Not Out of the Woods (ConcreteGirl08/open)

[Prudence]

This was her brother, Emily had to remind herself over and over again as she watched him, watched the emotions, the rage that played across his face. If he wasn’t, if he had been anyone else putting her in this situation she’d—she didn’t like to think of what she would do, it only showed how low she’d gone, how different she was from the little sister he’d once known. It was a wonder how he even recognized her when she barely recognized herself. She was a soldier, couldn’t he see that? Battle-hardened, cold-hearted, numb…she’d done things, terrible things, just to keep alive, things that if her brother knew…she imagined the look of disgust crossing his face, burning in his eyes. Gabriel had always hated violence, what he considered needless bloodshed and a disregard for the sanctity of human life, even as a child he’d been different, gentle in a way even she didn’t understand. It wasn’t weakness, it was something akin to honor. Before the war, before Richard had left and so many things had changed she never could have imagined Gabriel as a soldier. He respected human life, defended it, he could never take it away. When he’d announced his intention of leaving medical school, of enlisting she’d hardly believed him. It must be the same now, for him, looking at her, he must have felt as if the world had turned upside down, as if he were going mad…
Yes she understood, but she felt no sympathy. How dare he? How dare he stroll into her camp, insult her friends and disrupt her life? This was her life, such as it was. She had chosen it, fought for it, earned it and not he nor any other man would take it away. Not while she was still breathing. How dare he stand there and speak to her as if she were a little girl, as if she were any less than he? She wouldn’t allow it, not from anyone, not even him.
She didn’t raise her voice when she responded, but spoke evenly, flatly, “This isn’t any of your business Gabriel, its nothing to do with you. Am I not as free as you to make my own decisions, live my own life? I’m as much a patriot as you or Corporal Alexander or any man here. Haven’t I the right to defend my home, to fight for a cause I believe in? I will tell you that I have, I have fought Gabriel and I have killed, and so help me God I will do it again so don’t you dare—don’t you dare try and stand in my way!”

[concretegirl]

Gabriel tried not to think about Emily on the battlefield.
Of her killing people.
The thought made him feel as though he had been shot in the chest.
All of his anger suddenly dissipated. Vanishing into thin air. He felt shaken, he felt sick.
He tried to look her over, to see parts of her that he remembered-whatever parts of her he had recognized before-but it just made it worse.
He shook his head, and he felt tears threatening his eyes-they always watered like that, when he was angry, when he was upset, caught in his dark lashes, catching the sunlight. He looked like a dewy schoolgirl whenever he felt anything and he hated it.
“Today I let five men die in my camp because an officer told me I had to. Because an officer got to tell me what was more important. And regardless of how sick I felt about it I left them there. I left them…” he told her, his voice light and distant. “You may feel one way about something-stronger than you’ve ever felt anything before- but that doesn’t mean you get to act on it. That you can ignore the rules. If they find out you’re a girl, they won’t be forgiving-to you or our family. And they say you shouldn’t be here. Sometimes we have to accept things that we hate because that’s just the way they are.” he said, then shook his head, then turned to leave. He couldn‘t look at her anymore, and he felt so sick he couldn‘t be here anymore. There was something nightmarish about it all and he couldn‘t stand it.
“Grow up, Emily.” he said quietly, and he wasn‘t even sure what tone he was using-annoyance, pleading, just a tone of suggestion? “Grow up and go home.”

[Prudence]

“Grow up, Emily.” She hated him. That was all that was left to her, after his words…They seemed to cut into her, wounding more deeply than any bayonet or bullet, piercing right to the heart. She was so angry, so enraged she felt sick, she couldn’t even, how dare she…she tried not to think about what he’d said, tried to let the words and the hurt of them slip in one ear and directly out the other but they seemed lodged in her brain, infecting everything around them. She didn’t dare respond though a thousand different reactions came rushing into her brain at once—all of them seemed to end violently and she wasn’t yet so far gone that she would hurt her own brother. Not even with words, the way he had wounded her. “Grow up and go home.”
She couldn’t go home, didn’t he understand? And Emily? She was as good as dead, no, not as good as, she was dead. Even if she were discovered as a woman she wouldn’t claim Emily Wright, she’d decided that at the very beginning, she wouldn’t bring that kind of shame upon her family…
“I thought you of all people would—“ she started, voice quavering, and then stopped short. She sucked in a deep slow breath and straightened, her head coming up to meet his eyes levelly. When she spoke her voice was quiet but firm, “Your sister Emily is dead, my name is Pvt. Hallewell, and you would do well to remember that,” she touched the brim of her hat politely, “Good evening Doctor.” She turned and started back up the hill. This was his fault, he could have reacted differently if he'd chosen to, if he'd chosen not to be so narrow minded and ignorant, and she would not feel guilty, nor be held accountable for his choices. If he wanted to betray her that was his choice, she'd lost one brother and survived, she was fairly certain she could do it again.

[concretegirl]

The night was starting to settle in when Gabriel went and found Name, the dusk shadowed, the woods around them seeming to grow menacing.
He normally would have gone to the surgeon’s tent when he felt in need of a distraction, but he wasn’t willing to deal with the blood, the smells, or the sounds at the moment.
Your sister Emily is dead…
He walked past small groups of soldiers until he found the horse, tied to a post, looking wild and strange next to a set of standard, plain brown horses, who Name was constantly nickering to, or trying to nip at. He didn’t want the horse around so much as he wanted something familiar. He had been to different camps before, but he had never felt so isolated.
He pulled the reins and Name followed behind, willing, an optimistic step in his movements that contrasted against Gabriel sharply. As he led him away, he caught sight of Corporal Alexander with his bright palomino and he picked up his pace. The last thing he wanted was to see the Corporal right now, with his eyes still glistening and his jaw still tight. He had to tell himself not to walk over and just deck him right then and there.
Your sister Emily is dead…
Name followed Gabriel right away from the camp. Eventually he tossed the reins over the horses’ neck and he still continued to follow, step for step, his china-glass eyes watchful of Gabriel, almost perceptive.


