June 1 - Walking Back

"What do you have there?" Le Bras asked, trying to see what the lad had concealed in his coat.

He had once attempted to tease a dog by stealing the bone or piece of debris out of its mouth and gotten a hand full of stitches for his pains. The child's demeanor rather reminded him of that animal now. He was saying something -- Le Bras could not quite grasp all of it -- talking about hanging again. Le Bras shook his head. These English and their punishments.

".nothing.." He hesitated and then with a sigh he looked away. Le Bras was a friendly man but he was still French. Could he trust him? Did he want to trust him?

"..s' me chick." He murmured very quietly. "...m'..bringin' it up." How strange that sounded from a rifleman, a soldier. "..Taking care o' it." He added softly. "S' very small." There, he did it. He hoped the effort was worth it in the long run. And this reveal would not take his chick away.

Fortin walked through camp, looking for Le Bras. He spotted him a further ahead, walking with another man, and hurried ahead to catch up.

"Le Bras!" he called, coming to stand by the pair. "The sergeant is looking for you."

Then he got a look at the other man, and blinked in surprise. It was one of the captured Englishmen. Suddenly, the sergeant's order to find Le Bras made more sense, and he hoped the other man was not about to get in trouble for whatever was going on here.

"Who's he?" Fortin asked. "Why is he not with the rest of the prisoners?"

The sergeant? Merde. "Just come from the surgeon's wagon. Montreuil was having a look at his hand," he explained a trifle defensively. "What's the sergeant want?"

"I don't know," Fortin said with a shrug. "He said find you, so here I am."

He looked again at the Englishman, taking in the young man's battered appearance, and nodded. "He is well now?" he asked. "Might be wise to bring him back before seeing the sergeant."

".." Pye glanced from one man to the other, mostly confused because all he did understand was - merde and there be mention of someone.. of a sergeant if he was not mistaken. But what there was to say about the man, he did not know.

He had tucked his coat closed, comfortably and rested his battered hand, now bandages, against his chest. His other looked to be striving to find a place to rest itself on, but restlessly found none.

"Can I go too?" Or was he better of to talk with the third Frenchman. Perhaps the better way to get himself to an officer. If the sergeant was anything like Hakeswill, he would not get him any further than that. "...or maybe I better stay.." But did this other man speak English. "Merci." He added, because that is how much he learned of French.

"Well enough," Le Bras answered, "Though Montreuil was ready to break his hand all over again after he went for one of the prisoners." Could that be what the sergeant wanted to see him about? He shook his head absently. A scrap between prisoners was hardly of any consequence; it must be something else.

"No, Fortin is right," he continued, switching over to English for the boy's benefit, "It is better that first we bring you back to the others."

Pye nodded and straightened a bit further. He flexed his uninjured hand, and then dropped it to his hip, his injured one remaining where it was. He did catch the name Montreuil, though he wished he knew exactly what the two men spoke about. Being in the dark of it, felt like being deaf. Knowing what the men spoke was really helpful even when it was just the Germans nattering in their strange tongue.

Well, no use crying over milk he could not yet get his hands on. "Why such concern?" He could read faces , if not understand words. "Is something wrong?" He waited to be told in which direction to start again, but looked equally curious and 'concerned' at the two men.

"He attacked on of his own?" Fortin asked in confusion. "And they beat him like that?" It was little wonder, really, that they had captured so many Englishmen if they were so busy fighting amongst themselves. Certainly there were arguments among their troops as well, but this seemed a bit extreme.

He blinked at their English interchange, tilting his head slightly to the side. Fortin did not speak a word of the language, and was a bit impatient to get back before the sergeant got angry with both of them.

"Well?" He said. "What is he saying?"

Pye gazed at Fortin impatiently. Why did the French not know English? He only knew to say merci and merde, neither of which helped him in the given situation. He noticed there was a question there somewhere in what Fortin had said. What the question was about however, he did not know. Then there was a statement, and two more questions neither of which he could do anything about, but guess.

"...Something bad? Not good. Not..... uh.. non good? Trouble?" Ok, No was similar in many languages. But what about wrong? Right? Bad? "Ah.. Problems?.. oui, Problems for you?" He pointed at the man in question, who was called to to go see the sergeant.

"He asks—" Le Bras began to explain, but was interrupted by the boy. It took him a moment to linguistically switch gears and even then whatever the boy was trying to say sounded like nothing more than a jumble of words. Le Bras frowned in confusion. "Taissez-vous." The command was firm, but not unkind. "There. That is your lesson next. It means 'be silent'."

Switching back to French, he returned to Fortin's question. "He asked if he could come with us to the sergeant. He wants to desert, to join us. I told him it is better for him to go back with the prisoners for the time being."

"Now," he began, turning back to the boy and speaking in English, "What is it that you tried to ask?"

