7th day, dawn. Surgeons

Rob placed a mug of water at the mans elbow and stood. "Now, ye'll be sleeping till ye wake, then drinking, then sleeping again, sir. Unless i find reason ter wake ye first."

Well, and wasn't that the wrong thing to say. Don't take orders from noone, nothing wrong, skin the man who brought him here etc etc. Rob merely stood there, having heard it all before, many a time. The only thing that caught his attention was a threat to that captain who'd accompanied him. Why that man was in fer a painfull evening one night soon was beyond rob, but he thought he'd hear the truth if he needed to- and if he didn't, he'd at least see any damage. Eventually he ran out of breath and Rob took the oppurtunity to glance significantly to the other occupant of the wagon, seated neatly with a book in one hand.

it seemed to do the trick, for he shut up and lay down. Rob carefully watched the shoulder, making the man lie on one side so he could see any bleeding that occured, and moved back to Willoughby. "Good book, lad?" Oh to have a patient that did just what they were told....maybe he'd better go back home and deal with small children who were in awe of him, and old ladies who thought he was all knowing. Mind you, here he was doing what he was good at somewhere he'd always wanted to see.

"Quite so sir." He smiled and gave him a knowing smile in the direction of his other patient, yet said nothing. It would be impolite and out of place if he dared, as he were a private. Instead he closed the book a moment after he made a note of the page that he was at, and looked up at the surgeon.

" Is there anything that I can do to ease your mind sir?" His leg was fairing well and resting on the chair as he was ordered. He had no reason to hop around and his horse was safe where she was, so he'd not had reason to think on her either. Like a good little patience for once, he was just there, in his spot.

Rob thought for a moment, "ye can fill up his drink, when tis empty- only water, mind."
He sorted some papers onto the table, "This do be yer notes, and t'notes of those two unfortunate men ye proceeded. If ye could write them fair inter here," he gestured with a book, "Then I'd be much obliged. I shall have ter finish the ones on that Frog later, but ye could write up what I ahve so far, as well."
Blasted paper work. Give him a few nasty amputations or such any day. He grunted, reasonign that occasionally notes were of use. "I shall have ter chase after the Captain who we saw earlier, lad, but as he is no doubt otherwise engaged I'll just check on yer horse and wait here fer a while." He presumed there would always be some uneasiness until Willoughby was riding her again, but if he didn't check no doubt he'd return to find a very sore ankle crumpled next to a bemused mount.

"I will be glad to, sir." He didn't mind to copy what the surgeon had written as long as he could read his hand. And he did hope that he was not true to the fame of such men. But he remembered the surgeon writting some before, and so he decided it was going to be easy. He smiled gratefully at the surgeon when he suggested that his mare were to be checked and he nodded in agreement before he replied.

"I wish you good luck in finding the man, though look for where officers like to commune and you are near sure to spot him as well. Their tent or their favourite spot. Each shall do. Of course, when you need to go after him." He smiled slightly and then asked only that the table would be moved so he could write or he moved to a place that he could copy well. Then again even a book, though not the most desired of surfaces, could be used should he write from where he was.

"My mare might not show it, but she will be grateful to you for the care. I'm already worried she may take more to you, with all the attention she recieves, and then how will I be ever to convince her the pampering is over." He spoke that in jest and soft tone of amusement, grinning more broad at the man he was finding to be a good company as well as a skilled surgeon.

Rob smiled, "Aye well, she'll take ter ye soon as yer back on her, lad... she'll appreciate the excercise if nothing more." he had no intention of riding her, no matter how much she might like him.

"If ye lean up against the wall I'll rearrange yer seating, for this had better be more legible than even my neatest work." He helpd the lad up, pushing his own seat in far under the table for another rest and replacing the hefty tome he'd used for added height. He propped all the gear that would be needed for writing within easy reach before turning to help the lad over. "I'll stay within call while ye accustom ter this writing- though tis better than it has been, by far." With all the spare time, hoping there'd be someone else to write the notes up for him, he'd taken care to form his letters as he'd been taught, and not as he wa used to- an undulating line with occasional dots or crosses signifying i's or t's.
Again he set himself for use as a crutch, readying himself for a quick hop to another chair.

"You fret too much about the ankle. I'm sure it's not needing such grave attention." He smiled as he leaned against Sinclair, and kept his arm so that it was over his shoulder and he was more able to stand without taking a step at his foot. He held his leg half bent, so that the ankle was far enough from the ground, and followed Sinclair all the way up to the next seat, having to go through much the same even to sit.