“For you…” the girl in front of Gabriel-beautiful, with black, black hair, and light eyes that were a complex mix of slate, green, and brown- held out the worn pieces of rope that were used as reins.
Gabriel almost shrunk back from her, looking up at the tall, almost savage looking animal. “Oh, no, I don’t need a horse.” he assured her. “I’ve got one at home already-”
The girl shook her head. “He’s a gift.” she insisted, and her eyes were sad, almost confused about why he wouldn’t accept. “For you.” she said again.
“He was your father’s…” Gabriel trailed off carefully, his voice lowered.
“He was.” the girl agreed. “But my father is not here now. “
“Then he should be yours-”
“He cannot go with me.” the girl said, her English a little choppy and slow, as though she had to remember every word. “But you will need him. He will keep you safe.”
Gabriel looked back at the horse, who stood calmly beside her, dark red and blue streaks of war paint on his flanks, dark hand-prints on his chest, dark blue and black sun-shapes around his eyes, feathers tied into his hair, dark red circles painted around the rims of his large nostrils. He knew that she had painted him-decorated him. He looked dangerous and beautiful at the same time. He looked brave. He was a part of her.
He slowly reached out and took the reins, and the horse, as if sensing some switch in ownership, moved forward to his side.
The girl smiled as if grateful when it should have been the other way around. “Now you will never be alone.” she said, a gentle breeze lifting her hair, the sun setting behind her…

Gabriel continued to wander, Name by his side. Like a large shadow, like some sort of guardian. One he only tolerated because of the girl who had gifted him to him. And, as strange as it seemed to him: the only thing that felt familiar and safe when everything else felt like it was slipping away right beneath his feet. As long as Name’s stride matched his, so long as his shadow stayed by his side: he could keep it together. He could keep walking.

[Prudence]

Dusk was just beginning to fall though it did little to cool the dense, unforgiving heat. Still it was preferable to the near intermittent rain they’d had for what seemed at least a fortnight past. A makeshift network of scaffolding had been built so that one didn’t sink into the mud that had formed nearly knee deep along the footpaths. Now they had the flies to contend with, they hovered in dense clouds over the camp, drawn by the damp conditions and the scent of so many sweaty bodies. What the Almighty had been thinking when he created such bothersome little pests was anyone’s guess…
Charles crossed through the camp, oblivious for once to the sights and sounds around him, confusion hanging like a dark cloud over his thoughts. If he were a smart man he’d have left it alone, not troubled himself with the affairs of other man…of course ‘smart’ had never been his most shining attribute. Usually he wouldn’t have cared, he wasn’t a meddling sort but Nat…he felt protective of the young soldier, as an older brother might…It was alright for him to tease Nat, belittle him for his shortcomings and even slap him around a bit when necessary but woe be tied any other man who tried the same in his presence. He was little more than a boy after all and no matter what had gone on between Nathan’s sisters and this doctor there was no call to, well, whatever it was he was doing to him. Charles still couldn’t make much out of their conversation, every word seemed choked with hidden meaning…It made his head hurt.
He found Helios tied up to a post outside the officer’s tent with half a dozen other horses including the doctor’s Medicine Hat. No one had bothered to brush him, or even wipe him down and his coat was matted with sweat and mud. He seemed to have sensed Charlie’s approach for he nickered, tossing his blond mane. Charlie whistled softly as he came upon him, reaching out to stroke his long nose. Helios’ warm dark eyes seemed sad somehow, as if disappointed in him, though he pressed his nose into the palm of his hand.
“Alright son,” he murmured, rubbing his neck. He untied him from the post, leading him toward the temporary paddock a little away from the tents, where the trees began to encroach upon their clearing. The location was a mistake, in retrospect, as they’d had trouble with thieves and wild animals spooking and even occasionally managing to steal a horse or two. Guards had been posted every night since, a position Charlie often requested when camp life became too dull for him.
He tied him to the outside of the fence, taking up a spare brush someone had left behind and beginning to rub him down. “I know, I know old friend, I hadn’t much of a choice…”
The light was nearly gone from the sky when he spotted a silhouette approaching the officer’s tent, a tallish, lanky sort of figure with dark hair. He wasn’t quite sure until he saw him untying the Medicine Hat…Gabriel Wright. He felt his temper flare, what he wouldn’t give to…he’d expected the doctor to lead his horse toward the paddock but instead he passed it by, giving it a wide berth as he headed toward the woods. “Now just where the devil are you off to…” he thought aloud. He thought him a pompous, unpleasant sort of fellow and disliked him even more for whatever he’d done to Nat but he couldn’t believe him a deserter… He untied Helios from the fence and mounted, nudging him into a trot. He slowed him as they passed into the trees, keeping a safe enough distance so as not to be detected. After several paces he turned, coming around the side of him and into a small clearing, cutting him off.
“Needed to stretch your legs did you Doctor?” he asked in a falsely pleasant manor, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight as he smiled.

[concretegirl]

After Gabriel looked up and saw the Corporal on top of his palomino, he then glanced around, hoping there might be someone nearby with a gun. So he could ask them to shoot him then and there.
If there was one person in the entire world he didn’t want to talk to at the moment, it had to be the very man who was standing in front of him, his beloved horse and all. Name had paused right beside Gabriel, and sensing his sudden flare of annoyance, the horse shifted almost nervously, his ears back against his head and snorting loudly. Gabriel wished Name would be a little more useful and would at least try and take a bite out of the Corporal’s stupid beast.
“Surely there has to be a better use for you and your old nag around the camp then chasing down men out for a walk, Corporal.” Gabriel said, his voice caustic and sharp, and he realized that he hoped he would get a reaction out of the Corporal. It wouldn’t be the first time he had tried to make the man useful today. If he was going to take his frustrations out on something, and the Corporal insisted on making himself available, he would just have to make due. So, he added, “A man of your skill, I would expect they would at least trust you to clean the water troughs.”

[Prudence]

Charlie smirked though his hands clenched around the reins; the boy was obviously trying to get his dander up, even a tenderfoot like him could tell the difference between a nag—an old worthless horse, and a prime stock bred stallion like Helios. His eyes narrowed at the water trough jibe and his smile tightened. “No sir, they don't trust me with the water troughs anymore, I have a nasty habit of throwing disrespectful young welps, say--not unlike yourself, into them." Helios sensed the other horse’s nervousness and snorted, stamping the ground with his front hooves, Charlie patted his neck, "One can never be too sure of newcomers Doctor, a boy gets an idea in his head of glory and adventure and just can't help but enlist, then he gets out here and finds the life a little less glamorous than he envisioned—water troughs, as you said...the next thing you know he’s taking a walk in the woods.” He dismounted, initially, it seemed, relinquishing the upper hand until he started moving forward, casual and yet intimidating just the same, “You're not the type are you Doctor? No, no, you’re a principled sort…” he continued forward in the same slow pace, “though not principled enough to leave a mere boy alone. I’ve known Pvt. Hallewell a good long while now Doc, and I’ve never seen him so rattled.” He was mere inches from Gabriel now, cracking his knuckles absently, his voice a low growl, “Now tell me Wright, because I’m all manner of confused, what is it about you bothers him so?”

