28th July, Les champs de feu

Not hurt... Duval suppressed a snort. Half the man's face was covered with dried blood and one sleeve and a trouser leg were scorched black and burned away in places.

"You can calm down and get some sleep. The both of you. They're still sortin' themselves out; it'll be a while before we see water, let alone a sawbones."

Roux sitting slumped among the other prisoners, still unable to wrap his mind around their defeat and capture. His head and shoulders ached fiercely, and he had a burning, bleeding line across his ribs that stood testament to just how close he had come to not walking away from the battle. He was not entirely sure yet that he was lucky he had.

The sound of raised voices caught his attention, and he looked up with a frown. They sounded familiar. He stumbled to his feet, intending to find out for sure.

"Charcot?" he called uncertainly.

Someone called his name from nearby. He turned his head. "Who's that? Yes it's me, I'm here, help!"

Hearing the call for help, Roux hurried forward. He was relieved to see both Charcot and Paol, even if they were both somewhat worse for wear. Roux imagined that he could not look much better.

Part of him felt guilty for being relieved to see them in captivity. But, still, it was better than dead.

"Charcot!" he said again, hoping to catch his attention. "Paol!"

"Is that Roux? Thank God, come over here!"

"Good to see you both," Roux said, dropping to sit by his friends with a slight groan. "Well, sort of. Both alright?"

Charcot reached out his hands to find the other soldier. "Roux! I can't see anything, and I don't know what's wrong with Paol!"

"Alain?" Paol repeated stupidly, staring at the other man as though he didn't quite trust his own eyes.

Couldn't see? Roux felt a slight spark of panic, and grasped Charcot's flailing hands.

"Easy, there," he said. "Hang on."

He turned to look more closely at Paol, and felt a sudden spark of worry. He certainly didn't look well, and was too pale under the blood and soot.

"It's me" he reassured his friend quietly. "Not going to pass out on us, are you?"

"What's wrong with him, Roux?"

"Doesn't look too bad," Roux assured Charcot, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt. But then, everyone around them looked much the same, and Roux was certainly no doctor.

"Paol?" he asked again, worried that his friend had not answered. He stopped short of waving a hand in front of Paol's face, not wanting to frighten Charcot by dropping the other man's hands.

"Sorry," he said, forcing himself to focus, "I'm alright. Really. What about you?"

"Not too bad," Roux said with a strained smile. "A bit better than the two of you, looks like. Bit of a switch there, is it not?"

In all actuality, he ached all over and was more frightened than he had ever been. But admitting that would not help at all.

Charcot let out a shaky breath. Paol was sounding better, at least.

"Who else is with you? You seen anyone who could give us some water?" he asked Roux.

"Just me," Roux said. "You're the first familiar faces I've seen since..." He trailed off, not wanting to think about the way he had seen Fortin fall on the field. There was at least one friend they could count among the lost. "Since being here. No water yet, either."

Paol's brow furrowed slightly at the look on Roux's face. But he knew better than to ask. Some things were far better left alone. "Maybe tomorrow," he said instead.

"Tomorrow?" Charcot exclaimed. He suddenly realized he had no sense of time for this day at all. He had thought it was night when he awoke under that horse, with the darkness and silence. But the sounds of battle had returned when his hearing came back, so perhaps not much time had passed after all. "Is it night now? I don't know - I don't remember - I think I missed some of the battle." His voice died off, and he suddenly felt ashamed. While the others had been fighting and dying, he had been lying there asleep.

"We got some hours yet before dark," Paol replied. "Feel the sun on your face?" The battle, he realized, could not have been so very long ago, although it felt like ages since he'd come to amid the smoke and screams.

"Oh. I suppose I do." That brought to mind the wall of heat he had felt on the field. "There was that fire... And I smelled it." Did he even want to ask? "Was it the horse?" He cringed and immediately regretted the question.

"Horse?" Roux asked in confusion. He looked at Paol, wondering if Charcot were hallucinating. Why would they have been burning a horse? "What horse?"

"A bit of the grass caught fire. Must've caught one of the dead horses." It wasn't exactly a lie and the truth didn't bear thinking about.

Roux made a face. Well. That was an image. And there had been more than dead horses in the field. He shuddered, for the first time feeling lucky to be where he was. Wounded and captured was better than wounded and burning by far.

"Oh, right." Charcot was eager to accept that answer. "If it'd been my horse - I mean, Roux, a horse had fallen on me and I got stuck under it, and Paol pulled it offa me, right? If it'd been my horse..." But he did not care to finish that thought. "But Paol saw me through all right."

Paol shut his eyes. Alright? He'd got him captured and beaten. He couldn't even manage to hold it together.

"He's good at that, is Paol," Roux said, patting Charcot's hands awkwardly. "Being stuck under a horse couldn't have done you any good."