6th June, evening; Strange bedfellows

Since leaving the others and their stew, Jérémie had wandered a bit in search of a suitable place to sleep. There didn't seem to be any patch of ground that was not near enough to another person to allow him to avoid company. Eventually, however, he discovered an unclaimed wagon - and not before time, either. A light, steady, drizzle of rain had begun falling during his search and it was with particular relief that he crawled into the wagon with his musket and pack.

Any other night, he would have settled for sleeping underneath the wagon, but like as not he'd wake up to find the vehicle gone and himself well-dampened from rain. Best then to sleep in the wagon itself and not lose the shelter it provided. He unrolled his blanket and prodded his pack into something like a comfortable lump, then stretched himself out on the wagon's hard wooden bed. A good bit different from sleeping on the ground, this, he thought, but it was near enough to a luxury for him not to mind.

It was impossible to tell how long he had been asleep before a strange scratching sound and the feeling of something batting against his face roused him to wakefulness. Jérémie swatted blindly whatever was hovering around his head, thinking it was some sort of night insect, but then there was a sharp flash of pain in his hand. That brought him almost properly awake. It was too dark to see and he had no lantern, but there was no mistaking that there was something else in the wagon with him.

When he sat up, however, he realised there had been something on his chest, which tumbled down into his lap with a mewl of surprise. What in the name of Christ...? He reached out cautiously with his right hand and sputtered a quiet chuckle at his own stupidity when his fingers brushed against soft fur. It was only a cat. Or a kitten, to be precise, for the creature under his hand was still small.

"Well hello," Jérémie said in a low voice, carefully tucking his hand underneath the little creature. It purred more loudly than he thought such a small thing was capable of managing, and in response to his half-blind petting of its back, bopped its head against his hand. He found himself grinning. This was a surprise, sure.

And there were more of them in the wagon, it seemed. His stirring had brought others out from wherever they'd been hiding. He was now surrounded by small purring fuzzballs.

"Sorry," he muttered to them. "But you might've put a sign out, to say this was your wagon."