12th July, early morning; Surprises

For a man of his size, Stéphane could move nearly silently, when he was of a mind. This morning, making no sound in either his coming or going was vital. It would be much too awkward if he was to be discovered before his errand was complete. Certainly he was in no hurry to even attempt to explain the reasoning behind this gesture. He didn't have the words for that.

Best, then, to leave the little bundle near the ashes that marked a fire - where it would be most easily spotted - and slip away again. Which is precisely what Stéphane did, taking care to step around a couple of sleeping, blanket-shrouded forms. He was gone again into the pre-dawn darkness without any disturbances or alarms. Good.

For once, Gilles was the first one up. He leaned sleepily out of the wagon, lowering an equally sleepy kitten to the ground before climbing out himself. Dragging slowly towards the remains of the fire, he did not immediately notice the figure leaning against the wagon, his attention instead arrested by the strange, small shape lying near the pit. He crept closer, a delighted cry escaping him as he realized what it was. "A fish! Maman, there's--Rosy!" he exclaimed, noticing the man for the first time. "Rosy! Rosy! Did you bring the fish? Look!"

Jérémie was last seen here.

Somewhere in his subconscious, the excited cry was heard and registered as an alarm. Jérémie came awake with a start, roused from his sleep with a sudden spark of energy. That was Gilles' voice, calling out to him. His unfocussed brain interpreted the excited note in the boy's voice as panic, which could only mean danger.

Unfortunately, he tried to move too quickly, in too many ways at once - pushing away from the wagon, shifting his feet, lifting his musket - and he succeeded only in tripping over both his feet and his musket butt. A heartfelt oath slipped out as he hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and firelock.

Puzzled, but undeterred by the soldier's reaction to his news, Gilles slid to his knees beside Blanchard, thrusting the fish practically in his face. "Look!"

Jérémie blinked and found himself staring, uncomfortably closely, at a fish. What...?

"A fish?" He asked stupidly, before belatedly remembering the bayonet fixed to his musket. He'd better get rid of that before anyone else woke up.

After, of course, something was done about Gilles' fish. Since when had the boy known how to fish, anyway?

"Good heavens, child," grumbled Margot, appearing around the wagon, "What's all this noise?" Noting Blanchard sprawled on the ground, she planted her hands on her hips. "Stop tormenting Jérémie and -- " A wailing cry arose from the back of the wagon and she broke off with a sigh, giving Blanchard a rueful smile. "Aren't you glad you stayed?"

In fact, he was, though at that moment he was sensible enough to withhold such a remark. There were other things to worry about anyway. Things such as getting up and putting away his bayonet.

"It's not so bad," he replied, now back on his feet and dusting himself off. He left his musket where it was for the moment.

"You are a good man, Jérémie," she laughed, scooping Philippe out of the back of the wagon and bouncing him gently. "Now, what's this you've found?" she asked Gilles over the the wavering cries.

"A fish, Maman!"

Margot narrowed her eyes. "And how did you come by that?"

"I found it! Right by the fire."

"Gilles..."

"I didn't steal it. I promise!"

With a sigh, Margot relented. Wherever it had come from, it would make a fine breakfast. Setting the now no longer crying Philippe down, she began to rummage for the necessary supplies.

Mathilde sat up, rubbing her eyes, a faintly bemused expression on her face. How had she fallen asleep here? And why was everyone already up? And why was Gilles chasing Philippe around the fire with a fish?

The praise, predictably, made him blush fiercely. He knelt to unfix his bayonet, glad for the distraction afforded by the preparations to cook Gilles' fish. The prospect of breakfast was welcome, especially after so long a night. That he had slept at all was shameful but he could not have been asleep for longer than an hour or two.

"Gilles," said Jérémie, straightening up with his musket in hand. The grin that came to his face reminded him of the great bruise on his right cheek and he ducked his head in a belated effort to conceal the mark. "That's food, not a weapon."

Laughing, Gilles attempted to brandish the fish, nearly dropping it into the ashes as he did so. But by then something else had captured his attention. "What happend to your face, Rosy?"

