7th day, dawn. Surgeons

(fixed it to pelisse. You are right XD. And yes, I still wear one of your shirts... mine is.. .has been undisposed o.O and ran away.. or rather er, it was washed as well, I guess!)

Taking to his task of washing each of the used dishes, the Hussar didn't feel to be distracted by the other patients and would be patients in tow. On one side lay the scattered and dirty pots and bowls, on the other and on a cloth he'd spread under, so that there was no dust to attach itself to the tin' were the clean ones he'd washed. Another piece of cloth was in his hand, and this had time and time again been wiping at the dishes to dry them, before they were placed back down.

He hummed himself a tune, more to entertain himself while he did the work. He smiled as he saw Bella drink at the water, the mare obviously feeling most at ease with it. She had tried a small nip at Sinclair up untill she saw that he was bringing her water. Then she let him be, and concetrated on the given instead.

Willoughby on the other hand had wondered what the surgeon had in store for him. What did he keep such a secret about a day ago and whether he'd even want to know about it, once he was told.

(and now I depart for sleep! Good night!!)

(night. and I'll be getting back my shirt at some stage no doubt? no hurry, though.)

Rob carefully unrolled the bandage and eyed the swollen flesh- now superating vigourously- and then switched his gaze to the mans face. "Did ye sleep well last night, sir? Fever or anything?" He reached up and felt the other mans brow. Warm, but not yet so warm as to be considered a huge fever... still, he wouldn't be at all surprised if this was to get worse.
"You have important plans for today, sir? At the very least I'd like to see you back here come lunch." He fingered the bandage. "Ye're looking at a stay with me tonight, sir. But we feed ye well, dinna fash yerself."

Finished with the dishes he was wiping the last bowl dry, careful not to have it slip and fall. He'd not want to add, any damaged posessions to his list things he might've owed the surgeon. His shirt, he reckoned, was by now dry as well so he would be able to return the one borrowed, and perhaps have it washed before he'd give it as well. Would probably had done better that way.

He wouldn't have gone and carried the dishes back from whence they came. Not when he'd hop and might trip and then all would go to the devil, along with him hoping to run all the way. He glanced across to where the patients were and smiled light to himself. There'd been more officers present to come and ask for aid, than there had been privates. A strange yet if only slighty, amusing ordeal. Ah well, the poor man who'd got bitten by a horse would do well to listen to the surgeon. The said horse, he guessed, could have been only of one of the more important of men. Else they'd certainly hear more about it. And about the poor sod, whose horse had behaved so poorly.

Bella did look a bit restless this early in the morning. But he had yet to know if there was anything that weren't the same. Right now she were only to enjoy a march on which she was to walk behind the wagon with nae but a saddle on her back as weight. No running up and down the line and back again. No need to search out the officers and then have himself running back to Lord Edrington. He wondered how the green coats were fairing. Were they all already awake. Vickery with his own and that other scruffy man, Sharpe with his. Newbury was hopefully not as much embarrassed any more about his state before the commanding officer. The poor lad.. not that he'd faired any better, but it did feel it struck the rifleman deeper. Well, too bad they hadn't gotten their rabbit after all. Such a plump thing it was, would have the grass hoppers enjoying it right well too.

With such things to be forgotten he returned to his present task. And that was, figuring out whether to go to Bella or wait till the surgeon had given him the next kind of work to do, or at the very least, to go and fetch his shirt, wash his hair? Well there was plenty enough to do. And shaving could also come in handy sometime.

Rob was entirely unimpressed with the arm, dispointed that what could ahve been a simple line fo treatment was going to be harder just because some man didn't want to interrupt his work. He held back on the lecture though, saving it up for the end of the treatment, however it ended, knowing that either outcome could be used as an example of why he was the surgeon, and not any of them.

"I'll be popping a pultice on't fer now, sir, if ye'll come inside." He hoped they wouldn't walk in to find anything less than ship shape, and smiled to see that this was the case, with one patient ramrod straight on the bunk asleep and another with a neat pile of clean dishes at his elbow.

"Sit down and pop yer arm out on me table, if ye please." Well, and what to use this time for a pultice? He was running low on a couple of things he'd brought from home, but hoped that there would be a local equivalent, in fact already had found out about one, so substitued that instead. Bit of binding, a touch of water.... Firmly he melded the paste in his mortar- yet more dishes- and stood looking critically down at the arm.

The Hussar made himself look busy when the two men entered and only dared to sneak a peek as the bitten lad placed his hand on the table and the surgeon began fussing around him. He tilted his head slightly to the side and arched his neck so that he could see better what was the ailment of the said man. Noticing the bite he understood right soon and felt pity for the wound had hardly looked pleasant.

