As for me, I'm finally home after an AMAZING weekend at ArmadilloCon, where I made more new friends than I can count (which maybe isn't saying much at the moment, cuz I'm REALLY tired.) What I CAN count is the number of people who came out to my ludicrous 9:00-on-a-Saturday-night reading (which was about 3% reading), because they humored me for the sake of this fun picture here:
|LOOK AT THESE PEOPLE. LOOK AT THEM.|
The short story is that it was a hell of a time, and I am hella tired. I will leave you with map phase six from the phenomenal Gillis Björk, and take my happy self to bed!
And as for Our Heroes, Elim has steeled his resolve: there's no going home without Sil, and no catching Sil without crossing that river.
It was this thinking that ultimately found Elim and Molly standing up to her fore-cannons in that fetid-smelling water. Minnows and little silvery pupfish darted about her knobby ankles as he tried mightily hard not to think about what kind of furry trout or fishmen might be living down there.
Because the alternative was to give up and go home, to look Will Halfwick straight in the eye and say Well, he was free, white, and seventeen, and I reckoned he could do what he wanted.
Elim turned in the saddle, squeezing an easy creak from the leather. His freshly-unstrung posse had lost no time planting their noses in thick clumps of bluegrass, leaving their tails to fend off gnats and stoneflies. "You-all wait here," he said, fixing a stare at Two-Pie in particular. "Don't make me come catch you when we get back."
Then there was nothing to do but get on with it. "Well, Miz Boone," Elim said at last, "let's go fancy-dancing."
With that, Elim nudged Molly forward, and the two of them moseyed in to make the water's proper acquaintance.