11th July, evening; A riverside bounty

Stéphane hesitated another long moment before crossing the remaining few steps to the fireside, taking care to sit as far from the little group as he could safely manage. It was hard not to feel like an unwelcome intruder, given his behaviour that evening.

~



This was an odd little gathering, Jérémie thought, noting the big ex-sailor's obvious reluctance to join them. Given what he knew of Proulx's nature, this was no surprise, but there were many things about the present situation that struck him as unusual. If he was meant to know, the others would tell him later.

There were other matters to worry about anyway. Jérémie reached out absently to scratch at Suie's ears, deftly preventing himself from putting his fingers to the swelling on his cheek. He'd had his fill of provoking the injury to pain this evening.

"Picquet duty," he replied neutrally.

Picquet duty. The expression of worry on his face sharpened. He could guess what that meant -- there was an unsettling familiarity about the whole situation -- but he'd made enough of a mess already, or near enough, by misinterpreting things, and so for the moment did not press it further.



Mathilde had been watching them both and after a moment said into the silence, "Rosy brought some washing. Suie is going to make us rich some day."

He offered no further explanation but it seemed that he didn't need to. Just as well. Pretending that that stint of duty had never happened was definitely a priority.

"Yes," said Jérémie, glad of Mathilde's distraction. He skimmed his fingers over Suie's dark fur and was rewarded by a loud rumbling purr. "He is much too fond of that shirt. I think maybe you're putting him up to it?"

Despite the flash of pain the gesture caused, Jérémie found that grinning helped lighten his mood. It was hard to be gloomy very long in company such as this.

Mathilde tried unsuccessfully to stifle the shy grin creeping across her own face. "Tsk, Suie... we've been found out," she murmured.

"He's trouble, that one," said Paol, smiling despite himself. "Have to start callin' him that. Trouble."

Shaking his head, Jérémie dangled the bit of string in front of his kitten. "Better not, or he'll take it to heart."

Perhaps he already had, however. Suie pounced on the end of the string but, a moment later, puffed himself up and ran headlong at Kazhig. The short dash ended in a tackle and both kittens rolled over in the dirt, a tangle of paws and tails.

"Too late," Mathilde laughed, watching the mock-vicious struggle for a moment before getting to her feet and brushing at the sand which clung to her damp skirt. "I should get back to work," she added reluctantly.

Kittens. Jérémie shook his head. He'd never had one of his own before, so each day was a learning experience, but he thought he'd never cease to be amazed - and amused - by feline antics.

Mathilde's announcement caused him to look up. "Do you want help with it?"

~



Work? That meant the washing. At least this time he knew that activity and its related noise to be harmless. A self-deprecating grin briefly tugged at the corner of Stéphane's mouth, but he kept his head lowered so it and any other expression was hidden. It was not lost on him that with two of his temporary companions potentially about to depart, he would shortly be left with Kerjean, who probably thought him completely mad. Perfect.

"Oh--" The offer took her by surprise. She was secretly delighted at the prospect, but it didn't seem fair to Rosy. "You don't have to," she stammered, "It's just--I mean, if you want, but..." she trailed off, blushing.

No, he didn't, which was the point. Jérémie grinned and ignored the sharp twinge of pain in his cheek. "It'll get done faster with two," he pointed out as he got to his feet.

"If you're sure," she said with some hesitation, though her face was quite a bit brighter as she added, "It's just over here a little ways."

Jérémie nodded. "I'm sure. Just as long as I don't get all-over damp too."

He meant the remark lightly, but the sudden flinch from Proulx - still sitting silently over there at the edge of the firelight - suggested that his intention might be misunderstood. But in what way and why? Maybe he could ask. Or maybe not.

His face flushed dark and he sighed. "Sorry."

Paol watched them go, smiling as occasional snatches of Mathilde's chatter drifted back to them. She was quick to break, but often just as quick to heal. Her mother insisted it would make her stronger someday, and he hoped she was right.

"You goin' to sit next to the fire, or what?" he asked Proulx, taking several pieces of wood from the dwindling pile beside the fire and adding them to the blaze.

Happily, no alarm or offence seemed to have been taken, so Jérémie was able to relax. It was indeed only a little way to the spot by the river where the pile of washing waited.

"Oh," he observed in a knowing tone upon their arrival. "It really is work for two."

~



With Blanchard and the girl having gone, Stéphane felt a little less awkward, but he was still not at all sure about Kerjean. Things seemed to have shifted against him, or so he thought, and he hesitated for several long seconds before stirring. Being nearer to the fire's warmth won out over his wariness.