"I'll write my finest, sir." He spoke and glanced to the quill and the book that was waiting and the pile of papers which desired to be copied into that book. "So I begin with top most?" He asked as he mentioned to the papers. "And with the papers to my left?"

"Aye, start at the top and go on till t'bottom. I took a guess at ye being right handed, but if yer not don't mind me and shift them all ter t'other side." He watched contendedly as all the hard work was done by someone else for a change and hopped, positively chirpy, off the wagon to talk to Bella.

"Aye lass...and yer grumpy, nae doubt. Eaten yer brefuss? Let's take a look..." He'd always been one to talk to animals, especially ones he reckoned needed a bit of soothing- though there wasn't as much attempting to bite happening today. Obviously the offerings of food had been well received. He fussed over her a bit, checking all seemed well. there was no way he was going to be ready to loose his patient just to have him stay with him because she had a limp or somesuch.

"Ye can read it fine, lad?" He lent against the tail gate, feeling the sun on his back.

(slightly confused about that. We're in the N hemisphere in november, aren't we? but then someone said the sun had risien before 6....)

Bella was in a strangely light mood and did not try to nip at Sinclair but once. She had instead observed him with a keen eye and a curious look, as much as a horse was able. She flicked her tail and not even in his direction and had less weight out to her feet, were he to check them. A much finer behaved lass, if only for the day, and only for the offerings of food and little demand.


"Yes sir. Quite fine." He smiled having trouble with a word or two, but not willing to critisize the handywork, it was good.

He'd arrayed the papers so that he worked more easily and wrote with a fine hand he had learned since childhood. "The weather seems to pick up today.." He glanced to where the surgeon was standing:" Can you see if we are to expect any clouds from any of the given directions?" He asked while he placed the first paper on the side of those that were finished. He smiled and was satisfied enough to begin on the second, hoping that the doctor would be satisfied too.

(aren't we in.. hm, wait need to check on which dates we are, but I think we are already in May?)

(the only dates I have are days and numbers, no months. Just thought I saw nov somewhere. But if you think May, we'll use that. *regretfully puts away soaking fruit for cakes*)

rob took a brief look up, "Tis clear, lad, as ye can see. And there's not enough mud ter cause trouble, thankfully... but dust could be a problem." Slowly he pushed himself away and sauntered round the wagon, eyes on the sky. It all seemed clear enough, small clouds whisping away and the sun gently playing games on the creek.

He loosened his shoulders and took a breath of air- not exactly fresh, with so many men and horses about, but definately morning air. A day to be pleased with. "Nay lad, ye'll be stuck inside on a nice fine day, I'm afraid." He really did his best to keep the pleasure of his own freedom out of his voice. No point in tempting the gods with a wagon load of very sick bodies, or some foolery.

( Calendar May There, at the top it says May. Found it now! Soaking fruit for cakes?)

When it rained, he had to be outside and now, of all the blasted days to be nice and sunny, he had to be confined to the wagon. He frowned and turned the paper, copying from it the next words. He remained careful not to make any mistakes, spelling wise or other. He could ask to ride on the wagon up front and thus avoid the grumpy patients that had less luck in their injuries than he. But not until he was finished with his work, however long that may take.

"A fine day then. Might be a good time to hang anything out that might not be quite dry." They could deal with some of the dust, and with all hopes it would not be all that much, being raised while they continued with the march. He glanced and rechecked one of the sentences that he had copied and made twice sure that the numbers were correct before he passed the letter onto the finished pile and picked the next. A curved line here, and always a confident and sure piece of writing, small to keep economical about the space used in the book, but large enough that one would not need glasses to be able to read.

"Do you see. Are we soon to begin marching?" He hadn't quite the idea what time it was and whether the others were already on their feet and the very front of their line, already walking.

(now why couldn't I find that? I even went looking.- yes. good long soaked fruit makes nice moist cake).

Rob had already had thoughts about drying things- he'd discovered early on that the top of the wagon got nicely heated, and so long as there were no birds around made for an admirable drying place. He glanced around, trying to gauge from where he was how soon before they marched.

"Ye'd think we'd be off soon, t'suns been here for a while, but I'm not seeing huge signs of movement..." he trailed off, eyeing the man who was dozing in his wagon. Surely they knew he was with Rob now, not exactly well and comfortable, but as close as was possible given the situation. Well, it wasn't his job, Captain hunter had been keen to get back and report, so the information had surely got through by now.

"Though ter be sure, they've finished brefuss. Nae doubt there'll be a general move, soon, and we'll be off as well."

(Surgeon. that's why yer a surgeon and we Hussar!! - Naw! Just kidding - sometimes it just escapes notice, when you most need it. S' no problem!)

