InsaneJournal

Who: One irate Hydra, other Hydraculans, and the curious and/or brave
Where: The riverside just south of the cove
When: Day 227, noonish
What: CLEANING ALL THE SHEETS

[Most times there's a large pot suspended over a cooking fire, there's inevitably an accompanying aroma of fresh soup or stew, or a slow-cooked pot roast.

Today, at best, there's the odour of stale sweat being surpressed beneath the omnipresent hint of soap as sheet after sheet is sterilized between washings in the river.]

Confining oneself to your quarters for days on end is understandable given the circumstances, but to have lain upon the same linens through several stages of a clearly contagious illness, and then to further use the same bedsheets without so much even a thought to washing them boarders on a reprehensible lack of cleanliness. The only wonder is, perhaps, that the whole of our units were not subjected to the same periods of fever and delirium.