Once upon a time, June 7th

It was time to take her things in one place, pack them and finally to carry them away, for last time she was told their were in the way. People were patroling, and suddenly everybody felt desperated need to march through her place, so she pick up her stuff and move again. In the camp she was dragging her belonging among some tent, mayhap a few soldier were waching her. Then she placed her bag on the floor, but she had the feeling someone was watching her. Who could that be?

Rousseau paced bath and forth, looking quite annoyed. Not two days ago a small portion of their prisoners had escaped, which left the officers in sour mood. This feeling seemed in part to be spreading among the men which had brought him to the Wagon where the sick were. It was not that he was feeling ill, nor did he want to tempt fate with the surgeon who had thrown him out before. He just came in hopes of some peace and quiet. A sensible man would not have thought that such could be found among the wounded, who would moan in pain at times, but he did not feel like being sensible even then.

The woman was there too. A French one by the looks of it, obvious perhaps also as she was not accompanied by guards, nor looked as if she ought to have been detained as prisoner. He shook his head and cursed. The hell with the escaped prisoners. They would find them again!

Inside of the wagon the man occupying the cot was not perhaps sound asleep, but as best he could be with his injuries still causing him pain.

Her effort to drag her bag seemed to be more demanding than she thought, she cursed the weight of her bag, for it was as if it contained half of the Royal French treasury and some gems from the Near East. That was just an awful trouble, she stopped to fix her hat by taking it off letting her lion like mane (hair) fell freely around her face.

Then her attention strayed away in a moment and found a chariot like thing... with wheels and everything. But in her vocabulary the word 'wagon' just wasn't a protagonist to be used. Out of curiosity she decided to pay a quick glance inside, there was a gent, well not exactly in a comfortable condition, but still in position to be interrogated enough and not being able to run away. So her lips cured up into a grin, but not a shiny one, avoinding to scare him, she ven ventured closer to Mr. Hilaire.

"Ah ...how are you? I hope I'm not disturbing."

A sound disturbed his troubled sleep. It was a female voice that stirred him into a state, more awake than not, and for a moment he looked eager to pretend she had not achieved this for the sake of more rest. He had nearly been able to do so, but for the sudden decision of one of his bandaged wounds to announce itself more loudly than others and he grit his teeth and humphed.

With a grunt he made himself shift on his cot to blink at the light that spilled in and brought with it, also the inquiring newcomer. "..Who are you?" He asked, registering only later - again - that this was not another soldier, nor Paol that had visited him before.

"What is it that you want?" The soldier said after another moment of thought.

It was easy to tell that he was bonded to that cot, the first look of him gave a sad impression, though she could make up her mind what she felt in her chest. In his voice there was a heavy burden feed by pain and in his eyes...

"I am called Angeline Blanchefleur, but guess you don't know me. I was just checking if everything was okey here."

Well, it wasn't far from the truth, but she felt a little inappropriate. As she got closer her wound looked even more serious.

"Geez, that doesn't look so pretty. What happened?"

His one good eye focused on her momentarily before he decided to follow her gaze and see what she was observing with evident surprise." You will not see a man not wounded..coming into a surgeon's wagon, miss Blanchefleur."

He pulled himself up, if slowly, wincing as the burnt skin at his back was pulled with the motion and he had to settle for a different, more subdued position instead. "War has happened. It is not a sight for a woman, miss. Perhaps outside you will find the likes, more pleasing to the eye." Though those who had followed the army were different than those never tasting a life on the march.

With some difficulty the answer came, though she more interested what caused his injuries. There were very many, mayhap it was better not to know the details. Then he tried to sit up.

"Don't force yourself! I came closer so you can see me. Better?"

Then he went on talking and she shook her head, for he refered that she should look people outside.

"I witnessed some execution long ago, that wasn't pleasing to the eye either. I have some ideas what the war like and its violence, but if I am to leave then who would be here with you?"

"I would be alone." He answered, though he had not expected that she might have wanted an answer to the question she presented. He closed his eye, then tilted his head so that the side that was seeing could watch her, and the other was less obvious, not as visible with the tilt.

"I have been so before." He was startled about the new arrival, for he had not expected her to come. Had she been sent by someone or came in because she was curious at what a wagon such as this, could conceal? Was she here to sell her wares, clothes, services of all kinds, including sewing? He studied her in silence for a while. "...What is it that you are here for? Have you been sent?"

That better look wasn't pretty as she expected, though these were different from other's wounds. He had to went through something else.

"That's not a good think as you know. Do you prefer silence and loneliness, because you might give others a chance to keep you accompany or rather because they would remind you what a hero you are?"

Sure he suffered something awful, but hiding just didn't seemed right. then she pondered about the next question.

"Answers, mainly. You see it wasn't long ago when I arrived, and it's nothing like I pictured it to be before, believe me. So what happened to you, beside the war and pain? Everyone has a story, would you share yours with me?"

"I am no hero ma'am. Just one of the many wounded and as of the moment quite useless to the army." He feared he might remain so but did not let be said.

