22nd July, evening; Up Spirits

Foucheaux grinned as he received his share of the ashen cake. He began digging around in his own pack. "Got a bit o' cheese in here somewhere. Back home, they make the cheese with ash. It'll taste just right. Here you go." He offered the crumbling wad to Kerjean. "Now all we need is a woman. One each, that is."

Paol coloured faintly, but smiled. "They make them with ash too?" he asked, crumbling off a piece of the cheese and passing some to Blanchard.

Foucheaux nearly snorted out his wine. "If they do, I'll pass. Don't think I'd want an ash woman."

Cheese made with ash? That didn't sound very appetising. Then again, it was Foucheaux.

"Thank you," he said, accepting the piece. "Ash-cheese can't be very good."

"It is," he said defensively. "This just ain't what they make back home. It's some Portuguese rubbish."

Paol dipped his piece of ashcake into the wine and let it soften before taking a bite. "Nothin's as good as back home."

Though that wasn't, he supposed, entirely fair. He hadn't had much in the way of food growing up, and even with their rubbish supply lines he still ate far better in the army than he ever had in Breizh. Still, what he wouldn't give to be barefoot and hungry and home.

"Better Portuguese rubbish than nothing," Jérémie observed mildly. He preferred not to think of home and tried not to do it now. To distract himself, he drained the contents of his mug in a single long swallow. It wasn't high quality wine but it was more than suitable.

"I'll drink to that," Paol grinned, swallowing a mouthful of wine.

"Portuguese rubbish," Foucheaux echoed, raising his cup and drinking from it.

He refilled his mug, already feeling the first faint glow of warmth as the wine settled in his stomach. The devil could take Portugal and Spain in his opinion. May they soon be back in France, in victory or defeat. Either one would suit Jérémie. Just as long as he got to go home.

"Now," he said after another swallow of wine. "It was dice, I think?"

Paol swallowed another mouthful of wine and firecake and nodded, scraping the small pile of dice onto the ground between them.

"Hazard?"

Roux wandered over to join the small group, and dropped to sit next to Paol. Dice and drink seemed like good signs for the evening.

"Okay if I join you?"

That sounded fine to him, so Jérémie nodded. "Hazard," he said, then looked up at Roux's approach. It wasn't easy to conceal a grin but he managed. "Only if you have brought a mug."

"Always have one handy," Roux said, grinning. He dug his mug out of his pack. "Any wine going spare?"

Paol thrust the remaining bit of ashcake and cheese at Roux. "Aye, and dice, if you fancy it?"

"Sounds good to me!" he said, gratefully taking the cheese. "I'm game."

Jérémie took the offered mug and filled it nearly to the brim before handing it back. "Fare fit for kings," he observed mildly and took a healthy swallow from his own mug.

"So who's got some dice?" Foucheaux asked. "I lost mine when that dog ate my bread bag."

"I might have one left, at least," Roux mumbled around a full mouth. He shuffled through his pack again. Small items did not always last long on the march.

"Ha!" he said triumphantly. "Two dice."

Paol took the two dice and added them to the pile. "We playin' for anythin'?"

With a grin, and a nearly blush-free face, Jérémie held up the second bottle of wine. "Why not this?" He suggested.

Paol's brows quirked upwards in momentary surprise at the generous offer, then he grinned. "High stakes."

Leaning forward, he hauled over Gauvin's pack and pulled out the small, much scorched wooden board which served the dual purpose of gaming and cooking and set it on the ground between them. "Think it's only fair Rosy goes first?" he remarked, selecting one of the dice to use for keeping track of his own score.