[concretegirl]

Gabriel smiled back the Corporal, at first he thought the man wouldn‘t take any bait, but he wasn’t about to give up all hope.
He glanced the Corporal up and down, smiling at the way it felt to chase after confrontation. He had never really done it before-sure, he had egged Richard on a few times when they were younger, but he‘d never been a proponent for violence. He always thought it barbaric, pointless. Sure, he knew how to talk back when it was in his best interest to shut his mouth-he had always used words to fight his fights. And, even then, when he had gone against his superiors it was because of some moral conviction.
This had no purpose, except for some wish fulfillment in which he would finally get to do what he had been wanting to do since earlier than day: hit Corporal Alexander square in the jaw, or maybe put forth an honest effort to break his nose. It made a different sort of energy mix in with his blood, put sparks in the air. He was feeling desperate enough to chase after it.
He took another step forward, looking the Corporal straight in the eyes, devoid of any fear, and a reckless sort of spark taking light in his eyes, Name moved the single step forward with him, pawing the ground, and his ears almost flat to his head, a warrior shadow, even though the horse couldn‘t possibly understand the situation, he was perfectly attuned to the way Gabriel was reacting. The horse had gone through battles hopelessly dedicated to his previous rider and master, used to being perfectly in sync, and when the horse sensed the tension between them, Gabriel saw him mimicking that same loyalty now, probably unsure of what else to do. “If I’d come here for glory and was going to desert when I didn’t see any signs of it in the near future, I would have left a long time ago. Working day and night over dead men while covered in blood and sawing off their limbs doesn‘t leave much room for delusions of grandeur.” Gabriel assured him, his jaw set tightly, his voice matching the Corporal’s with menace. “As for the Private, I can’t imagine what you mean. I didn’t notice anything out of order in his behavior, but then he’s always been a little strange. The boy is clearly a little off in the head, but then, maybe that’s what’s made the two of you such fast friends, Corporal?”

[Prudence]

He couldn’t believe his own ears, this bastard, this little coxcomb was actually trying to provoke him, and he thought Nat was off his nut…It was almost laughable…almost. What delusion was this boy suffering from that he imagined he stood any chance against him, not even the men in his own regiment—his friends, dreamed of speaking to him the way this field Doctor—this glorified butcher dared. He removed his eyes briefly from the doctor’s to glance at his horse...that might be a problem, the beast seemed fiercely loyal though Charlie couldn’t imagine why. He could feel the itch to fight crawling up his spine, making his hands twitch, he balled them into fists as his sides. It was against regulation, strictly speaking to start or participate in a brawl and Charlie had certainly been in enough, it was one of the reasons he hadn’t yet been promoted to Sergeant. …Well, if anyone asked he could always claim he’d thought the Doctor was trying to desert. Whether they believed him or not it would be worth it to see that stupid superior look wiped off his damned face.
“…maybe that’s what’s made the two of you such fast friends, Corporal?”
"So it might." Charlie didn’t hesitate, he coiled his arm back and swung it forward hard, his fist aimed squarely at the doctor’s jaw.
(It's up to you whether Charlie hits his mark or not. ;D )

[concretegirl]

Name shrieked out loudly, tossing his head as he sidestepped widely away from Gabriel when the Corporal swung at him. Gabriel dodged just enough to where the blow didn’t have it’s full effect, but he could feel pain cracking through some part of his face.
He staggered a little at the force of it, but he felt a strange feeling of satisfaction that helped to make his reaction time faster, made him start to see red, and he fell easily into the fight, not having to think about what he did so much as he had to simply act. He came back at the Corporal, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw so hard his own hand hurt. The Corporal lost footing for a moment-seeming purely surprised by Gabriel’s reaction- but it was only a matter of moments before he came back at him,/ Gabriel could barely keep track, partly because his head was so muddled by the hits to the head, but they didn’t keep him from coming back, and while he had expected the rage to dissipate after the first hit-some sort of catharsis that he could recognize and eventually walk away from feeling satisfied with- it only escalated, he needed more and more of it. Every hit he took made him want to deal out ten times more back. Every hit he made wasn’t enough and needed to be outdone a hundred times over. The pain was only secondary as their boots scuffled against the dirt. The sound of their fists connecting and wounds breaking across their skin a mess. One that Gabriel needed enough to be good at making.

[Prudence]

The other horse’s shriek made Helios whine, taking a few steps back before stamping the ground with his hooves. This distraction cost Charlie a swift blow to the jaw, he stumbled backward, shock clearly etched in every line of his face before he regained composure, punching him hard in the face. The Doctor seemed to lose control after that, intent upon releasing any feelings or emotions he’d kept pent up inside—on Charlie’s face. He could feel rage building inside himself, this was more than casual dislike, more than frustration, he felt hate—sharp, acid, pulsing now through his veins, infecting him like a poison. A strange poison that didn’t make him weaker but stronger, he shouldn’t have enjoyed it, he should have forced it away but he didn’t, he used it, allowing it to take over. He felt the Doctor’s fist connect with his face again, for what had to be the twelfth time at least—and this with Charlie dodging and blocking half the blows the Doctor’ threw at him, he felt a sharp pain in his nose and a repulsive cracking sensation, his eyes watered, blurring his vision—the pain was slow in coming, or perhaps he was so numb by now he didn’t hear it but he felt blood seeping from his nose, running into his mouth where he could taste the foul metallic tang of it. He charged at the doctor then, half blind, pummeling him, the doctor’s back smacked into a tree and they rolled across the forest floor, a mass of bloody limbs, narrowing avoiding horse hooves and tree trunks as they went.