"It will be harder to write sir, while we are on the move. With bumps and holes and such in the road. I dread it should be right shaken, as you probably already know." He had finished the next paper and was on a new page and so he first waited and dusted the paper with a bit of sand. Once he was sure that the ink was dry he turned the page and began to write again. He used that few moments in which he had to wait to speak, though he said only some problem to do both copying and speaking at the same time.

"Hope we don't encounter any French today.. I'd be quite jealous were I to know the boys had their fun while I had to sit tight in the wagon."

(well, thanks).

"Indeed lad, so's ye'd better be writing as fast as yer able." Rob gave the man a grin though, letting him know he was gratefull for hte effort he was taking, after such a busy morning already.

he gave an obvious glance around the encampment. "I doubt there's any Frogs about today, lad. ye seemed ter have given them a pretty good run fer their money." He eyed the ankle, bandaged and propped up, "at least yer better off than our Froggy friend is, at the moment." And didn't that rankle. To have such an interesting patient whisked away, with no thought for the consequences and no consideration for the further medical...issues which may arise with a man who was not only poorly versed in English, but sore in the head.

"I think I shall go and find the Captain, lad, if ye do be alright. I'd prefer ter get to't before he's off doing what have ye." He wasn't one to speculate, but suspected there's be no getting hold of the man, once he was out.

"Will see you later sir. I'll be... right here." He grinned ruefully and patted the book. He would write for as long as he was given the time to, so he decided. And then he would make sure that the papers were properly set appart, so that there would be no mixup amongst them, where as those finished would not be permitted to lay with those still waiting their turn.

"Good luck in finding him sir." He added last and then gave a slight nod and turned to his paper. Ignoring the sleeping patient with a friendly fire's wound he got to work. Dip, press, wait and write. Glance, remember, copy.

While the surgeon was still away he glanced towards his mare who was lifting her head and flicking her ears back and forth and seemed to be sniffing the air then she lowered her head again and nipped at the remains of the grass. Stomping a foot she lifted her head yet again and then turned near sideways to where she was tied and looked towards the wagon. Swaying her head up and down she shifted her weight from one backleg to the other in a rather relaxed state.

She then observed the wagon for a short while, shifted again and then turned around to look what the men outside were doing. It was not long before she was looking again at the cart and upon Willoughby's request one of the soldiers had untied her and brought her closer, so that she could have her head peeking inside. There she was tied for a short while, so that the lad, who was writing could have the closer company of his animal.

Though rather quickly bored the horse began to chew and gnaw at the wooden footing and so with a frown Willoughby had to reprimind her." OY. If the surgeon sees you doing that, he'll have your hide." He said with a stronger tone in his voice, but the mare ignored him and bit at the wood again, making a loud scraping sound as she did.

" Bella." He spoke with warning, but the horse still continued , and it was a glance she gave him, that made it evident she knew exactly she was doing something that her rider wished not to permit.

"..Will you.." He began but the Lusitano mare flicked her tail and lifted her head up looking at him. The soldier who had earlier been of help was now gone, so that Willoughby was left with the mischevious mare on his hands.

"...Just, behave. Else you'll be riding with the heaviest of them on your back." He threatened." Get you carryin' more than them donkeys." He added and the mare lifted her head and slowly she stretched her neck in his direction.

"..That's better, lass." He murmured and turned to write. He'd finished a handy pile of paper and was rather glad that they were now fine and in good order in the book the surgeon had given him. With a twirl of his wrist he placed the quill down and studied his mare. If he stretched out himself he could just reach her, and so he did. Touching her nose with the back of his fingers he smiled and she stood there, motionless, just watching him.

Minutes ticked away like hours. Though the surgeon was away perhaps for a mere short time, it felt as if the whole day had been spent waiting and the day itself was already dragging itself along as if it decided never to turn into night either. He frowned. Nature could not be hastened, though at this moment he wished his leg was fully healed and that he could rejoin atleast some of the action. But then he reminded himself. No sabre, no firearm. How could he rejoin? With what? Bella was a horse in training to become a fair cavalry lass, he was a man without tools to strike the enemy, it all felt as if he were meant to stay away from the action for good and it angered him.

He had lost against the Frogs once, when his horse was slain, and the second time it wasn't much his fault. What could he have done? clubbed the French to death with a plump piece of rabbit and hope that they were such bad shots and fighters that him standing right infront of them, they would not be able to strike back.

It was strange that the army did not wish to have its soldiers armed though atleast Vickery had made an effort and he inquired about it. Of course one that was above him, denied it.