Well, by the looks of it the doctor was already preparing something to smother the wound with, and he felt that his washing wasn't quite over.

Soothingly, Rob made the poultice and wrapped it tightly, then prepared a sling. "It'll remind ye not ter use it, at the very least, ye ken." he reminded the man, settling everything down and arranging the hand to his satisfaction.

"I'll be seeing ye fer lunch, sir." Rob was already helping the man up again, well aware that there was no doubt a multitude of things for him to be doing before then. As, no doubt, there would be for him as well.

The two men made their way back out of the wagon again, both quiet, except for a gruff, "Thankee" thrown out to Rob just before they parted.

"Well, lad. Let that be a lesson t'ye. And ye can wash that, too." Rob was unimpressed at having to deal with this shebang, as he always was at those who brought it upon themselves.

".. A lesson to him , you mean, sir?" He took the offered, and as with the rest began to wash the remnants of the salve from it. Fresh and wet they were easy to remove, and needed but a couple strokes before it was all fine and clean.

"There, sir. I've finished all your dishes and this too." He motioned to the artefacts that now gleamed both clean and dry. "Nothing more to wash till dinner, is it?" Well unless one came with an ache of their own and an injury similar to that drunken sod .. ekhm, major up over to the side. He hoped that his ankle would do a fair better job presenting itself, when the surgeon would see it. It did feel uncomfortable and slightly painful, but he blamed the bindings for that.

"A lesson t'ye, lad. If yer sick, do something bout it soon as ye can. He could ha' been better by now, almost, if he'd done that."
Carefully he stored all the clean and dry dishes, "I'll have ter keep ye on" he jested, checking they were packed tightly.

Absently he walked around the table, checking the major, still asleep, was asleep, and not otherwise harmed. The bandage would probably need a change, but he'd wait until he woke. There was no hurry, or at least, no obvious need to hurry. finally, he settled down next to the troublesome ankle. "If ye'll pop yer foot up here, lad, I'll be takin' a looksie." And probably be fiddling with the bandages, too, causing more discomfit, but he didn't let on, yet.

"I've no choice in the matter, have I?" He answered with mild amusement to his tone." You'd have me a lecture about waiting and not coming.. though I did come when I could.. I just didn't want to stay for long." And he ignored the man telling him to keep of his foot, to ride easy and above all, not to go climbing up steep slopes nor running down them. But that was beyond the point!

He lifted his leg up and placed it so that it was right where the surgeon had wanted it. He peered at it expectantly, and hoped that it would prove itself to be not worse. He did want to walk normally and not be lame on one leg or suffer the pain till he was old and grey - if ever he'd live that far.

Rob shook his head, "Aye lad. ye followed em instructions ter t'letter, I ken." He grinned at him breifly, not accepting a word of it, and then unwrapped the bandages, gently.

Still swollen, though not more so than last night. The compression had done it's work well, he was pleased to see. He was more than half tempted to fetch everything out and make a poultice again, but doubted it was necassary, and he might be needing the herbs for more important injuries later. He cast around for a book or something to put under the foot. "If ye'll lift it fer a bit, I'll raise it further and leave ye there fer twenty minutes or so."

He thought he detected unhappiness at all this waiting, but he wasn't about to argue. "Should I do else fer Bella, while we wait?"

Lifting his leg he watched as the book was slipped under to keep his foot in place and turned with a slightly tilted head to observe the surgeon, not liking the wait indeed, but having little to argue about. Not unless he wanted the surgeon to go prodding and probing around the ankle and making sure he felt each and every single press.

"Yes. Could you possibly feed her, and water her. And once she is done, she would need to be saddled. " He hesitated again:" If she's rolled in the dirt during the night... she might need to be brushed before too, sir. Just so that she might not get something rubbing against her under the saddle." He looked quite innocently at Sinclair. Well, he did ask. And it was all that Bella needed. If he didn't want to let her rider do it, he could well enjoy doing it all on his own!

"And.. could you check her shoes as well? Just to be sure she hasn't lost one, and that her feet are void of any mud caking in, or stones that might cause discomfort while she walks." The innocent look turned into just as angelic a grin.

Rob grunted, "I'm sure it could be worse....I could be the one sitting here with nothing better ter do than order round me betters." But he disappeared over the side with good humour. Caring for a horse was something he could do quickly, if without the underlying care he could see in his erstwhile patient. Well, she'd be happier clean than not, he was sure. Smirking he toyed with the idea of dirtying the not particularly clean jacket, but decided against it.

