Dermond’s wound is infected. I fear for his life.

After his collapse I combed through the forest praying to find  anything that could help him until we reached a real healer. My efforts were fruitless. All that grew around us were the Elder Flowers Dermond had taught me about.

When I returned to the camp after my search Dermond was still unconscious. It was clear to me that he had a fever. I set about cleaning his wound and changing his bandage.

Without much else to do I collected some of the flowers around us. I began to weave them into a circle like Dermond had done. My version was not as fine as his. He had told me they were good luck and that is exactly what we need.

It occurred to me that I have no idea what happened to our fellow travelers. I suppose they ran off back to the safety of the city. I wish I was behind its strong stone walls sipping tea in the university library. I should have never left. I should have listened then. I should have listened to Dermond about the cave and the viciousness of the undead. I was always told that feeling sorry for yourself was useless. That guilt leads to inaction, but right now I can’t help it. I am the cause of this and I very well may be the death of this man. I need to get him to the city or at least a village near by.