He eyed his leg. Not too long now and they might encounter the French and all he could do was sit around and see the wounded being brought in.

He had written most of the paperwork he had into the book. More than he'd expected, for the annoyance at his leg had given him the drive and speed. "Bella. .." He looked at the horse and frowned :" Should be out there, the pair of us. ..armed n' ready. Not in here..but they don't want it.." Or they just didn't care.

( Right after this coming from here : a short trip

Rob swung back into the wagon, "Ye'd better not be thinking of leaving, me lad."
He was frustrated, thwarted, he felt, by some man with more frills on his uniform than all the frills his sisters owned combined. All he'd been doing was following up...he glumly shifted his feet and acknowledged that the army did need top brass that did their job. Just not when he was trying ter do his, it felt like.

He stood looking down at the table, surprised at the amount of work that had been done. All neat, all tidy and, as far as he could see, laid out to take up little space, and little reading time. He smiled a little, biting down the temptation to suggest the lad couldn't leave until he found him another who'd write just as well, and for just as small a service. Somehow he didn't think it would go down in quite the same way.

Carefully he shrugged his shoulders, eyeing the time and wondering if it was worth doing anything along the lines of thinking about dinner.

(is he going out again later? and then coming in during the expedition starting? *is confused*)

"..Sir." He nodded curtly and arranged the papers separate to those he had finished."..I wouldn't think of it. There is a rabid surgeon out there.. n' he might go chase for blood of a limpin' Hussar... should one present itself outside." He answered amused and dipped his quill into the ink again before adding another set of words and numbers.

(he got sick of waiting and came back- he'll go out later though. sorry. )

Rob eyed the man with some amusement, "Ye think I'm rabid, d'ye now?"
Carefully he lent against the table, turning his head to eye the lad, and suppressing a smile, "D'ye think I've naught else ter do but chase me patients round t'country? If I do be needing blood, I'm sure I can get it from a source which I dinna need ter be writing notes fer me."
He touched one pile of papers, "Expecially one who writes with such a fair hand."

(No problem. added the links now!! and no longer confused!)

"..you flatter me most kindly, sir." He spoke humbly , with an embarrassed and downcast look. He felt some warmth come to his cheeks and wished it would not show, if it had to be felt. "I hope.. 'tis fair enough..I have only a few more papers that I need finishing.. and then." He smiled:" You'll probably have more that have bread from those few hours writing these." He concluded.

Rob grinned to himself at the lads obvious discomfiture. "Aye, nae doubt I can get ye ter copy out all sorts, afore the day is done." He thought for a moment.
"How bout this: patient, willoughby, restless. Found could write. Has now copied all notes, books and charts in cabin." He looked up, "Would ye like ter have ter copy such useless things, lad? Ye'll be please ter know there's precious few notes fer today, unless someone goes and attacks us." Absently he knocked against the wood of the table, and fetched the flute from last night, intending to put in soem fine work in the clear light of day.

"I would hope we do not waste the paper on such things, sir. It might be a luxury we shall need to use as a fair later time... and then we might be without it." He smiled politely, but it was clear he was fully against having to write anything of the sort even if spoken in joke. It wasn't amusing, when it was a task he'd be spending hours on, after all.

"Sir, may I be then certain that I am free of work, up till noon at least?" He grinned and stretched his arms then placed them behind his neck, elbows upright. He leaned back as far as he could go and shifted so that he was close enough to the wall of the wagon, that he could lean against it.

Rob nodded, already falling into the state of mind nothing short of food or a patient could bring him out of. Good food and a bad patient.
"Ye'll be free of work till ye be better, lad, unless I take it inter me mind that ye be moaning and grumblin. Then i'll stop ye from doing so."

It was hardly a threat, more a promise, of sorts, a setting down of his expectations. His eyes tightened a little at the creaking of the chair, but he made no mention of it, engroassed in drilling out a fifth hole. Probably it would be the penultimate, as well. No point spoiling the little bratchen.

"Stop me from workin' more.. or grumbling , sir?" Already he wished that the roles were changed, and that he were out there on Bella, while the doctor was here and if one must be, even with the leg such as his own.

"Till I be better, takes by far a great length of time. Might fight a battle sooner than i can ride!"

Rob threw him a glance of absolute scorn, "Fer one who can write, lad, ye're a bit slow terday. D'ye think I'd want ter stop ye from working?"

Calmly he blew away the last of the shavings and blew out a D, checking the tuning against the original. Calmly, he lined up an octave key on the back, preparing to do the last drill.
"If ye go and fight a battle on yon ankle, after I told ye not ter, don't ye come a running ter me with a sore leg, or sore anything else fer that matter."