81st Turn, Seventh Year, Nineteenth Cycle, Skalday
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From the Journal of Aframos Longjourney, Pilgrim

With notes by Avos Torr, Scholar of Rheve Library

Skalday, Nineteenth Cycle, Seventh Year, 81st Turn

Forty-Seventh Day in the Trees

Souja wandered off today. We had just broken camp when we realized she was not there.

We searched for her for half an hour before she wandered back into the campsite on her own. She followed us readily when we left, but it still worries me. What if she gets lost? What if something attacks her?

Perhaps I worry needlessly. She is getting larger. Already, she is twice the size she was.

But still, I am responsible for her. I have caused her to lose her mother and her sibling. How am I to bear it if she dies too? I wish to keep her safe, but I cannot keep her in the camp short of tying her, and I could not bear to do her that cruelty.

I will speak no more on that today. I must think on it more first.

Torne suffered some discomfort today. He lay in some long, almost feathery grasses while we stopped for lunch. After five minutes, he shot up, as though he had been bitten. He began to tear his clothing off as though he had gone mad. I stood up to see what had happened to him, and he began to scratch furiously1. He yelled out curses as he did so. The mildest of these, at least of those that I understood, was "choke a god with his own entrails." The rest were less pleasant and more descriptive. I tried to catch hold of him to see what was wrong, but he kept hopping this way and that, scratching all over his body. Then he flung himself into the still pond we were resting by. He continued scratching also splashing water on himself. I finally got enough sense out of him to know that he was itching, though I had already figured that out. It was five minutes before he could stop enough for us to talk.

It would seem that he was allergic to the grasses. He had broken out into a terrible rash, and he could not stop scratching at it. He still cannot, in fact. It has been hours, but he continues to scratch intermittantly, and the rash has spread to his face, as well as more delicate areas. He looks as red as a parchroot2.

I know I must not laugh at him, but it is proving very difficult.

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