17th May - After Review - Cleaning out

Willoughby looked back rather innocent. "Sir, I worried only about your safety!" He grinned and was glad to find that... atleast some stalls were now empty and fairly clean. Nothing close to perfect, not even to finished though.

The birds did seem to enjoy Sinclair's feeding time, and quite a flock of them soon gathered, chirping away, hopping about enough to make a man ill watching.

"Indeed. I'm sure ye wouldna have laughed at all." he smiled again as he said it, watching the birds go about their little fights.
It was interesting how some of them were deferred to by all, and others not as such- one had to fight each birds afore he (or she, he couldn't tell from this angle) could eat anything. He considered a heirarchy in small birds would be helpful, if they lived near each other.
He could feel one or two on his back now, hopping about and pecking at a few dusty spots. This, he considered, was very pleasant, indeed.

"Have the birds taught you anything new, sir?" He asked and began to empty the cart where he had earlier and before that, done so.

He halted a moment, just enough that he would catch some breath, and then returned to work again. No slacking about, not till the stalls were clean, the hay replaced, and the water refilled. Once all that was sure to be done, he could possibly get something to eat too.

"Well, they have given me proof of heirarchacal behaviour..." he broke off as a yet more adventorous swallow sat on his head, looking down at him, tapping on his glasses.
"And, here laddie, I think they have proved their inquisativeness, too."
Thankfully the had clearly sated their hunger and were now amusing themselves by prodding and poking his clothes, his boots...anything they could get. All the while, of course, chattering loudly, twittering in his ears.

"D'ye ken anything about these, then?"

"Even in birds, the hierarchy?.. it confirms, that such order is natural, no?" He lifted his gaze to observe Sinclair and the birds then grinned. "I have learnt that once they've lost fear of you, they think you now the weakest of them and prod and peck you as if you ought to submit to them and bow to their greatness."

"Have ye just?" Sinclair wriggled as another bird decided that those glasses were very interesting. "With all t'attention they are paying ter me eyes, I'd almost beleive ye, too."

He thought for a moment, distracted by the noise, before adding, "Not natural, merely t'best use of resources, I should say. As ye ken, with t'army. Ye couldna have every man fer himself all the time, or ye would never win a battle."

"..does not our French adversary consider such ideals himself? " And he was not too unsuccessful, if he considered some of the past victories. He glanced down again. Who was he to speak any of one born into one's place in the hierarchy, not he!

"I wonder if they now shall follow you and peck you at every step, till you feed them again, the greedy little beasts."

"But not for his army, or at least, not totally. For is he not in charge of them, telling them what ter do?"
he had no real interest in politics, or at least, not for their own sake, prefering instead to base his thoughts on how the affected him, or the people he was trying to help. It seemed the most sendible thiing to do.

"Och, I wouldna think that fer a minute, laddie. THey'll be a getting back ter their nests, though nay doubt if I turned up again they'd soon attack me fer food." He shifted and all they did was hop around him, fluttering up a little. he felt like a picture of a saint he'd seen, covered in birds with animals at his feet. Not that he was any saint.

"True. He is, and he does have officers,.. as we. Though the officers are not born to be such, nor .. I would guess, buy their commission?" He was not well informed of how the French armies were led. He'd heard rumours here and there, even read a few things and such, and of what he'd seen he could form his opinion.

"You are quite adored by them.. or pestered. Do animals react often towards you in such a way?" He smiled for he could have imagined the travelling cart of Mr. Sinclair becoming a a beacon which the animals of Portugal would follow. Chirping, barking, meowing and so forth, till possibly the French would know they were coming solely by the amount of sound these animals would make.

Rob shrugged, setting off a chirping in his ear, and a pecking. Duley chastised, he continued, "I dinna ken esactly how it all works, I have nay reason ter find out, so I concentrate on other things...like me job." He smiled a self depricating smile, hoping to convey he wished he knew more of the situation, but he doubted anyone other than an officer in the self same army would know the ins and outs anyway. He wasn't sure he could accurately describe all the little things an officer in the army he was employed by was supposed to know.

"If I have time ter spare, I'll see if animals react this way, an dmostly they do, aye." It hadn't been unusual growing up for several small boys to have a competition as to who could tame a bird first and he'd never considered it much more than handy if he wanted to please his neices. "Course, if I wanted ter have one of these here hop on me shoulder and come and live with me, I'd need a tad more time with them."

"And we aren't meant to think much, judgin' by what we are told." He grinned and tugged some of his hair into a tighter hold, before tying it up again.

"Are you a naturalist, sir?"

"AYe, though, and here's what bemuses me, ye get rewarded sometimes, fer thinking for yerself." He smiled down at Willoughby, confused by the clear and enforced contradiction there.

"A naturalist? Not really, lad." He thought over the meagre stack of books- one or perhaps two on naturalist subjects, the rest on medicine or, in a prized case, history and music. "At least, not as such as I could spend hours sitting thinking on t'moulting patterns of a rabbit."
He dared to shift his arms from where they were and some of the lazier birds stayed put on them before he eased them off so he could fold them under his chin, looking for a more comfortable position. "THough, clearly, I enjoy looking."

