Gabbleratchets come with two hazards, and the second is worse: hearing the pack without seeing them seeds a madness that does not improve, quiet and permanent, victims walking arms out and replicating something they cannot name. The first time they see you running, they take the soul - the body keeps working for a while, but the soul does not come back, and I have no clinical category for what is left.

Snapping your humerus in the Wisewood is survivable if your landlady keeps crustins-me-ducktee to hand - a painkiller pressed with the cheerfulness of someone who has never specified its contents and does not intend to. She said not to drink alcohol with it. I treated this as general wellness advice rather than a specific contraindication, which I cannot fully recommend.