"Come on, lass. Ye bite me I bite ye. let's get t'rules laid down, ay?" Gently enough he set to work with a brisk brush, firmly clearing away the stains she'd gained from rolling last night. "Now, yer feet, ye great doze. Come on, up ye get." Strong hands coaxed each hoof up to rest on his thigh and he peered at each in turn. "Well, lass. clean bill apart from the feeding business. Willna grass do ye, scant though tis?"

He repeated his question to his patient, sitting there like lady muck- "For I havena time ter run over and beg grain of someone now...I'm looking at yer ankle as soon as I'm back inside." This with one foot on the lip already.

"Sir, there's some hay left tied to the saddle. You didn't feed it all to her yesterday, did you?" Not that the mare would complain. She did try to put all her weight to each leg that the surgeon was checking and leaned right heavy against him, and then when he'd look at her she would look as innocent as day. She flicked a tail against him twice when he was at her left leg, and three times, when by her right.

And he was quite lucky that she had waited till he had moved before pilling up some of what she'd eaten the other day. She was looking at him rather expectantly, wanting the food that was probably the thing discussed. The grass was too little and most of it had been nibbled on and what of it was wet, she was better not munching on too much either.

He did enjoy having to send the surgeon about, even if it was a mild, the mildest form of 'revenge' for having been forced to sit tight himself. And it entertained him to watch his horse try her best to be a nuisance. She'd slept a good while too much and it showed.

Rob grunted again, "If that's all she'll be needing, lad." and tossed it, though accurately, from the saddle, now resting in his hands. "Ye'll nae be moving, yet, does she really need it on?" He was disinterested, though, moving back inside and sitting on the chair holding the errant ankle. "Here, on me knee, lad."
the bandage would be tighter today, more painfull for a bit, too, but it would help the healing, and that was what this was all about, really. Hopefully talking about Bella would help with occupying the mind, while he carefully began, rolling the bandage once around the heel of the foot to get a good strong start.

"Well, if it can travel with us in the wagon, she won't need it on her back. But that is , with your permission." He answered.

Biting down on his lip he grunted as the bandage tightened around his ankle and brought a rather painful feel to it. "Sir.." He began in protest, gritting his teeth. It did hurt more and with each roll of cloth, the sensation did not leave.

"it doesn't take up much space." Rob saw no reason to encumber her with something she didn't need.

Firmly he pulled each roll tight, holding the bandage out to get the right angle, not using the injury for leverage as he'd seen some men do. "Aye, lad, it hurts, I ken." he was sorry for it, too, but finished all the faster for that. The bandage was firmly three inches above and two below the ankle, wrapped less tightly than he could, but more than his patient would have wished, if the hiss was anything to go by.

"One more wrap, then ye'll be set fer t'day, lad. If ye keep it up on that book then it shouldn't do anything silly like start ter throb." Gently he pulled a bit of the bandage out to tuck the end into, and patted it down. "There ye are- ye'll be walking afore ye know it."

"And not a moment to soon." He winced and looked down at his foot hoping that all this discomfort would have been worth it in the long run. Not that he had to complain with a man with a bullet wound right over there, but he couldn't smile and think of daisies just because someone had it worse.

"If it's allright, then I think it best that she's full free of the saddle. Might do good if it starts to rain too. " Wouldn't need to wait for it to dry. He looked at the book and wondered how he could whisk it from under his foot and what to replace it with so he could read. That, unless the surgeon already had something on his mind.

"Sir, is my coat dry ? And.. still there?"

"Aye, tis still there, though not as dry as ye'd think...I'll get it fer ye."

he came back a moment later with a bedraggled looking peice of clothing, and hung it over the bunk. "Now, all I heve ter do is keep ye occupied...and wait fer t'major ter wake up. Then no doubt I should go and find t'other lad, who brought him in." He considered giving Willoughby a tough job to do, but decided against it, if there was something else he'd like to do. "how would ye like ter pass the time, lad?" his eyes sternly reminded the patient not to use the 'w' word.

(walk. just to clear that one up.)

"..." He was about to use that word, or perhaps join it with a more pleasant 'R' word. Meaning of course, that he would enjoy to ride, but decided that the surgeon would not be too happy to hear it and it would really be testing the patience of him any how. Dragging ol' stale topic about when he knew full well that he would be told when that was permitted.

"I'm not sure sir. You've yesterday said there was something you held secret from me, that I could do.. and I am very much still suffering from being too curious to know what that work would have been. " He answered honestly. He had wanted to know that first, before he would suggest how he wished to pass his time.