[concretegirl]

“What the hell is this!?” the voice was furious, ringing in Gabriel’s ears, in between the cloudiness in his mind that had come from both the rage and the pain that he was finally starting to feel, and suddenly he felt himself being yanked away from the fight by his arms and waist.
He was drug upright onto his feet, dirt, forest debris, and blood covering his clothes, a mix of rot and metal in his mouth, everything in his line of vision blurry. The Corporal-bloody and looking enraged- was being dragged up and away similarly and Gabriel felt like something was being taken away from him, like he was forced to surface from a strange sort of dream, disoriented and unwilling. He swung blindly one last time, only sure that he hit someone else besides the Corporal.
His boots scraped against the ground as he was lugged backwards, coughing on the filth in his mouth, his chest rising and falling heavily, shaking with anger, and Gabriel’s vision cleared just long enough for him to see that he had hit Captain Foster in the face.
The Captain looked furious, his hand over his mouth, his eyes burning.
“Bloody-” he cut off, too angry to speak. He let his hand fall to his side, blood trickling lightly from some injury. He looked back and forth between Gabriel and the Corporal, growing angrier and angrier. “Get them out of here!” he shouted to the soldiers who were dragging the two of them away from one another. “Lieutenant Singer, take him out of here .” Foster said, his eyes burning through Gabriel. “and I’ll escort our Corporal.” he said, then gestured towards Name, who was continuing to make a racket and run in circles around them. “And somebody shut that bloody animal up!” he shouted.
“Yes, Sir.” Lieutenant Singer nodded, and then took a strong hold on Gabriel’s arm-which was finally starting to get some feeling back into it and was throbbing with pain. “Doctor…” he said, mockingly congenial before he yanked him forward and Gabriel walked forward.
Gabriel instinctively went to jerk away and shake him off, but then another solider grabbed his other arm, pulling him forward, back towards the tents.

[Prudence]

Charlie struggled against the arms that were pulling him back from the Doctor, forcing him to his feet. He was just about to turn, to throw a punch, when he recognized the Captain’s voice and froze, just in time to catch the doctor’s fist collide with the Captain’s face. Charlie sucked in a deep breath, caught somewhere between shock, the after effects of the anger that had been coursing through him, and amusement—how many times had he wished he could introduce the Captain to a smart right hook? It was almost enough to make him hate the doctor a little less almost. He glared at him now as he shrugged off the soldiers holding him, wiping at the blood that was trickling from his nose down his face, soaking into his shirt.
“And I’ll escort our Corporal…”
Charlie’s eyes flicked away from the Doctor to the Captain and he felt the tension return to his body, knotting in his shoulders and making his fists clench involuntarily. This wasn’t exactly his first offense at ‘brawling’ and his senior officers had been lenient up to now but he was fairly sure bloodying up the Doctor’s pretty face, or more importantly his valuable hands wouldn’t be looked on favorably.
“Follow me Corporal,” Captain’s Foster’s voice was hard as he turned back toward the camp.
“Yes sir,” Charlie murmured, “Sir, I—.” he started when they were out of earshot from the other soldiers.
“Stow your excuses Corporal I have no time for them, you know I could have you demoted? Locked in the stockade?” he shot him another scowl, “Flogged?!”
“Yessir…” A chill ran down Charlie’s back, he’d seen a man, a thief, flogged once—eighty lashes, the memory made him ill.
“I’m not certain you comprehend the severity of the situation…”
“I do, Sir.”
“An honest brawl between soldiers is one thing Corporal, that I can understand, but the doctor?”
“He—Pvt. Hallewell—I…” he floundered, trying to find a way to explain.
The Captain cocked a brow, “well yes, that certainly clears that up.”
“It—he’s a pisspot, Sir.”
The Captain snorted in spite of himself and then cleared his throat, “I tend to disagree with you Alexander, he just saved the Colonel’s life and you would do well to remember that. In this army a doctor is worth—.”
“Ten of my kind, so I’ve been told…”
He rounded on him, “Yes. Let’s check that attitude soldier. A doctor it worth ten of you, ten of me, of any soldier except maybe the higher officers, and a good doctor is worth still more, that young man, whatever his faults,” he rubbed his face briefly where the doctor had punched him, “happens to be an excellent doctor. What if he’d broken his hand on that damned jaw of yours, what if you’d hit him one too many times with those great lumbering fists? Can you cauterize a wound? Set a broken bone? Can you bleed a man? Cure his cough? Lower his fever? Well?!”
“No, Sir.”
“No, you can’t. What you can do is not injure the only one around here who can. Understood?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Good. Now, just to make it very, very clear, so that there isn’t any doubt on the subject, I’m assigning you scut-duty for the next week, that means you’ll be mucking up after the horses, cleaning the troughs, fetching water and any other menial task I see fit to assign you. As well as guard duty for the next two weeks. Now, doesn’t that seem reasonable, Corporal?” His tone dared him to protest.”
Charlie swallowed a groan, “Yes, Sir.”
“Excellent, now fetch your gear, you’re relieving Jenkins on post.”
“Yessir,” he saluted.

“What in God’s teeth happened to you?” Nat asked when Charlie returned to their fire.
“That damned Doctor friend of yours…” he growled, crawling into the tent and rummaging around for a spare shirt, one that wasn’t soaked with blood and covered in all manner of roughage.
“Charlie…you didn’t…”
He poked his head out of the tent, an (only slightly) cleaner shirt pulled halfway on, “don’t start,” he warned before disappearing again, his voice coming slightly muffled from the interior of the tent, “anyway, I thought you at least would’ve understood, even thanked me. Someone needed to teach the little brasser as lesson.” He re-emerged at last, dressed in a dark green frock coat (he had badly torn the sleeve of his regimental coat in the fight and hadn’t a second), his canteen, haversack and cartridge box slung across his shoulders and his musket in hand.
“You’re not on guard tonight, are you?”
“Certainly not, I just feel like a jolly romp in the woods, care to join me,” he rolled his eyes, “Foster felt some disciplinary action was needed.”
Nat tilted his head, squinting his eyes at him, “your nose is crooked, I think it may be—.”
“Stow it, Hallewell, unless you’d like yours to match.” With that he shouldered his musket and turned, marching toward his post at the perimeter of the camp.

