from further west

In the early springtime of 1804 an enemy stood in our foothills and moors, it was not a Russian or from further west, instead it was sickness – the dreaded Black Pest. It marched on the heels of a deep prolonged drought, it tore at all people (priest midwife and lout), it was a tenacious and deadly disease that all but had forced us down onto our knees. Some doctors from Iysh that lies in the north discovered the Sharpstand's medicinal worth, applied it to boils that covered the skin, infused it in tonics that healed from within. They shared their new knowledge with peers far and wide, who watched as the skins of their patients soon dried, soon ceased with rank seeping, soon lost their red hue, within but a fortnight the weak sprung up new. The Pest it was vanquished by what was once weed, lowly Mountain Sharpstand met our greatest need, and saved us from decades of hardship and woe, we now still turn to it and make sure it grows in valleys and households, hospitals and fields, who knows just what benefits it may yet yield.

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