June 5th - Water in daylight, see in the dark later

"I don't." He said through his teeth. "But if I end up bein' responsible for you, t' least I should know is whether he'll drop dead, can walk, or'll need ter be ridin' passenger." He snapped. "Or do you want him strained beyond his capabilities?.. dead couse you couldn't speak up?" His eyes narrowed on the rifleman, and it was he this time, who ignored the young Frenchman.

"He ain't no better. Though much you bloody care," Cotton said through gritted teeth. He reached for the last canteen, wishing he could wrap the strap round Pye's neck.

"He ain't no worse?" Pye arched a brow and was smart enough to take a step back. No need to offer the opportunity, a temptation that Cotton would be hard to resist. He pulled his injured hand behind his back where he considered it safer.

One more canteen to go. Then they could finally return and he would see whether he was needed again or whether he could walk about the camp. Keeping out of the way of the prisoners would not be such a bad idea. Especially riflemen.

Cotton rolled his eyes. "That's what I said. Now why don't you bugger and off an' do summat useful, like go an' jump in the river an' drown yourself?" Afore I do it for you he added, mentally. He knew the boy wasn't stupid, so why the hell was he persisting in trying to talk with Cotton when Cotton had already made it perfectly clear he didn't want to talk?

Pye appeared satisfied with the amount of information that he had gotten from Cotton. With a less than friendly smile he gave Cotton a mock bow. "As you please, your..." He did not finish the thought. "Done?" He asked instead.

Cotton scowled and ignored Pye. He would be done when he said so, and not before, no matter what Pye's opinion on the matter was. The younger man was not going to get another word out of Cotton if he could help it.

"What's all this?" A mildly sneering voice enquired. "Fraternising with the enemy, Soldat? Tsk. That's not on, you know."

Pye raised his gaze. If this was addressed to him, which it might as well have been: "Not me, si..." He said without even checking, who it was that spoke.

Francois let the prisoner take his canteen then watched as he filled it up in the bubbling stream. He could feel the tension between the English, not that long ago they had been comrades as fellow prisoners and now one was wearing a French uniform.

When Cotton presented the now full canteen back to him, Francois made a point of saying, "Merci...I mean thank you."

As he tightened the canteen cap and replaced it back where it belonged, he listened to their exchange.

Just then another Frenchman moved up, ""What's all this?" A mildly sneering voice enquired. "Fraternising with the enemy, Soldat? Tsk. That's not on, you know."

Francois glanced to Pye, "Go back to your current unit. You had your chance to stay with the prisoners but decided not to. You claim to be one of us now."

There was obvious sarcasm in his tone.

If anybody appeared to be fraternising with the enemy, it was this boy. Kind and considerate towards the rifleman beyond the need to be. To the point that he thanked him and made a point for it to be heard and seen.

"And you claim to have been so far.." He muttered simply. "Yet act more kind ter them than t' us." In that he did mean himself among other things. "One would wonder..." He voice his thoughts aloud.

Bright settled his gaze on the ex-greenjacket and curled his lip. "He does seem to prefer his former comrades, don't he?" He shook his head. "Changin' sides ain't whatcha reckoned it'd be, eh? But I coulda told you'at."

It seemed their new 'Frenchman', Pye, took offense to his simple manners with prisoner Cotton, but Francois no longer saw much value in the young traitors opinions.

"I am a good comrade to my fellow French soldiers. I simply believe in treating an honorable (he stressed the word) enemy with chivalry. You are no longer an honorable enemy are you?" Francois retorted looking at Pye.

"And you are hardly French, are you?" he said it quite impassively.

Bright was much the same and Francois had no desire to get into it with that man. Let them hang around with each other, for they will surely hang together if the English ever catch them.

"How's anythin' I did showin' any preference ter them?" In all honesty, he had refilled his own canteen and harried Cotton into hurrying up. It was the French boy, who eagerly showed his kindness towards the man. True he had talked with the English but that was not forbidden, changing sides or not.

He arched a brow at how preechy the French boy became since he had appeared to change his master. "I've seen you don' have only French serving, do you." The lad retorted back. "Didn't know you treated them any worse." And they too had been traitors, or some simply the army of the conquered.