[concretegirl]

Gabriel was sitting in the surgeon’s tent, the glow of the lamps flickering against his skin, he tried to breathe through his mouth because his nose was badly swollen-he couldn‘t even tell if it was broken- he had taken the remains of his shirt off and had it shoved up against it, trying to stop it from bleeding even worse. The top half of his body bare, he’d started to shiver-the night felt uncommonly cold to him. His eyes ached, swollen, probably all purple, black and blue now. His lower lip was also swollen, a dark cut in it, dripping just as dark of blood.
When Lieutenant Singer had drug Gabriel in there, tossing him into a nearby chair, Gabriel noticed Colonel Thorton stirring on his bed.
“What-…” the wiry man trailed off, disoriented. “What’s all this, then…?” he asked.
“Nothing, Colonel…” Singer insisted.
The Colonel wasn’t listening, the man sat up a little farther-grunting with the effort- taking in the sight of Gabriel. “What the devil?” he said. “What happened to the Doctor?”
Singer rolled his eyes. “Nothing, Sir-”
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing’, Lieutenant.” the Colonel snapped, and Gabriel stared at him, his brow furrowed, his blue eyes incredulous with disbelief. He’d heard about the Colonel’s wrought-iron will, but this was a little unnatural as far as he was concerned. It appeared Thorton had made some sort of deal with the Almighty that involved immortality for the man if he swore to put all of his time in energy into winning the blasted war. “I’m shot, not blind, Singer. One of the men in my regiment gets injured-”
“The good doctor got into a brawl with our Corporal Alexander, Sir.” Singer cut in.
The Colonel turned his attentions to Gabriel, who shivered again. For some reason, the Colonel reminded him of his father.
“A brawl?” the Colonel repeated.
Gabriel moved the shirt for a moment. “Sir,” he started, his voice thick and slurry. “You really should be resting-”
“Blast resting. What’s this I hear about you fighting my Corporal, Doctor?”
“He hit me, first, Sir.” Gabriel said, again feeling like he was talking to his father-insisting that Richard had started a fight, not him.
“Well, this is just a sorry, pathetic sort of sight!” the man bellowed, though there was sharpness in his voice, brought on by the pain he was still in. “Not only one of my officers, but my physician, in a brawl!”
Gabriel shifted, applying more pressure to his nose, cringing a little.
“Sir,” Singer started, but the Colonel shook his head.
“Do you know why I requested you as my physician, young man?” Thorton asked, his eyes boring into Gabriel.
Gabriel didn’t consider more than a moment. “Because I was the closest one?” he suggested, but wished he hadn’t when the Colonel’s eyes blazed even brighter.
“Because you had a good reputation, not just as a doctor but as a man. Like your father.”
Gabriel paused. “You know my father?” he asked, but the Colonel continued.
“What on earth could have sparked such an argument such as this between you and my Corporal? You’ve barely known the man a full day.”
Gabriel shook his head. He could hardly explain the Colonel the reason for his looking for a fight with Corporal Alexander. He could hardly say: because one of the men in your regiment isn’t a man at all. She’s a girl. She’s my little sister…”
“The Corporal and I…” Gabriel started, moving the cloth away from his nose. “We… Simply don’t see eye to eye.”
“A sorry excuse to get into a fist fight with the man.”
Gabriel shrugged very lightly. “I realize that, now.” he admitted, hoping the Colonel didn’t hear the falseness in his penitence. Because he didn’t feel sorry at all. He’d deck Alexander again straightaway if he walked into the tent.
The Colonel went to respond, but then he started to cough, hard.
Gabriel sighed, then stood up and grabbed some water off of a nearby table, holding it up to the man’s mouth, his hands streaking blood on the metal cup. “Here…” he trailed off, his voice still slurry.
The Colonel drank a little, begrudgingly. “A little water doesn’t get you off, Wright.” he muttered before he laid back on the bed, breathing heavily.
“Colonel…” Singer trailed off, moving forward. “You really should rest, Sir.”
The Colonel shook his head, looking back at Gabriel. “Wright, I know your military record. You’ve gotten away with insubordination, you talk back, you‘ve disobeyed direct orders. And it’s been tolerated because you’re a doctor, you have a different set of responsibilities, you have a different calling here. But, if you’re not going to behave like a gentleman, maybe it’s time we stop treating you like one.” he gestured to Singer. “You’ll be answering to the Lieutenant, he will be giving you a very distinct set of duties, soldierly responsibilities. And he will be reporting back to me-one murmur, one roll of the eyes, and you can expect a much more severe punishment. I’m being lenient, Wright. I won’t do it again.”
Gabriel nodded very lightly. “Yes, Sir.” he said. “But, until then, Sir, I think my orders as doctor are still valid- you should get some rest.”
The Colonel eyed him up for a moment, then shook his head. “Just like your father.” he said. “Very well, I’ll rest. You might want to, too, before tomorrow starts.”
Gabriel nodded lightly. “Yes, sir.” he said, then slowly left, going to clean and stitch himself back together.

[Prudence]

-The Next Day-

There was a change in the air about camp that morning as dawn broke over their crowded valley and the drummers sounded reveille, a feeling of restlessness that was almost tangible though usually if there was going to be a march, or if they were to engage in conflict some rumor or hint would’ve been passing around camp for the past eighteen hours at least. Someone always knew something…

Charlie grumbled obscenities to himself as he dunked the scrubbrush in the bucket of suds, allowing it to soak for a second before he attacked the empty water trough again, scrubbing away at the film of greenish scum that coated the inside with more vigor than strictly necessary. His whole body ached, everywhere that little dunderwhelp had hit him, and even some places he hadn’t felt bruised, stiff. Hearing him complain of it when he’d finally been released from duty and returned to the tent in the wee hours of the morning, Nat had sleepily suggested he see a doctor…Charlie just wished he’d had something harder handy than his haversack to whap him with.
“Enjoying yourself Corporal?” One soldier has asked as they passed on the way to drills. Charlie got the sense he had fallen slightly in the eyes of his comrades. A friendly (or even not so friendly) fight among soldiers was one thing, but the Captain had been right in what he’d said of the doctor. They were valuable, even if they lost as many lives as they saved one didn’t like to imagine how high the death toll might rise without them…and he’d saved the Colonel. The soldiers had a tacit sort of fondness for their commanding officer, he wasn’t a man who inspired affection from his troops, but respect certainly, and maybe even awe, the man seemed indestructible and this last brush with death had only proved the point.
As of this moment Charlie didn’t particularly care what the doctor had or hadn’t done for the Colonel, if he never saw his bloody face again it would be too dashed soon…
The sound of approaching hoof beats, rapid enough for a gallop, brought Corporal Alexander out of his thoughts. He looked up in time to see a courier mounted on a sleek bay burst through the tree cover and tear across the clearing. The courier reigned his horse back, sliding from the saddle before the animal had come to a complete halt, not three feet from Charlie.
The Courier gave a smart salute to Charlie, though he was still on the ground, elbow deep in trough scum, “Sir, urgent news for the Colonel.”
Charlie picked himself up from the ground, groaning as he strained his bruised muscles, he dried his hands on his breeches before returning a weak salute, “at ease there soldier…”
“Sir, urgent—.”
“Yes yes I heard you,” he gave the courier a once over, “follow me.” He led him across the clearing to the infirmary, casting a sidelong glance at the soldier to watch his expression falter as they stepped through into the tent.
“But I’m here to see the—.” He started, confused.
“Colonel Thornton Sir,” Charlie saluted to the man, already sitting up in bed, casually eating his usual breakfast of soaked beans and fatback while lesser officers hovered nervously around him like flies.
“Yes Corporal?” Charlie realized he must have been informed of the brawl for his tone was sharp and his gaze sharper as he addressed him.
“Sir, only this…” he gestured to the courier.
The courier dashed forward, pulling a sealed letter from his breast pocket and presenting it to the Colonel, “I bring you urgent news sir from New York City,” he eyed the present company briefly, “from General Washington himself, sir.”
“Ah,” The Colonel accepted it and tore the wax seal, reading it quickly, his eyebrows lowering and the line of his mouth thinning with every word. Charlie wasn’t watching the Colonel though, his eyes were on the doctor, standing a little apart from the rest. “Yes,” The Colonel said aloud when he had finished, snapping Charlie back out of his thoughts. A quill and ink were before him in moments and he jotted a quick note at the bottom of the original letter before passing it back to the Courier. “Very good soldier, return this to the General at once with my regards.”
“Yes, Sir.” The courier saluted and exited the tent as quickly as he’d come. Charlie was about to following, mulling over how long it would take him to finish those troughs when the Colonel suddenly swung his legs over the side of his cot.
“Right,” he muttered, his mouth pressing even thinner, his jaw set against the pain.

