29th July, late afternoon; Retreating

That brought a tearful smile to Mathilde's face. It seemed appropriate Kazhig should take an interest in the matter, even if he was really only looking for attention. "No," she agreed, reaching forward to scratch the kitten's ears. "Does it hurt very badly?"

Yes. Though he could not bring himself to confess it. "It's bearable," he said instead and tried to ignore the intense throbbing in both limbs. And the warm feeling of blood down his left arm. Thank God for his shirt sleeve to absorb most of it.

She frowned critically at him. "Don't," she told Kazhig, "let him move." Then, gathering her knees under her, she worked her way to the front of the wagon and poked her head through the canvas flap.

A few moments later, she was back at his side, carefully clutching a small cup. "Drink this," she told him, holding it out.


nb:cup contains brandy

Move? Now that he was lying down again, he found that he was marginally more comfortable. It seemed that Kazhig meant to take Mathilde's instruction to heart, however, for he stretched, yawned, and curled up squarely in the middle of Jérémie's chest.

Which meant, when Mathilde produced a tin cup and held it out to him, Jérémie could only lift his head a little in order to drink. But it was brandy, he discovered, and right then it was just the thing.

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

She took the empty cup with a wan smile. "Now you must try to rest," she told him, sweeping Suie, who would not be dissuaded from his attempts to climb onto Jeremie's legs, into her lap and gently squashing him in place.

The brandy sat warm and heavy in his stomach, but he privately doubted it would be enough to dull the pain sufficiently for him to sleep. It was a help either way however and he was glad for Mathilde's thoughtfulness.

Jérémie laid his head back against the folded blanket, closing his eyes and rubbing absently at Kazhig's ears with his good hand. Fortunately, the motion of the wagon was not so jarring as to make things even more uncomfortable. It was, he found, nearly regular enough as to be somewhat soothing. Strange as that seemed to him.

Mathilde watched him carefully for several moments, then with a quiet sigh, sank back against the wall of the wagon. A quick glance at Philippe showed him still sleeping soundly, but he could sleep through an artillery barrage, or so her mother liked to say. Settling more comfortably against the rough wooden boards, she watched Kazhig rise up and down with each of Jeremie's breaths, studying the prone form for any change, for better or worse. Still in her lap, Suie sent up a rattling purr of contentment, and she reached down to stroke him, oddly comforted by the sound.

Between the motion of the wagon, the brandy, and Kazhig's warm weight, it was nearly possible to drift off into a doze. Jérémie felt a light, pleasant blurriness beginning to take hold, a result of the brandy no doubt, and he hoped it would lead to a return to sleep.

His fingers gradually stilled, to rest draped over Kazhig's quietly snoring form. Asleep or not, his mind was wandering gently far away and that was a comfort all its own. It was not long until Jérémie was indeed asleep again, lulled back to slumber by the wagon's rocking and the effects of the brandy, as well as his own weariness.