"Don't see what problem you have with me." He added calmly, for he was certain of one thing. Seviére had a beef with him. True enough it did not matter to him, but it did not hurt to point it out either.

Bright shrugged. "I ain't no Frog born, no. But I come over fer better reasons than this infant here, I'll reckon."

Pye glanced at Bright, looking quite unconvinced. "..Oh?... and what may that be?" He bit his tongue not to give a second remark on himself not being a mere infant, though he felt a slight at being called so.

It amused Bright that the ex-greenjacket was sceptical. As well he might profess to be.

"Seems a bit odd t'me, you comin' 'cross is all," he said, glancing at Sevière as he spoke. "When you was all mouth an' fire 'bout bein' caught up not three days gone."

"Well, so if I was." He had not been thinking straight then, had he? "Might've just disliked your face there, then." Which made not enough sense spoken, as it did in his mind.

"Don't make my reasons any less, jus' couse." He spoke, annoyed.

Cotton really couldn't dawdle any longer; the last canteen had been filled a while ago already. Feeling that he had made his point, he corked it and slung it over his shoulder by its strap before bending to collect the others. They weighed, of course - even an empty canteen was a dead weight, being made of oak - but the ex-farmhand could cope with the added weight and turned to head back up the bank to dry ground, trying to ignore the squelching of his shoes.

Pye arched a brow at how preechy the French boy became since he had appeared to change his master. "I've seen you don' have only French serving, do you." The lad retorted back. "Didn't know you treated them any worse."

"We have Poles and Germans of various states on our side," Francois shrugged, to him they were quite a different kettle of fish. He had liked Pye but it was hard to stomach a traitor. Bright was different, he hadn't liked that man from first sight. But Pye's rollover bothered him.

"Don't see what problem you have with me." Pye added calmly.

"I do not have a problem with you.....comrade," Francois lied easily enough then noticed Cotton was finally finished and heading back.

"Come on, let's all go back to camp now," the young voltigeur suggested.

Pye took a final glance at Bright. He shook his head then, and looked at Cotton who was finally coming up onto dry land. He heard his shoes squeak and squelch rather amusingly.

"...Yeah...lets." He said after a few moments. "Time ter water t' prisoners." Which sounded like watering cows, or goats, or any sort of animal one owned. "Comrade..." He spoke, with a similar tone to Francois: "...I'll hope then..not t' hear that tone 'gain from ye." And to Cotton he added. "..lively now. Don't want to leave you friends thirsty. Don't drink it all though... ain't every day you'll get t' fill 'em."

Cotton hefted the last canteen by its strap, wondering how much damage it would do if he were to swing it at Pye. It probably wouldn't be worth it, of course. But if the little bastard didn't stop gloating soon, he would, and damn the consequences.

"You watch I don't break your other hand," he growled threateningly, remembering the damage Pye had sustained to his right hand.

Pye visibly flinched at that. He might have been great at acting earlier, but the small threat did remind him how easily it could be done. And worse so, it had come from one from his side and not the enemy, the French.

"You attempt that, and you'll be spendin' t' rest of your miserable march t' France in worse state n' Newbury's now..." He snapped back. Showing anger in that was not hard. He pulled his injured hand close to his chest, its pain a constant reminder of the injury.

"Be worth it, makin' sure you can't kill no decent Englishman," Cotton growled, settling the canteens more comfortably. He spat. "Don't even know why I'm talkin' with a traitor, neither. I bloody trusted you! More fool me."

"Well sometimes things ain't as they seem, ain't it so?" This could be true in several ways, though Pye knew that Cotton would not pick the right one. Perhaps it was better that way, for now. If he acted too calm, because of the knowledge he'd have had, the whole plan might not come to its proper conclusion.

He was glad he had not left his chick with the man. Although he could not imagine Gabriel to be as cruel as to harm the innocent animal because of its master, he could just let it wander until it found a man who could.

"'t be smarter if'n you didn't try anythin' stupid." He had not flinched when being called a traitor, which perhaps he ought to have done.

This was too good not to watch but they didn't have time for this sort of dust-up.

" 'Fraid that's part of a lad s'posedly seein' the light," Bright remarked lazily, shrugging at the irate greenjacket and ignoring the man's former comrade. "Shift 'long now. I'd hate fer the two'a you to get left alone t'all."