[concretegirl]

Gabriel was all but hobbling around the surgeon’s tent the next morning, every line of his body stiff or swollen. He’d wrapped up most of the bad cuts, stitched up some of the bad gashes on his arms. He washed off the blood, and had switched back into the clothes that he had washed the day before.
He had actually intended to get some honest rest, but not long after he’d laid down, a man who had been suffering from a bad fever took a turn for the worse. Gabriel had been up most of the night with him, watching him slip in and out of his delirium, wiping the sweat away from his face with a damp rag. He’d talked to him, his voice light-it seemed to calm the man down, make him breathe a little easier. Gabriel didn’t really remember what he‘d rambled on to him about-though at some point the was fairly certain he had started talking about trees.
Gabriel had drifted off, eventually, feeling a sense of numbness when he’d woken up and found that the man had died.
There had been officers in and out of the tent that morning, checking in on or discussing matters with the Colonel, and soldiers’ had brought the man breakfast. All of them giving Gabriel strange sideways glances. Doubtlessly a couple of them had helped to carry him away from his fight with the Corporal, and all of them had to have heard about it.
Gabriel had checked the Colonel’s wound, which wasn’t healing any faster than he expected, the Colonel’s tolerance was more than impressive to Gabriel. And, while it was probably just the strange way that the Colonel reminded him of his own father-the sternness, the way he would regard Gabriel, with a strong sense of expectancy, promising stinging disappointment if he failed him- but he was treading lightly around the man now. Though, doubtlessly the Colonel just thought it was the punishment he had promised him, which, Gabriel had yet to see what that was.
Gabriel was cleaning up the bed where the man-Private Marksman had been his name- had been before his body had been removed that morning- when someone came into the tent, a courier with a letter, and right beside him was Corporal Alexander.
Gabriel felt himself go rigid, vague memories rage he’d felt the night before pricking in his chest. He clenched his hands at his side. But, strangely, the fight from the night before was gone out of him. He had the same amount of distaste for the man, but he didn’t feel that same lack of control. He was able to force himself to be indifferent to the chatter that followed, until he heard mention of George Washington.
His brow furrowed-which hurt- he slowly set down the pile of bloody rags and took a couple of steps closer-which also hurt, but he forced himself to walk evenly, upright, not wanting the Corporal to see him straggling around the tent- so he could hear a little better.
Colonel Thorton tore in the letter that was delivered, read it, and replied hastily, giving it back to the courier, who hastily left the tent with the new written letter in hand. The Corporal looked ready to follow him out the door, which was a relief to Gabriel, until suddenly the Colonel went to stand.
Gabriel had been hanging back, watching pensively, but once he saw the Colonel he instantly moved forward in front of him. “Sir…” he trailed off, his expression instantly serious. “Sir, you shouldn’t be moving.” he said.
The Colonel nodded. “Ah, right. Doctor’s orders.” he said dismissively. “Well, we agreed that was only valid until today.”
Gabriel snorted. “You have a hole in your chest. It’s not valid when I say it’s not valid.” he said, then saw a few wary glances from the other officers. “Sir...” he added as a quick afterthought.
“Private Wright,” the Colonel said, his tone brusque as he got to his feet, and Gabriel could see the strain and an even worse pallor on his face. “You can join the other men in preparing to take down camp, we will be going on march today.”
“On march?” Gabriel repeated, then shook his head. “You can barely stand, you’re not in good enough health-”
“Which is why it’s fortunate I have a horse.” the Colonel said, talking as though he were simply agreeing with Gabriel, not disregarding him. “Speaking of which, Private Wright, if you would go ready him for me…”
Gabriel went to argue, but then the Colonel gave him a stern look. “Wright, I’ve taken your advice under advisement. I’m ignoring it. You’re familiar enough with that practice, I’m sure. Now, go ready my horse and don’t make me ask again.”
Gabriel matched the man’s gaze for a moment, and maybe it was because the man reminded him so much of his father that he was brazen enough to say what he did next to his face. “Do what you bloody want, then.” he said, then turned and left the tent, brushing right past the Corporal, which only made him clench his jaw-which hurt worse than he expected- even tighter.

[Prudence]

“Do what you bloody want then.”

Even Charlie, who’d had firsthand experience with the doctor’s audacious lack of respect for, well, anyone, it seemed, turned to stare after him, horrified. Sometime during the night he’d begun to question his reasons for coming to blows with the doctor. Certainly his haughty attitude and sharp tongue were reason enough and Charlie didn’t usually need much of an excuse for a good fight—but it hadn’t been a good fight, not a friendly, or even unfriendly tussle among comrades, there had been something vicious and raw-edged about it that had left him feeling uneasy...now he wished he’d punched him a little harder and maybe stopped that damned tongue of his.