Rob turned away, looking down, hiding an outright grin with a small smile. Curious, was he? Well, that wasn't a bad thing.

"Lad, there are many ways ter keep ye occupied..." he paused, and fixed him with as stern a gaze as he could, "...and tis passing strange ye should want ter experience them all now, when ye could spend the morning in a more pleasant way than some punishment I dig up fer ye."

He moved idly towards the bookshelf, paltry enough, but all good writers. "I'll let ye amuse yerself afore I put myself ter an effort to amuse ye, lad." Though, through design, it would hardly be an effort. "and if ye behave, well after lunch I'll play ye something, and then ye can start on t'unpleasant tasks I had in mind."

"And you will not tell me what they are.. till then, are you?" He felt it was something of the sort. And through the whole of the that time he would be eaten and gnawed at by curiosity and feel restless and wondering what it all was. Was the surgeon aware how terrible it could become.

He smiled and stretched his arms a little, not too keen with his almost dry pelisse that looked to have had better days. If he were to meet the 15th in this state, he was sure that he would hear about it loud and clear, and a lot too.

"I'll behave." He didn't think jumping of a running cart was healthy." May I have one of those books.."He motioned slowly towards the bookshelf where he noticed them stored.

Rob nodded, "I'll not be telling ye anything, lad. I'm sure ye'll be able ter concntrate on a book or two anyway." He flicked through the collection. "here's the few which are likely ter itnerest ye- unless ye have a hidden fetich fer dissection notes and the like."

He watched the reastion with some amusement, and placed the books on the table. "And mind ye behave."

He could hear the other man stirring now, and offered him a very civil hand up. "Hello sir! How're ye feeling?" The eyes were clearer now, obviously better for a nap- and rob was pleased he could take the chance to fiddle with the bandage, showing signs of bleeding as it did. He decided that maybe a stitch or two would be in order, and informed the man so.

While the surgeon gave attention to the poor sodden drunk of a major, Timothy concetrated on picking a book to amuse himself for a few hours. Two down, he decided on the third and flipped it open at the first page.

If the man remembered how he had gotten injured or if he would share a bit of his story, it might become interesting. Still he doubted it would be more than groans, complains and whimpers from that direction. Perhaps he would demand some drink or ask for something to ease his discomfort. He shrugged his shoulders at the thought, not really caring how and where the man ended.

Instead he leaned a little in his seat, and immersed himself in reading. His mind did stray every so often. And then it stopped by the faces of riflemen, the events of the past few days, the French and them fleeing. It stil confused him how they have first claimed to want to take them to their station, yet later decided against it. Was the heavy assault of riflemen, which caused fear and made them realise that they needed to run, cost it what will?

And back to the book again, and its lines.

"Stitches? Stitches!"
Rob sighed to himself. well, that was the answer he'd have ter go by. Nodding, he replied soothingly, "Twas an idea only, sir. Here, I'll bandage it tightly instead."

Idly he pulled the fresh bandages tight, wondering if the threat of stitches would snap every man out of almost all their post- drink stupour. Again he held the blankets up, a tacit suggestion to go back to sleep. "yer head ain't well, sir, and ye'd best be reasting it." it wasn't a suggestion, but he'd decided to frame every order as a suggestion as much as possible. It usually went to making for a more biddable patient, if not a better one. He surveyed his handiwork calmly. well, it looked well enough, and there'd been little enough complaining. "no food till lunch- and ye're drinking only water, but as much ye like." On that point he was firm, despite mutterings, pleas and threat to the contrary.

Privates were often more keen to listen to the surgeon than those taht were of rank. It was perhaps the way they worked. While privates were pretty much the machine that followed orders, officers gave them. He shifted in his chair and reached for his shirt that was now clean and the coat that was still moist. Deciding to leave the coat as it was, he changed the shirt, folding Sinclair's neatly.

Only after did he take his pelisse and inspected it's braiding and the marks it still held. Well, he'd need to earn himself some money if he wished to have it replaced to look proper again, and untill then he could bear with the present. It wasn't that bad, and his priorities lay more in having his horse fed and watered and clean and healthy, second having himself armed so that when his ankle was well he would be able to fight, and only lastly having himself ful presentable. His troop wasn't there, so he had fewer men to complain about the last.

He glanced at the book he was earlier reading and then back at the pelisse. The seams were still firm, and the furr was fairly allright, the braiding needed a bit of resewing, but would do. It was in no way the rich kind that the officers had. He smiled and dusted his coat letting it to hang and dry for a while longer. In that time he turned to look at the grumbling man and the surgeon. Whoever he was, he would only be better if he listened to their doctor. But that was a given thing.