7th June, morning; Breakfast guests

His middle-of-the-night rousing by the prowling kittens had been followed by a surprisingly decent slumber. It had helped, of course, that the kittens settled themselves down all around the wagon. Their muted, sleepy purring had been a pleasant lullaby. The little one that had been batting at his face remained curled up on his chest for the remainder of the night, tucked nearly against his chin. It was like having a tiny hot water bottle on his chest.

Now, Jérémie was carefully fastening the last strap on his pack before slipping it carefully onto his back. It was not quite dawn but he felt it important to rouse early and find the others. The women, in particular. They were most likely to be able to help him with the problem he'd realised he was facing.

A few other early risers were rekindling the various fires around the camp, but Jérémie ignored them. He remembered where the stew had been served last night and headed there without hesitation. Hopefully someone here would be awake.

"Hello?" He called the greeting in a low voice, not sure suddenly if he was about to do the right thing. As if now was a good time to have doubts!

Mathilde, her eyes still puffy from sleep, rounded the corner of the wagon and nearly walked straight into the fellow who was standing there. "Oh!" she squeaked, skittering backwards. But it was only Rosy Blanchard and he was not nearly so frightening as some of the other men. She offered a shy, sleepy smile, "Good morning."

The initial reaction to his presence made him grin. It was perhaps an understandable thing, given his abrupt appearance and the lack of decent daylight.

"Good morning," Jérémie answered. "Are you the only one awake?"

He slipped his pack off with particular gentleness and had to conceal a smile when the pack gave a very soft mew as he set it down onto the ground.

Mathilde nodded. "Do you need me to wake Maman?" she asked, then her eyes went wide and she stared from the pack, to Jérémie and back again. "W-what's in it?"

He considered that for only a second before shaking his head. If she was not yet awake, he was not about to disturb her sleep. Instead, he knelt and began unfastening the straps he'd secured so carefully earlier.

"I had visitors last night," was Jérémie's response. "But I can't have them hanging about with me. Unfortunately."

He had the pack's flap open now and reached down into the cluttered mess inside the pack with his right hand. One of the kittens inside the pack swiped at him with its tiny claws and he winced. Getting his hand underneath one of these little creatures was not as easy as he'd hoped.

"Is there any stew left?"

Mathilde gasped softly at the writhing, furry contents of the pack, and looked up at Jérémie in delighted surprise.

"Yes. A little. How much do you need?"

His thought had been an accurate one. This was good. Jérémie grinned and gently lifted one of the kittens out of the pack. "Just enough to feed these little terrors."

He held the kitten out with one hand and closed the flap of his pack with the other, so the rest of the small felines could not escape.

"Oh! He's lovely," she said in a hushed voice, reaching out and tentatively stroking the tiny head.

"Here, you should come sit down by the fire. I will get the stew."

"Thank you." He lifted the pack and relocated to the fireside, able at last to see at least one of the little creatures with whom he'd shared that wagon. Once he was comfortably settled on the ground, he opened his pack again to lift out another purring kitten.

Pausing just long enough to stir the coals to life and pile on several pieces of wood, Mathilde scurried off. She could scarcely credit that Rosy Blanchard should want her help with anything, but she couldn't keep from smiling to herself as she ladled the stew into a small pot. She scooped up a dish as well and a clean mug, and whisked them back to the fire.

Setting down her burden, she poked the logs into an agreeable position and settled the pot on top of them.

"It won't be a moment," she assured him. The fat had already begun to form a thick, yellow crust on top of the stew and she wanted to melt it back in. Fat was good for babies, wasn't it?

"Do you think I could hold one?" she asked hesitantly.

The first kitten he'd lifted out of the pack was already trying to escape from his hand and explore its new surroundings. The second seemed more content to curl up in his lap and stare around at the firelight with wide-eyed interest.

"Certainly," said Jérémie, managing with a little difficulty to cup both palms underneath the squirming kitten so he could hold the little creature out to her.

Mathilde tucked the creature against her, stroking its head with the greatest of care. The kitten, however, had other ideas and she giggled as it squirmed loose and began to climb up her dress, its tiny claws pricking through the fabric.