"And so you get in trouble if you have thought at the most inappropriate of times. It all depends of who leads you, I think. The riflemen would be more eager to award you for thinking than the redcoats or even our own."

"Mouting patterns of a rabbit, sir?...is it what naturists consider during their time?..it does not sound as exciting. " He nodded. Watching some animals was a way to heal one's spirit and ease one's mind. he had enjoyed tending to his horse, not only for he enjoyed the animal's presence, but as it took much of his mind, turned life to its basics, the present and no more.

One of the birds had hopped onto Sinclair's shoulder and as it stood there, it puffed up rather like a tiny fluffy feathered ball, before a little 'drop' was left on Sinclair's coat.

Rob grinned, "Tis why I'd make such a bad soldier, laddie. Talking or asking questions or what-have-ye. Not encouraged as much as I should like."

"Not always just t'moulting of a rabbit, but often something which, ter me at least, seems as if there are easier ways of uncovering other things about t'creatures. But then, mebbe they have been uncovered, and tis merely I who have..." he trailed off as he saw Willoughby smile. "What?"

"Nothing sir." He watched as the small bird pecked at Sinclair's ear, some at his hair as if looking for some insects there then, took flight to land a few paces from him.

"...just... one of your birds had completed the circle." He grinned.

Rob frowned, then turned his head to stop the wretched creature pecking his ear. "Ah. I see." THere not being huge amounts of grass up on the roof, he was content to let it dry then brush it off. "Well, tis a hazard ter take into account when feeding birds, I suppose."

He returned to the more comfortable position with his chin on his wrists, before saying, "Did ye ken they excrete in a semi-wolid form only? Tis thought ter be ter do with t'weight factor..."

"Weight factor? Would they not be better then that they'd only have liquid .. in full to excrete?" He looked at the birds and smiled. "Though, I'd ask that you explain this thesis of the weigh in relation to their... droppings." He shook his head with a short laugh and wished that horses had had as tiny a dung as these birds. It would have taken a much shorter time to clean then, after all.

Rob thought for a moment or two. This was something he'd found fascinating as a lad, and he had absorbed all the thoughts about flight in birds he coudl lay his hands on. "If tis diluted too much, then they must spend more time excreting it, and more time drinking ter replace their lost liquid, ay? WHeras if tis too solid, then it must be excreted while they are landed, and is more dense, too."

He paused as a pair of sparrows broke off from the roof to fly into the trees further away and watched them go with a wish to be able to fly as well.

"Hm, well.. I guess it does work so..heh, with a man it is neither good if it's too diluted either.. nor too solid...but not to such an extent as birds... eh?" He shook his head, for there was an event come to mind, where several of the troopers had eaten something spoiled badly, and they had indeed had terrible trouble after wards. But atleast their innards were as clean as a rifleman's gun afterward.

"What animal comes to be your favourite , sir?" He asked, thinking he'd known his own answer to that.

"Tis a little like a man, but more a man with..a problem." Rob smiled at the analogy, perfectly aware that with all the new foods, there would be plenty of men in the uncomfortable position of the runs.

"A favourite animal, is it? Twoudl depend on what tis for. I enjoy watching birds...but fer companionship there's nowt like a dog...and then fer helping ye, a horse, or sheep, mebbe." He nodded towards Willoughby, "Would I be right in a-thinking tis a horse, fer ye?"

"It is indeed. For more than a thing. Though I enjoy the sight of other animals, it is the horse that calms me. It is a bitter thought to know that many shall be lost no matter how skilled we may be at foraging for them." He had a finer example himself of how many a horse he would exchange, though perhaps not to loose to death just yet.

" And as much as it is a pain to think of it.. sir, it is something that each proper horseman must face. Some may be men on horses, and some may be horsemen." He added with a small smile, stressing the distinction.

"Nad, excepting yerself"- for he had plenty of evidence that willoughby was a horseman, at least- "how many other real horsemen are there, as opposed to men on horses? Is it common?"

".. well.." That was a question he had not expected to be asked and he wished not to speak ill of some men he knew, if ill it was that he'd have called them men on horses.

" You flatter me sir." He shook his head lightly. He was truly embarrassed that Sinclair would think so and thought it undeserving.

"It does depend... But you can see it sir. By the way a man treats their horse. I do not mean that one pampers the animal and near carries it across mud.. but.." He shook his head lightly. "If you observe, you might be able to see the amount yourself. But many a man prides themselves in calling himself so... yet are not. In any lines of the cavalry, sir."

He felt bad to have caused discomfit to the man, so nodded his understanding instead.
""I mun admit ter spending little time a-watching ye men ride about, though I ken yer meaning. Ye can respect and care fer a horse while setting it ter t'most impossible tasks. As ye can fer many other things, as well."
THere'd always been tales of men running their favourite mounts to the ground, or men crying as they received news their troops had died where they sent them to battle.
"I heard tell of a man what killed his dog, then had him stuffed, as like as life, so he'd never be parted."

"Ah, if I had done that with my horses... truly, I'd have needed a few wagons just for such a thing." He smiled and imagined it and shook his head. He had cared for Bayard, yet he would not have made a stuffed thing of him, even if able.

" It might be going far... for, it is in memory that you keep your companion and not in.." He hesitated. "... a stuffed shape...but each man is different.. and to each his own."