an opinion, noting in “5000 Words about Myself” that “I think the best way to convince a reader that I know what I’m talking about when I recount the habits of dragons is to know what I’m talking about when I recount the details of raising chickens or putting a roof on a house.” And while it is the case that the rules of the stone-game are glossed over in the text, the mere presence of that game is itself a detail enhancing the text’s verisimilitude.

It does so in that it points out the presence of recreational activities among the people of the Six Duchies. Admittedly, Hobb motions to such things earlier in the series; there are scenes of drinking and various kinds of gambling, as well as the depravities of Regal’s gladiatorial contests. But having someone take a table game along on an expedition into mountains bespeaks an attachment to such things that does not often feature in Tolkienian-tradition fantasy literature; it is difficult to imagine hobbits carrying dice or cards with them as they traipse about Endor, for example. But people in the real world often do so, perhaps more easily in the era of smartphones than previously, but not without earlier parallels.

Too, the stone-game is a valorization of play, more generally. More than anything else the traveling party has available to it, the game serves to keep Fitz grounded in the real and present, rather than being swept away by the magic that surrounds them. It may seem somewhat paradoxical to have a game–inherently a distraction from immediate concerns–serve as an anchor in the real, but there are no few who note the utility of play to daily life and work. (This bit comes to mind. There are others.) And maybe more folks could stand to have a little more enjoyment of such things.

Help end the drought of March and flood my coffers?

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

---

The next chapter, “The Skill Road,” begins with a brief musing on the source of magic before turning to the slow progress of Kettricken’s party as it tries to reach Verity. Despite a lack of sign, they press on until Nighteyes reports a road to Fitz through the Wit. Nighteyes mislikes the road, and Fitz finds himself strangely reluctant to step upon it; there is something clearly uncanny about it.

When Fitz does take to the road, despite Nighteyes’s warnings, he finds himself drifting amid the Skill, proceeding slowly enough for the elderly Kettle to keep up with him. She tries to retain his attention, not entirely successfully, and she objects strenuously when the party thinks to make camp in the long-abandoned path. The objection is heeded, and the group camps off of the road–but the road continues to command Fitz’s attention, distracting him even from his bond with Nighteyes. It is evidently made with the Skill, and it tells upon Fitz more than upon all the rest of the party.

Conversation reveals that Kettle knows more than she tells, and the party adjusts its routine as a storm encompasses them. The Skill continues to encompass Fitz, and he sees visions of those he loves–focusing on Molly and Burrich most. Verity intercedes with him, then, forcing him back to himself and leaving him despondent.

I admit to having a bit of trouble reading the chapter as I reread it for this write-up. I found my own attention drifting away from the page. Whether that is a result of overly affective reading or outside concerns producing distractions is not clear–but the confusion I felt could well mark a bit of particularly good writing amid the consistently fine work in the novel. Fitz is distracted, and it is Fitz’s perspective that drives the novel, so leading the reader into the same kind of confusion that besets Fitz as he confronts, unexpectedly, something made of and seething with the power with which he has struggled for some time is a good move to make.

That has been one of the things I have prized about Hobb’s writing since I began reading it some decades ago, now. (It remains strange to me to be able to say such a thing honestly. I guess I am not yet quite as old as I often feel.) I have been able to lose myself in Hobb’s writing no few times, and, even now, I can be swept up in it as surely as if it were a Skill-road. I may not make the kind of open reference to it that I do to Tolkien or Asimov or Roddenberry’s work, largely because I know it is not as widely known and so not as useful as a means to get a point across, but that does not mean I do not value it, now no less than before.

Help me recover from taking my daughter on her first Spring Break trip?

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

---

The next chapter, “The Mountains,” opens with a gloss of the legended early history of the Mountain Kingdom. It moves thence to Fitz’s account of how Kettricken supplied her intended expedition to find Verity–or his fate. Starling will accompany them; Chade will not, but must return to Buck. He leaves gifts for his sullen former pupil, about which Fitz complains somewhat when the Fool presents them; the Fool forces Fitz to consider Chade’s perspective on things, as well.