She grinned at Jeremie. "This one is going to be trouble, I think. Ah, where are you going, p'tit?" This last was addressed to the kitten which, having reached the summit of her shoulder, was poised to go clambering down her back. Peeling it free, she settled the little beast in her lap, pinning it gently with one hand and stirring the soup with the other.

"Seems like it," he agreed, watching the kitten's attempt to explore with plain amusement. That kitten's apparent adventuresome nature was a complete opposite to that of the kitten still settled in Jérémie's lap. Though, he noted, his kitten was now watching Mathilde's hand as she stirred the stew.

"At least yours cannot be lost in the dark," he added lightly, with a grin.

Mathilde laughed, pausing in her stirring to scratch the kitten under its white chin, and was rewarded with a tiny, grudging rattle of a purr. The stew was looking edible once more and after regarding the kittens reflectively for a moment, she reached into the pot, picked out a piece of meat with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. She chewed several times before removing it and holding the now ground meat under the nose of the white kitten who, after giving it a disdainful sniff, began to eat greedily.

"Maman used to do it for Gilles and Philippe when they were very small," she offered by way of an explanation.

He watched the light-furred kitten chew determinedly on the piece of meat and grinned. It hadn't taken much to guess the little creatures might be hungry. At least they were able to eat meat at all.

"That's sensible," Jérémie said, then chuckled when the darker kitten in his lap finally stirred, having had its interest aroused by the smell of the stew. It sniffed intently at the air before starting to clamber over the side of Jérémie's knee to get at whatever its sibling was gnawing at.

The other kittens in his pack were making good their escapes from the pack's confines, drawn by instinct toward the centre of attention.

A squealing announced the arrival of Foucheaux with a noisy black and white creature in his hand, held as if it were the handle of a bucket. He appeared to be deaf to its noise. "Look, Ti-Mathi, think this'll work for a stew? Oh." She already had a flock of the creatures.

"Marcel!" Mathilde cried in horrified reproof. She was staring at him as though she half expected him to devour the kitten in front of her. The small creature shrieked piteously and she turned pleading to Jérémie. Surely Rosy wouldn't let Foucheaux eat the kitten. Would he?

"What? It's almost like rabbit!" he said defensively. "Probably tastes the same!"

"Give it to me," Jérémie said, his expression hard to read. Where had Foucheaux found that kitten? Had one of the little creatures escaped from the wagon somehow? Not that it mattered. None of them would be put into any stew pot.

He held out a hand for the distressed kitten in Foucheaux's grip.

Foucheaux handed it over with a shrug. "Found it when I was takin' my morning piss. It was squeakin' away in the bushes, just like that. Yew yew yew! Where'd you find yours?"

He drew the small kitten toward him in cupped palms, relieved to have gotten possession of it without a fight. The poor thing. It shivered and curled up in his hands, its mewls of unhappiness subsiding. Had it been in 'the bushes' all night?

"In a wagon. Last night." After a moment, he offered the newly-rescued kitten to Mathilde, despite her already having one of the felines in her own hands.

"Thank you," Mathilde murmured, taking the kitten from Jérémie with a look of grateful relief and just a tiny bit of awe. Setting the other kitten down with its brothers, she held the new arrival close against her, kissing the top of its head and speaking softly to it as she spooned some of the stew into the dish on the ground.

There was still some left in the pot and she carefully scooped this into the tin mug which she had brought out. She suddenly felt rather shy and blushed as she held the cup out to Jérémie.

"Reckon that one musta escaped then. Aww, no, you ain't feedin' them our stew? Waste of good stew, that is! That's my good hor-- hair stew," he said, hastily correcting himself. "Stew that makes your hair grow good." Damn, he should have said something sensible like goat.

The kitten seemed to forget its recent ordeal now that there was the dish of stew to investigate. Jérémie grinned. That had to be a good sign.

"You could use some hair," he commented, accepting the offered cup from Mathilde with a nod. "Thank you."

Then he reached quickly over to save the black kitten from exploring too close to the fire. These were curious beasts, certainly!

"Me?"