Your prescience was well minded for a time 'til haste and exhaustion stripped it from my mind i’the course of most untimely battle.
We passed a week in October on our tract, and as I took to slashing at the vile tree-borne serpents, one did chance a stinging blow across my cheek. It did burn and swell, but I persisted, laboring as I was to free the gnarled chain of my saw from a vine-tensed trunk.
I could have seen the end of this cursed touch had I bathed and wrapped myself in fresh garments, but a base spirit of my own expediency had whispered that my laundring-load would happier be were I to don the same stain’d cloth for each day’s battle while fresh encounters laid yet before me.
Thus after, a weeks-long plague of itch did I suffer. Boils burned at my wrists and elbow-pits and to my very throat and face they climbed. This cilice of fools-regret I bore until a hearty and observed scouring with the tinctures of the madman Bronner did strip the burning oils from my flesh and ease me of my suffering.
Never again. For next to god in my cleanliness shall I be on these lands henceforth. Beside these serpents, this new-learned habit shall serve as well to keep the sickness of the burrow’ng blood-drinkers from my veins.
No visions of this plague have I to share. Tis well enough, for e’en obscured by The Spoiler’s tags they would be naught for fair eyes such as those that tread these boards.