The sound of drumming, like a deep roll of thunder, filled the camp as the drummer boys sounded General. This meant only one thing, a march. Nat had been on his way to find Charlie, he would pay good money to see the Corporal scrubbing out water troughs, gruntwork he’d considered beneath himself these many months…the drums had stopped him up short. The air was suddenly thick with anticipation, excitement with a hard edge to it. At last the illimitable monotony of camp life—at least in this particular spot, would be brought to an end! Thank Providence! If he never saw this sickly, godforsaken valley again it would be too soon! It was almost enough to put Gabriel from his mind…almost. He crossed back through camp, dodging soldiers and half-dismantled tents, hastily doused cooking fires, and scattered supplies. He expected to see Charlie already there, busy disassembling their tent, the lines of his body tense, rigid with anticipation, a look of impatient joy in his bright eyes. The prospect of action, any action, even the tedium of a march thrilling him…but when he arrived he met only Pvt. Welby, their other tent-mate, stuffing his few belongings down into his knapsack.
“Mornin’ Hallewell,” he said between bites of hardtack he seemed to have found amongst his personal effects.
“Morning, you haven’t seen Alexander have you?” He asked as he ducked into the tent and began rounding up his own things, being a tidy soul to begin with and not having a great deal of belongings, it was a brief task.
“Not since Troop.”
Nat swallowed a short sigh and started packing the Corporal’s rucksack as well. Wasn’t it just like him to leave the tedious tasks to them…

[concretegirl]

Gabriel slung the saddle over the Colonel’s horse’s back, gritting his teeth as the horse lurched and side-stepped, the saddle falling off, it’s large hooves kicking up dust around his feet.
The camp drums were getting the horse all riled up, stomping his feet, tossing his big, black head.
Gabriel yanked hard on the horse’s reins, then re-tied them to the post even shorter than before. “Daft animal.” he growled, picking the saddle back up-which sent waves of pain through his back, legs, and arms. He was tightening the cinch up when he heard someone behind him.
“Private Wright…”
Gabriel looked behind him to see Liuetenant Singer, who had his own horse’s reins in hand, ready to head out into the day.
“Having a bit of a hard time there?” Singer asked.
Gabriel shook his head, turning back to the horse. “I’ll manage.”
Singer took a few steps forward, leaning up against the post the Colonel’s horse was tied to. “Just how much training have you had, Son?” he asked.
Gabriel yanked the cinch up tighter on the horse’s stomach, but the horse just pulled air into his belly, making it impossible to tighten the cinch enough. He whacked its stomach with his hand, which made it let out a little bit of air, but also stomp its feet, nearly poudning Gabriel’s feet.
“With horses?” Gabriel asked.
“No, in your regiment. Combative.”
Gabriel shook his head, yanking the cinch hard and looping it through. “Not a whole lot.” he admitted, though his tone was slightly defensive, guarded even. “Mostly I was in the infirmary. Some men didn’t seem to feel that that constituted as heavy lifting.”
Singer shrugged. “I’d say you seem just as tired as anybody else at the end of the day.” he said.
Gabriel shrugged back. “If you say so.”
“I saw Marksman didn’t make it through the night.” Singer noted, and Gabriel finally looked back at him.
Singer shook his head. “Wright, I heard about the men in your camp that you had to leave. I saw how you watched over Marksman. Anyone could get their head jumbled after doing that for too long, after watching that… Now, it’s no excuse for either the way you’ve been talking to the officers around here-particularly the Colonel- and definitely not Alexander, but I can see you’ve been weighed down. The Colonel asked me to monitor you, and I’m going to do just that. I want to get you out of that tent and doing something, getting to know the men in this regiment. Training with them. Now, I saw you talking with Private Hallewell the other day, do you know him?”
Gabriel almost flinched. Especially when Singer used the pronoun of “him”. It sounded so wrong, he had to keep himself from correcting him.
“Family acquaintance.” he said, his voice forcedly detached.
“Well, he’s a fine fighter. We’ve tried to promote him, but the lad won’t go for it. However, that gives him a little more free time to let you follow his lead during training.”
Gabriel shook his head, disbelieving. “You want Hallewell to be… My mentor, or something? Sh-…“ he paused. “He‘s a kid.” he corrected just in time.
“I’m just saying: the young man is very good at what he does. Training alongside him would be to your benefit. It would help you to integrate into the regiment a little bit.”
Gabriel went to reply, negatively, but Singer cut him off.
“We’ll be giving it a trial run. In the meantime, I need you to keep on with what your doing and help take down camp.”
Gabriel had to literally bite his tongue, and could only nod shortly in reply, which Singer only found amusing. “That’s the spirit.” he laughed, before walking off.

[Prudence]