Pye nodded quickly and anything more that he intended to say remained unsaid. He observed the two men, wondering what the other was saying. He had yet again understood the word of sergeant. He thought that perhaps he could make out another word or two, but then he was unsure whether it only sounded similar, or whether it was.

He blinked when addressed again and glanced briefly at Fortin. Did the man want to say something or did he have permission to speak. He bit his lip, resembling a pup, confused at the conflicting orders. Finally making a decision he spoke - though what he had earlier meant, he was no longer sure about. "Um....is something wrong?.." He paused. What did that question related to again? Ah. Maybe he remembered just now.

"..You look grave, when thinking of going to the sergeant. Is he like..." But they would not know Hakeswill. "Is he a formidable man? Or has...has something happened that would be um... t' couse o' worry?"

Fortin tilted his head as he watched the Rifleman try to make himself clear.

"He does ramble on, doesn't he?" he said, a little amused in spite of himself. He scratched slightly at his head, thinking. "You said he wants to desert?"

That was something he had little experience with, but it did bring up an interesting question: "Will there be an issue if we put him back with the others?"

Le Bras shrugged. "I do not think that anything is wrong." He tried to think back; he was fairly certain he hadn't managed to do anything exceptionally stupid, but then, that was the problem wasn't it? His bad ideas never struck him as that at the time. "If it is, it is not for you."

"Yes, he--" he began to answer Fortin's first question, but was brought up short by the second. "Uh...." That possibility had not crossed his mind. "I don't know. He seemed to be on good terms with them when we left, but..."

He turned back to the young rifleman. "The other grasshoppers. They know you want to desert? They will hurt you?"

Pye shook his head. "They do not know. I have not told them." He wondered why he needed to consult on such matters with the people he was leaving. That is, in the case he would have been leaving them, why would he be telling them the intentions that he had?

After that thought, which seemed to have left him quiet for a few moments he held his hand with the broken fingers up, as ways of explanation what else could possibly happen even so. "Worse.. probably." He finished more quietly.

Whether he understood the words or not, the gesture Pye made was fairly self-explanatory, and Fortin frowned. The other man was English and a prisoner, but an injured man against the rest of the prisoners seemed unfair. It could also cause a problem for all of them if it got out of hand.

"Perhaps he comes with us, and I guard him while you talk to the sergeant?" he suggested awkwardly.

Le Bras considered this for a moment, then shrugged. "Can't hurt, I s'pose. Can't hurt to keep the sergeant waiting less time, neither."

"So. We change the plan," he explained to the boy, "You will come with us to find the sergeant."

"A'right." Pye nodded, a small smile blossoming on his face. He would have no trouble keeping up with the rest. "Lets go then." He said hastly, as if understanding that their conversation had halted them all for too long and a sergeant might be upset, should he meet them now.

He waited for the first of the French to move, to indicate direction, and for the second, which would quite possibly be his guard as well. He did not intend to run, but they most probably did not know that.

"All decided?" Fortin asked. He nodded decisively to himself and did not wait for an answer. As it was, they had wasted more time than they really ought to.

"This way," he said, gesturing and moving back the way he had come.

Pye waited a moment and then came easily into step with Fortin. He was glad his chick had not been brought up, since she had decided to make herself known. Briefly. The further she was from the mind, the better.

He glanced at Fortin, and appeared to relax. A prisoner, perhaps, but one who walked as though he was not. "Can I learn more French?" He asked. "I .. would need t' know it.. any'ow."

Fortin cocked his head at Pye, wondering just was he was still rambling on about. He made out the word "French", and looked over at Le Bras.

"He is asking to learn French?" he asked. That his companion spoke English was mystifying to Fortin. He'd never really seen cause to learn, himself. But, it certainly would have helped now to know more than the very little he had picked up.

Then, looking back to Pye. "Français," he said slowly, trying his best to enunciate clearly. Your word - French. It is français."

"What's this?" asked Langlade as he came strolling up. "Teaching a rosbif to speak proper?"

"Aye. Thinkin' of changin' his coat, this one," replied Le Bras.

Langlade stared hard at the greenjacket for a moment, and then shrugged. "Then best get started in teachin' him the basics, eh? Va te faire f-----," he said, slowly and loudly for the young lad to hear. "It's like 'bon jour.' Va te faire f----. Get him to tell that to the sergeant."

Pye had first repeated the word for French, and was convinced that perhaps the man did understand what he had wanted even if he did not understand english. Then another French soldier joined them and he seemed to have been told what his want of learning was. He arched a brow though. There was something suspicious about this eagerness. Sure, he did not know what "Va te faire f----' meant, but... was it really the same as bon jour?

He repeated it no less, a couple of times to get the pronountiation right. He then glanced at Langlade, towards Le Bras and spoke quietly. "Wot' 'zactly does it mean?"