"Mine is not the story for a lady's ear. You would be better to converse with the officers at dinner as they are both the finer company, as good at..." but he did not know how to finish and so became quiet again. "I apologise miss, but your dreams and thoughts might already be scarred enough by our wars. It would be selfish of me to add to that."

Slightly shaking her head, and with the motion her hear - like a lion's 'mane' waved over her shoulders. Slowly looking through him she listened patiently.

"No, you are not, if you don't find heroism in your deeds. But what is the hero, then? Your actions weren't useless there, you did what you could and no one could expect more from you. You still look away better than any of the dead, I can tell that much. So who is the hero then, you who survived a battle or those who could not?"

For a moment she looked toward outside as if she was pondering of leaving as he said, but then her eyes returned to him.

"You know, those are not better campany who don't willing to listen. The officers have other things to do, and until dinner we have plenty of time, don't we? And I don't think it selfish if you answer for an asking and just don't worry about my dreams, for I will see and hear worse since I'm going to be around for awhile. So tell me..."

"Who are you madame, please first tell me this. For you do not appear to be as one of the followers. Not at least in your mannerisms, nor your talk. Why do you wish to... Speak to a mere soldier? Please do enlighten me first and then i will try.. To my very best to answer where and when i can.. But please respect that sometimes the memory itself is a pain one ..may not be yet ready to bear." He studied her for a few long moments with his one good eye and then averted his gaze. She was a sort of lass that was rather kind to the eye what looks were concerned, judging her appearance she must not have been of lowest class and he wondered whom she accompanied now with the regiment.

First, there was a moment pause, she almost chortled a little for that sudden change that Saint-Hilaire did, but he was right. She didn't know how to act like the common folk nor a reason why she should do that.

"Well, I'm more like an 'officer follower', which recently applies to me. But you can also recognise me as Baroness of Bourges, wife of Colonel and Chief of French cavalry, mother of two and a journalist, named Sagittarius." She titled her head aside. "I hope, I didn't leave anything out? Nope, so we are good to go now."

Smilie.

"Back to the subject. I talk to a 'mere soldier', nearly because usually I had no much of a chance to do that, and now all of the sudden I have nothing else to do than to familiarise myself with the situation here. And getting to know the real war, I guess, is way more important than reading some fancy poem about it in the news, don't you think?"

"Perhaps." He studied the woman guardedly. She was an officer's wife and though this might not have worried him as much as it might have a common soldier his true rank still advised caution. A woman in company of a man, alone, and not one she was married to could raise suspition.

The wrong kind but jealous men were far from reason. "A journalist, madame? Does this mean that you might write about the life of a soldier once you have come about our camp?" He asked that without accusation.

"I urge you to remain safe from contact with the Portuguese... Seeing real war is...this is more than just war, and straying into danger for it might have you suffer a worse end than you may be able to imagine."

Seeing him studing her Angy returned the curious gaze making an eye contact for a second or two, then her look traveled lower to his wounds. The answer, though came in a slow and hardish way for her stituation on this matter wasn't easy too.

"We had better days. I make notes, of course, but in war time not everything can be published and that understandable. Certain things would be just oil on the fire of doubt and pessimism."

Big breath she took. "Though, an encouraging battle poem always welcomed on the pages, you know?"

Then she received a warning with surprise.

"Thanks for your concerned, but what gave you the idea of me going to fight Portuguese? I'm staying in the camp."

"I do not mean, that you would fight. I do not expect that an officer would allow her woman to have herself presented to danger yet.." He closed his eye and then continued. "...women can stray from camp, lead by their inquiring nature." Which was how he thought to describe this woman. Should he wanted to see, first hand, rather than hear.

"Encouragement is needed in hard times, yes." He smiled at that. "Ours is a good kind.. but the English encourage their men by beating them. Did you know that?"

Etienne's observation was found by amused eyes as he described the nature that he seen in her, which wasn't exactly what she usually saw in the mirror.

"Interesting, but I doubt that any one of us would wonder around in a middle of no where. Is that the young lads' habit to enter into obvious danger, trying to prove something or do some heroics?"

A little surprised, Angy was, but after pondering of what he said...

"Not just that, but also that the army has shoot those who do not obey orders. All the armies. So what a oldier to do? In the end, mayhap being beaten is not that bad."

"Who are we to judge the enemy when there's so much hater clouding the mind and poisoning the heart?"

"Madame, we do not enter dangerous grounds for the thrill of doing so. It is our duty." Foraging too had been the duty of men unwilling to have themselves and their fellow soldiers starve. Feeding of the land could prove easier than having it supplied from the back in great quantities, but it could also prove very dangerous. The food might be more fresh and yet not certain.

He shook his head slowly to clear his mind of these thoughts as they benefited noone and were straying away from their topic of conversation anyway.

"Beaten soldiers serve with little motivation, madame. When beaten their response is hindered by their wounds. Men can be checked in other ways rather than having their backs open to rot." He averted his gaze from her and breathed in slowly, wishing his own pain would ease.

"Whose mind do you speak of?.."