Upon leaving the tent Corporal Alexander had intended to saddle up, Helios, he sensed would be a little less ready for action than he was, considering yesterday’s excursion but he thought he could bribe him into it if he could hunt down an apple or a carrot or two…it was then he spotted Dr. Wright attempting to saddle that devil-horse of his, though he wasn’t having much luck, the animal didn’t seem much interested in it. Of course Charlie didn’t blame the beast, imagine having to carry that pompous blue-stocking about on one’s back all day? He considered, briefly, going over to saddle Helios anyway, perhaps show him how it was done properly. The sudden appearance of Lieutenant Singer changed his mind for him… He turned away, crossing back through camp, now a hub of activity as drums filled the air, men scurried about between half dismantled tents, gathering up supplies and belongings. It was strange to think that in a matter of minutes nothing would be left of their two-months-home but mud and a few fire-pits. Strange, yet delightful, he would be glad to see the back of this damp, bug-infested place. His mind started to race with images of battle, not the bloody, gruesome, realistic ones that kept him up nights and caused grown men to whimper and cry out in their sleep, these were tinged with glory and honor, with triumphant victory…He began to whistle.
His cheerful rendition of Yankee Doodle was cut short by a knapsack to the gut, he groaned, fairly certain that his bible, tucked somewhere inside the pack, had just made him less of a man, “God’s teeth Hallewell!” he managed, though his voice came out just a trifle high. Welby chuckled until Charlie shot him a look.
Nat was trying to look furious but the corners of his mouth were turned up in amusement, “next time pack your own gear then!”
“I had every intention of packing my own gear, you great lout, but now as I’ve nothing to do suppose I pack you ey?” He made a swipe at Nat’s head but the boy ducked.
“Now come on Charlie,” he said as he dodged a second blow, “we’ve no time for—,” Charlie seized him, wrapping him in a headlock, “let me go!”
“Not a chance whelp!”
Nat struggled vainly against the larger man, only making him laugh, “I mean it Alexander, let me go or—.”
“Oh threats is it? Listen son, I don’t think you’re in the best position to—,” Nat socked him in the stomach, and seizing the brief moment of Charlie’s surprise, Nat shoved backwards, knocking them both to the ground. Charlie landed flat on his back, knocking the lungs from his chest.
Nat sprang to his feet, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
“Ooh, you’re in for it now boy—” he said beginning to scramble up.
“Corporal!” Lieutenant Singer’s voice cut through the air, cutting him off midsentence.
He glowered at Nat as he picked himself up, dusting off the pack of his coat, “Yes Sir?” he managed a lopsided sort of grin at the officer.
“Now I know that you weren’t about to strike Private Hallewell here, right soldier?”
“Of course not Sir.”
“Because that would be considered brawling, Corporal, and it would be deeply imbecilic of you, especially as Captain Foster was in a so very lenient mood last night.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” He turned to Nat, “Hallewell, I’ve an assignment for you.”
Nat blinked, “An assignment Sir? For me?”
“You’re the only Hallewell in this regiment, are you not?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Dr. Wright has informed me that you and he are old family friends. As the doctor is somewhat lacking in military training and discipline,” Charlie scoffed, biting his lip with the Lieutenant eyed him, “I thought it would be beneficial to both you and the doctor if you were to, take him under your wing, so to speak.”
All the blood was suddenly rushed suddenly to the young soldier’s cheeks, “I don’t think—that is, Sir, the Doctor and I don’t—perhaps someone of rank would be better suited…”
Singer shook his head, “You are suited fine.”
“Sir I don’t—.”
“It was not a suggestion Private.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Excellent,” he paused a moment to take in the sight of them, the Corporal—slightly less gallant looking than usual with the back of his coat muddied and his face bruised and swollen, Private Hallewell looking paler and smaller somehow than usual, dwarfed beside his oversized friend, and Private Welby, twice either of his comrades’ age—and probably three times Hallewell’s, a straw hanging from his mouth and his hands thrust into his pockets like the farmer he was...what an army. He started to turn away and then stopped, “oh, and Corporal, I require the use of your horse today,” at the soldier’s abashed expression he smiled faintly, “don’t think of it as stealing Alexander,” he clapped him on the shoulder, “just…commandeering.”

They had little time to regain composure for just as the Lieutenant was walking away the drums sounded for them to line up.
"I suppose I should find Wright..." Nat murmured dismally, pulling on his gear and shouldering his musket. Charlie, stooping to collect his knapsack, merely grunted.
"It's not as if I have a choice in the matter Alexander, if I did I wouldn't bother!"
"I didn't say anything," he glanced at Welby, "did I say anything Welby?"
"No Sir I don't believe you did..."
"Oh get stuffed you two!"
"Now don't be sore with us just because you've been assigned nursemaid." Nat didn't dean to respond, but only rolled his eyes and turned away, stalking across the rapidly emptying camp.

[concretegirl]

“Very strange looking animal, isn‘t he?” Colonel Thorton mused from his place atop his black horse that Gabriel had just finished tacking up for him. The man hadn’t even allowed anyone to help him get on the animal, he just mounted right up as though he’d never even heard of a gunshot wound.
Captain Foster stood in front of Name and Gabriel, looking intensely unimpressed. Gabriel kept on trying to avoid eye contact with the man-the officer had some bruising on his face from where Gabriel had accidentally hit him the night before and he still looked fit to be tied for it. Though, Gabriel couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud looking at it. All of those times he had wanted to deck an officer right in the face…
“Spooky looking is more like it.” Foster insisted, looking at Name’s light blue eyes.
Name was switching his feet constantly, snorting lightly, his ears bent back, even moving back when Captain Foster moved forward to take him.
“What’s wrong with him?” Foster demanded.
“He‘s not a bad sort, he just needs to get used to you…” Gabriel said, shifting his bag up higher onto his shoulder, unable to believe he was defending the creature, and wishing he hadn’t when Foster shot him a look.
“A horse is a horse, Wright. Who the hell cares who’s on it.” Foster noted, taking the reins from Gabriel and Name whinnied loudly, snorting.
Normally no one else ever rode Name-no one ever cared to, a lot of the men in his Regiment thought he was some sort of a bad omen, because of his unusual appearance. But, because they had lost a few horses the day before, they were trying to consolidate.
Foster shook his head as Name put his head up high, his ears back, and going rigid, appearing almost angry. “This is just bloody ridiculous.” he snapped, then looked over to see Lieutenant Singer riding over on what Gabriel recognized as Corporal Alexander’s bright, glossy palomino, the powerful horse perfectly at ease and graceful.
“Singer! Switch me!” Foster called out, but Singer only laughed as Name snorted loudly and tried to side-step away from the Captain.
“You would have thought I was taking our Corporal’s first born.” Singer mused as he stopped the horse next to the Colonel. “Though, I can see why.” he gave the stallion a hearty pat on the neck. Gabriel knew horses couldn’t gloat, but because it was Corporal Alexander’s horse, he imagined it did anyways.
Foster had to hold on to Name’s reins a little tighter as the horse suddenly yanked on them, trying to move back over to Gabriel. “The horse is the one with the problem here. What do you do, Wright, give the beast Laudanum?” Foster growled.
Gabriel only moved a little to avoid Name as he tried to swivel around to look at him, his head still up high. The Captain was tall, but with Name throwing his head and standing so rigid and tall, he almost dwarfed the man.
“Wright,” Gabriel looked up at Singer. “Why don’t you head out and get into formation. Since you’ll be walking, I think it’s best that you find Hallewell. He’s been informed of your… Partnership. You two can march together.”
Gabriel sighed, but then the Colonel cleared his throat, and Gabriel forced himself to nod. “I’ll look for him.” he agreed.
Gabriel walked out to where all of the soldiers were gathering together, not wanting to think about what a day of walking would mean for the bruising and cuts all over his body. He hefted his bag and borrowed musket a little higher up onto his shoulder when he saw Emily.
She was heading in his general direction, dressed for the march. Again, he had to fight himself not to just haul her up and drag her away from here. She shouldn’t be here. He noticed her musket and thought about how much he would love to throw it into the river.
She caught sight of him, and he half-expected her to turn around and go the other way, but she continued on towards him, though he could see an all-too-familiar begrudging and unhappy look.
He stopped just a couple of feet in front of her, and after a few long moments he couldn’t help but blurt out. “Don’t think I asked for this. It was all Singer’s idea.”