"I tripped last night, in the dark," he replied, giving the first excuse that came to mind. It might have been believable, were his cheeks not so obviously coloured.

"Oh. But--"

"Gilles," Margot interrupted, "Bring the fish here and we'll clean it."

Gilles' face lit up at the very word. "Can I use the knife?" he asked eagerly, bounding over to his mother, the bruise on Blanchard's face quite forgotten.

"Thank you for the blanket," came a quiet voice from Blachard's other side where Mathilde stood holding out the carefully folded and rolled up blanket.

The intervention was welcome. Of course, he hadn't given any thought to what he'd look like in daylight. It must be bad, then. Damn. Maybe he should keep to himself until that bruise began to fade.

"You're welcome." Jérémie leaned his musket against the wagon, deciding carrying it around wasn't necessary for now, and accepted the blanket back. "Did you sleep all right?"

To his ears, the question sounded awkward, but he could think of nothing else to say or ask.

"Yes. Thank you," she said shyly. "Were you here all night?"

Good.

After a hesitation, he nodded. "Yes."

Picking up Philippe, Mathilde knelt by the fire, settling her little brother into her lap as she began to began to stir the coals to life. "Will you stay for breakfast?"

While he appreciated the offer, he was not sure that accepting it was all that wise. Then again, where else would - or could - he go?

"I... might," he hedged, it occurring to him that what he really should do was attempt to find Paol.

Mathilde nodded, her gaze settling rather intently on her work. Shifting Philippe so that she could reach the small pile of wood left over from the night before, she began to pile them onto the coals but Philippe, pulling his face away from her dress, took an interest now and she was obliged to hand him each -- small -- piece of wood place on the fire. The result was rather clumsy looking, but she suspected it would burn just as well. And it had provided sufficient distraction for her to think of something else to say.

"Do you know where the fish came from?"

It was best, he thought, to just pretend that he was going to stay. At least for the moment.

"No," he replied, shaking his head.

Despite Gilles' slightly overzealous efforts to clean it, the fish arrived at the fire -- for the most part -- intact. "Rhhaa!" Gleefully he lunged the disemboweled creature at his sister who toppled sideways with a startled squeal.

"Gilles!" she cried, angrily righting herself, though he was already bounding over to show Blanchard his handiwork.

"Look! I cut its guts out!" he proclaimed, holding up the fish for Blanchard's inspection.

"Gilles." His mother's voice had rather more effect than Mathilde's shrill protest. "Bring that here before you drop it."

Mathilde, her face pink with embarrassment, glanced down at Philippe. "Are you laughing?" she demanded with mock disapproval at his obvious amusement. "Did you think that was funny?" She tickled his side and was rewarded with a squeal of laughter.

"Good work," Jérémie said, managing - only just - to suppress a chuckle at Gilles' excitement. Despite his earlier admonition to the boy, he saw no harm at all in such antics. It was, after all, only a fish.

Maybe he should take himself off now, before the distraction of the uncooked fish was removed. He really needed to find Paol. Ideally before he lost what was left of his nerve.

Beaming at the praise, Gilles hurried over to his mother who took charge of the fish before it could be inflicted upon anyone else. It was the work of a few moments to spit it and set it over the coals rekindled by Mathilde's small fire.

"Well, sit down," she admonished Blanchard cheerfully, "It'll be a little while yet."

Sit down. If he did that, he wasn't sure he could make himself get up again. Not that standing still was any better. Like as not he'd fall asleep a second time.

"Thanks, but I should... I want to take a walk," Jérémie said, uncomfortably aware even as he spoke about how lame he sounded.

Mathilde looked instantly concerned, but Margot said simply, "Best make it a short one, if you plan on eating." If she had any doubts as to his reasons, she kept them to herself.

Carefully pretending he had not seen Mathilde's reaction, he picked his musket up again, but he took the deliberate precaution of slinging it from his shoulder.

"I hope to not be long." There was no telling for sure, however, and he was determined that he wouldn't be disappointed if he didn't make it back in time.

With that, he set off, hoping he was not going to find himself crossing paths with Quentin again. That could only end with the same unfortunate result as their last encounter.