The Fool also offhandedly notes an intent to accompany Fitz, despite the cold and peril. Kettle is more pointed in her assertion that she will also go along. But they are rushed to depart by news of a messenger from Regal that has asked for a goodwill gesture to deescalate hostilities: the return of the fugitive Fitz. And they depart in that haste, taking the already-packed supplies, but themselves and no others; Starling catches up slightly after, somewhat angry, but quickly silenced by Kettricken’s terse manner. When Nighteyes rejoins them somewhat later, he notes that Kettle is following, slowly but in high dudgeon; when, at length, she arrives, she and Kettricken quickly arrive at what seems a prickly understanding.

They proceed thus for several days until Kettricken queries Fitz about Verity’s likely earlier actions. When she asks him to reach out to Verity through the Skill, he refuses, citing the danger posed by Regal’s Skilled servants and their abilities. He also notes their likely earlier interference in the defense of the Six Duchies, which rouses cold ire in Kettricken. And he feels the powerful pull of the Skill upon him, more than is normal for him.

I have argued before that the Realm of the Elderlings, despite clear parallels to the Tolkienian-tradition fantasy milieu of an analogue to the Western Europe of the High Middle Ages, reads better as derived from North America. Part of the argument has to do with the fauna described in the region. The present chapter amends that conclusion somewhat; the Realm of the Elderlings borrows from the Americas more generally, though the emphasis remains on the Pacific Northwest for reasons I elaborate on in Fantasy and Science Fiction Medievalisms.

The amendment comes in the form of the jeppas, the beasts of burden Kettricken determines to employ despite Fitz’s objections. They are described as like “long-necked goats with paws instead of hooves,” a description that brings to mind the llama. Domesticated animals used primarily to haul some loads up the steep slopes of the Andes, yielding hair and, at need, meat, they seem to be a solid parallel to the jeppas–something that ties the milieu more to the Western Hemisphere than the Eastern, even if they are somewhat displaced even within that analogy. Still, it is a bit more a remove from the Tolkienian tradition, a bit more an association with not-as-commonly-depicted-in-fantasy places, and that is and remains good to see.

Imaginings should be broad.

Help me show nice things to my daughter on her first Spring Break trip?

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

---

The next chapter, “Departure,” opens with a description of Chade that paints him as something of a folk-hero emerging from the Red-Ship Wars. It moves to a particularly embarrassing episode for Fitz, one in which he learns more about why he had been considered dead by those who had known him best. Fitz is also warned about Kettricken, whom he is set to face the next day.

In the night, Fitz dreams strange dreams, in which he joins Verity. Fitz is taken aback by the appearance of his king, and he watches in horror as Verity plunges his arms into a flow of magic power. Verity uses Fitz to pull himself back from the power, and he pleads once again for Fitz to come to him, to aid him against those who oppose him. The dream sends him into a seizure, for which he is treated by those around him with elfbark.

Fitz rises the next morning and bathes. In the wake of the dream, his anger is gone, and he struggles to comprehend what transpired. When he returns to the Fool’s hut to dress for his audience with Kettricken, the Fool informs him that his identity is not widely known in Jhaampe, and he voices curiosity about Kettle. The two proceed to call upon Kettricken, and the Fool finds a place quickly; FItz is made to wait, growing markedly uncomfortable.

When, at length, Fitz is asked to speak, it is sharply and without affection. He reports events from before his imprisonment, moving forward, describing his deeds and misdeeds along the way. Kettricken informs him of her purpose to summon Molly and his child to Jhaampe to preserve the Farseer lineage; Fitz objects, noting Verity’s life and the possibility of another child coming from them, but Kettricken is not satisfied with the report. Fitz notes, too, that he will seek Verity, regardless; he is compelled to that end.

In the description of the Skill-river Fitz sees through Verity, Hobb makes a compelling case for the utter incomprehensibility of magic. I know that one of the things Hobb takes pains to do in her fiction is to make the fantastical elements emerge organically from a solidly realized milieu, so it makes sense that the utter strangeness of a source of magical power, something that has no real analogue in the readers’ world, would need some attention and focus. There is a strong thread of such attention in fantastic fiction; Lovecraftian works, with their impossible geometries, are perhaps the most prominent examples, but they are not the only ones. Hobb does better than Lovecraft, however, acknowledging the incomprehensibility of it while not relying overmuch on less accessible vocabulary; “otherness” generally seems more at home in literary theory than in fantasy fiction, but it is at least not the repeated squamous eldritch. So there is that.

Help me take my daughter on her first Spring Break trip?