June 6th French encampment (Just before the escape) Francois/Pye

Just a little further. There. "I thought that as you are French.. you do fight for just that. That you could marry equal, or.. am I misunderstandin' t' words that'd been said 'bout t' French an' their goals? Goes sum'thing like that don't they, egalite frat...fraternity, and...the last one. Is egalite not..equalty?"

He had slowed down for after this he would be asking for the rifles to be set down. A few more steps were taken. The bush here was quite vigorously grown. A few more and he was satisfied with the spot, and there he stopped.

"Our constitution does speak of equality and our laws too but that does not make it happen in every way, I mean we have nobles again, only this time men who have earned it fighting for our Emperor. But there will always be different classes of people. This is true of France, your England, and even the Americans," Francois gave his take on it all.

Suddenly Pye had stopped...in the middle of nowhere? Francois frowned.

"What? You lost?" now that he looked about where exactly were the tents and campfires?

"No. I'um tired. Let's rest here." The boy murmured, holding his injured hand as if an explanation for it. "Place that there, eh?" His own rifles were already lowered to the ground. "I think I remember t' sergeant bein' round there." He indicated with his hand the direction. "We shouldn't be far." A good lie. He closed the distance between them, but made it look as if it was a harmless thing. He did not trust this lad. He could not let him just go back, for fear he might get suspicious on the way there and then sound the alarm or stumble across a sergeant who'd tell him better.

"Here?" Francois frowned but when the other soldier held up his injured hand, he decided not to argue the point. He then lowered the rifles down to the ground, "It's a wonder the sergeant did not accompany you."

As he placed the rifles he was not looking in Pye's direction for the moment.

Very true. "Well..I guess he had more important things ter do." If Seviére had been anywhere else, he would have given him a moment of warning. Instead he needed stealth. Stealth he could not accomplish by waiting for him to turn.

Pye brought up one of the rifles, its butt forward, and with it swung at the back of the boy's head. He was ready to spring forward to cover his mouth should his first swing not accomplish its goal.

Maybe he just felt something wrong or maybe it was blind luck but Francois jerked just as Pye tried to give him a fast knock on the head. Instead the rifle butt thudded off his upper back shoulder, painful but not the sort of blow which would cause unconsciousness and certainly not death.

The young Frenchman went down to the ground but as much as to avoid the blow, a bit late, as because of any injury. Even as he turned upward to face his sudden attacker, Pye was on him.

"I'm sorry. But I mus' do this." Pye muttered under his breath, trying to secure the lad. He did not mean to kill him, but keep him quiet, certainly. His canteen slipped of his shoulder and was in one smooth jerk over the lad's head. He pulled Francois' chin up from behind and then twisted the strap around his neck, sharply. Then he adjusted his grip, His injured hand having a shove of the boy's face into the grass and mudd, his other hand twisting the strap cruely so that the lad would know nothing but to choke. He straddled him, pinning him to the floor.

Francois had never been attacked in his life and the suddenness stunned him. Before he knew what was going on, Pye had the complete advantage of him. Francois felt his head pulled upward and then something slipped over his face then tightened right under his chin, sliding a bit lower onto his throat. He wanted to cry out for help or even for Pye not to do this but his face was then pushed hard into the grass. There was the heavy weight of the other soldier's body straddled upon him then but that wasn't the worst part.

As Pye twisted and tugged on the canteen strap, Francois suddenly could not breathe! In a panic he thrashed about with both his legs and his arms, trying to awkwardly bring his hands back to somehow get at his attacker. No luck there, he could not contort himself to do any such thing, pinned as he was by Pye above him. The only thing that came to him in his desperation was to then bring his hands down to try and fit fingers under the cord biting into his throat.

This couldn't be happening! He did not want to die! Yet all he could get out were gasps.

Pye had to keep the strap tight around the boy's throat, for fear that he would shout the moment he was given a chance. He cursed the fact that his hand was aching and he could not curl his fingers enough that he could knock the boy's head right against the floor frequently enough to knock him out cold. Instead he had to count on having him unconscious by lack of air. He had to balance himself well, and shift his weight not to be thrown off.

"Come on,stop strugglin'!" He hissed in harsh whisper pressing down harder on the boy.

His tormenter was hissing something but in his panic Francois did not comprehend, he only knew he was beginning to lose consciousness and when that happened, well, the end would come soon after. He tried one last thing, trying to push upward and throw the murderous Englishman off of him. It was useless and the effort only used up his little air left. He sagged into the dirt, sprawled out flat then and his legs stopped churning and his arms went limp. Then....blackness.

The boy had stopped struggling. Pye paused, waited a moment longer but then released him as quickly as he had earlier struck at him. He slipped the strap over his head and covered his mouth, worried that the other might pretend.

"Fransua.. Severe?" He whispered. Nothing.

He nudged him in the side with enough force that, if he were awake, he would have yelped in pain, this still muffled under his hand. He was still breathing. Good.

(with the pm permission, saying that he won't be posted untill awake again , I think I just needed to add this bit, so we keep the boy safe from stray Portuguese .)

After he had made sure that the boy was no longer a threat, he stood up from him , glancing around. He carried the rifles, two times to have them all in place, and covered them with thorny dry branches, leaves to conceal them, but avoided chugging too much dirt on them for obvious reasons. Once the rifles were taken out of view, his attention was on the lad. With some effort he pulled him from where he had fallen, to a more secluded area, behind the boulder. He could readjust his position once he passed here with the other prisoners. For now he would gag the boy, be sure he did not choke himself to death in his sleep,and bind him with what he had at disposal.

Once done and the boy concealed for the most part, the rifleman slunk back into the dark, leaving not much to betray there had been a struggle there.