All the same, Stéphane resettled on the opposite side of the fire, where he seemed to make a conscious effort to take up as little space as possible - no mean feat for a man of his size.

"This? Oh, this isn't bad. Maman can do heaping baskets full at a time. Here," she handed him the bat, "You can use that." Passing him a shirt as well, she knelt beside the sodden pile she'd abandoned and felt around in the riverbed until she found a serviceable rock. "You get it wet," she added -- that Blanchard might know how the process worked did not occur to her, "And put it on a rock and then you beat it." She brought the stone in her hand down on the pile with a squelching smack. "A lot."

*

Paol folded his arms across his knees and rested his chin on them, content to sit in silence, watching the fire. That Proulx was uncomfortable was difficult to miss, but drawing attention to it, he thought, would not help matters. Maybe. He didn't understand the other man, tonight even less than usual.

A simple enough process and one that provided an outlet for frustration. Not intentionally, of course, but Jérémie was not about to argue with the opportunity.

"Right," he said. It took a little searching before he too found a rock to use, then he got straight to work. The washing bat felt clumsy in his hand at first but he quickly got used to it.

With Jérémie's departure, the piece of string had been abandoned and thus the amusement of trying to catch and eat it was considerably less. But not, in Suie's opinion, completely gone. Having grown bored with wrestling with Kazhig, the black-furred kitten wandered briefly around before re-discovering the string. He crouched low, staring intently at it, the only movement coming from the slow waving twitch of his tail.

Then he pounced, managing to catch the string up with a claw. Almost at once, he grappled with the string and got one end of it into his mouth. Triumph! Suie rolled around once or twice until he was satisfied the string was dead, then trotted toward Paol with his prize, purring and bright-eyed with pride in his accomplishment.

He reached down to scratch at Suie's cheek, but when the kitten shied impatiently away, Paol grasped at the trailing end of the string -- clearly there were priorities here -- and the battle began anew. Kazhig, on the other hand, was more interested in investigating the slightly charred remains of the other fish which Mathilde had rescued from the fire.

"Where'd you learn to fish?" The question was out of his mouth before he could think better of it, and Paol found himself mentally flinching in expectation of the inevitable sarcasm.

*



Mathilde made a sound of mock dismay. "You will put us out of business."

Huh? Oh. Right. Jérémie paused, his face burning. "Sorry."

"My uncle," Stéphane replied, without thinking. He caught himself before offering any further explanation, not sure why such a question was being asked.

With a few muttered words in his own language, he reached out to shoo Kazhig away from the fish. For all the good that would do. "Aye, well. I think you've made a new friend."

*



Letting her hand slip, Mathilde sent a small spray of water in Jérémie's direction. "It was a joke."

The water was cool and startled him fully back to reality. If it was possible, his cheeks went even redder, though he tried to put on a smile. At least it was dark so his flushed face could not be seen. "Right. Er. So... when is it done? Whatever piece you're washing, I mean."

His gaze dropped to the kitten with smoky-coloured fur. The same one that had caused him such fright earlier. Now, of course, the little beast seemed completely harmless, in the way that all kittens did.

"It didn't take much," Stéphane remarked, his expression lightening the barest bit. He'd never had anything to do with cats before and thus knew nothing at all about them.

Paol smiled. "Fresh meat? Don't get much better'n that as far as they're concerned."

*



Mathilde paused, cocking her head to one side. "I dunno. You just sort of... know. Yours is probably done. So... try to do the next one for about the same amount of time. It's better in daylight when you can see."

Maybe he just didn't have a washerwoman's instinct, then. Not that it mattered so much. This wasn't exactly one of his usual duties - even though it was helping at the moment, in a manner of speaking.

Jérémie breathed out a sigh and picked up the shirt he'd been working on. "Where does it go now?"

~



"Ah." So cats weren't particular, so long as it was meat. Stéphane watched the grey-furred one for a long moment before, hesitantly, reaching an opened hand down toward the small feline. He half-expected it to swat at him with its claws.

"Uh..." Scrambling up, Mathilde emptied the soiled contents of the basket onto the sand. "There." She dropped the wet shirt she'd been working on into basket and picked up another. "Usually we spread them out in the sun to dry. Though washing at night can be good for other things; Maman says you can cure....oh. I forget. But you can cure something by washing a shirt in the moonlight. Though maybe it has to be in a fountain? Or a spring."

*

The grey kitten sniffed the stranger's fingers. They smelled of fish. He licked one experimentally, then rubbed his cheek against the man's hand.