Pombal

He jerked to attention and at the sight of Hunter, he made a haste salute. "Sorry, sir." He spoke quickly and reigned in his horse, as Bella thought to continue in her path. Bella did scarcely seem pleased to have to wait, and so her tail was lifted and swooshed it's way against the muzzle of the other horse.


"..I've not.." He began to find an apology and scolded himself for thinking of it. Rather he replied to the observations of the man. "Yes sir. I have been put to duty, as of today. Sir."

Bella's first attempt was made as she pulled her head in the direction of fair Firebird and its owner's leg. A near miss as it was, she was pulled back, and made a rather unhappy whinny sound.

'I do hope you were put back on duty, not ran away like a certain Major, eh?' George smiled at the hussar.
Firebird it seemed was bent on having the worst of relationships with all the horses she's met, and yet, despite the other mare's attack, Firebird simply move a little forward so that the horses ended up standing parallel to each other.

"Sir?.." He hadn't known about Winwood's own adventure and would not dare speak of another superior officer. "I was put to tudy by lord Edrington." He glanced down at Bella, who neighed her head impatiently. She was not interested in idle conversation, even less so when she could hear the stomping feet of horses in the distance and their own calls.

" To remain here, sir." He added with only a faint trace of regret, though he managed to wipe most of the feeling from his face. He observed the dried blood on the captain's face, and found himself quickly to avert his gaze, believing it rude to stare, and even less right to look at the officer as if one was equal.

Bella attempted a nip at Firebird so the youth's hold on her strengthened. She was behaving considerably well.

'Ah, I see. My condolences, no doubt you are wishing yourself in the fray'. Hunter noticed the hussar's quickly averted gaze and realised he must look as horrible as his skin felt. Not only that, but his palms were scraped badly from the little tree climbing exercise: one of the reasons he was not taking up the reins.

Hussar's mare tried to nip Firebird, and this time, unlike with Hercules, having been lulled into a false of security, George was not ready for Firebird's antics. She reared up, twisting her front to try to get at the other horse. George managed to grab on to her neck, but the sudden violent motion threw his feet out of the stirrups.

Bella sensed the assault and reared. Not even the reigns could have had her down then. The hussar had barely caught on her the first thrust that she'd made and still tried to veer her back, when he saw, with great dread, the other man's legs slip from his stirrups. It felt almost as if time had slowed, so that he could see each and every detail of it.

And then just as swiftly it sped and he found himself trying to hold on as Bella wished to make even with the captain's own horse. "NO!"

"Bella, back!"

Dust and mud rose up, with the thudding of the two mare's hooves, as they seemed to have decided to set the other in her place. For that moment the Hussar had wished he had good, ol' reliable Bayard. Never in his life, would that horse had thought of something like this.

George miraculously holding on to the rearing and 'dancing' Firebird, heard rather then saw that the hussar was in trouble as well. It was possible for them to get the horses under control, but not very likely, especially for George.
'I'm abandoning ship!' he shouted to the hussar and putting as much strength into his legs as he could he pushed away, rather then jumped off the horse. As was his luck, he landed right into the wettest mud around causing a great splash that covered him from top to bottom. Getting up as quickly as possible he made for his horse and managed to get hold of her neck from the front, pulling her down and earning himself a painful kick in the leg for his trouble.
'Ebat'!', he swore in russian.

Bella recieved a harsh kick to her side, which though spurred her forward rather than to the side, and her body hit against the back of Firebird's before she twisted from her near falling herself, as her feet came to stumble one across the other.

From her sliding down lower, the Hussar pulled his leg free from the stirrup, his right already there, and made for the ground... Reigns in hand.

The mare in fear that she was going to be kicked made a few attempts to move further ahead, and drew her rider with him a few paces before they both stopped. The young lad was panting. "SIR!.. Are you allright? Sir!" He spoke and dared to run to him only once his mare was secured. There was no need that she would attempt to strike, when she was least needed.

"Sir!" He half stumbled half ran. The man was caked in mud, and what seemed to be, a rather painful thing he was sporting at his leg. She could've shattered his bone just like that, and already he was afraid that something of the sort had happened. He went to reach for Firebird's reigns, to try and help the other man , were he to need it.

[OOC: Ooooh, you're sooo nice. OMG, I'm having so much fun.]

George groaned. From the commotion he'd heard the hussar himself had a somewhat dramatic experience with his mount. He looked up at the finally stilled Firebird, who'd even allowed the hussar to take her reins, looking a little guilty. The enemy forgotten, she lowered her head to try and nuzzle at George. He pushed her head away, angry: 'Skotina ty neschastnaya!', he kept going in Russian.

Then his gaze landed at the worried hussar. 'I am alright, I am alright. It wasn't too bad of a kick'. He tried standing up, but his scratched palm found a sharp stone in the mud and with a hiss he landed back in the mud. He lay still for few short moments, simply gazing up into the sky. Then he started shaking with laughter, tears of mirth making trails among the mud and blood on his face.

Half of what the man said was spoken in such manner that the Hussar couldn't understand a word, and his first thought had been that perhaps the captain struck his head on a stone and was now suffering from that injury. More worried than he could find himself be he held the captain's horse at bay, as if expecting her to strike at her rider, her mind blurred by the earlier excitement. Only when he was sure her mind was no longer set on causing injury, did he slacken his hold.

And then he found the man could speak again. He felt a deep sense of relief. That trange gibberish of his earlier , was not permenant. He was not struck daft by the fall! "Careful sir!"

He saw him fall and feared to see his leg twisted in two. Luckily it was not, but he was indeed back and muddy. And then he began laughing. Oh god, he had to strike his head hard after all! The young hussar was pale, so that any mud that was upon his own flesh stood out dramatically clear on it.

"Sir, .. sir should I call the surgeon? " And lord Edrington had told him to stay out of the people's way. What would he think if he'd just done in a captain! He was torn between helping the man up or just having the horse tied away from Bella, but also from them and running to get some help.

'You can go get him if you think he'll be able to give our horses better brains!' breathed out George as he rolled on to his side and continued laughing. He laughed so hard he barely made a sound. Finally, managing to get it a little under control, he sat up leaning back on his hands. 'Just look at us: a hussar and a bloody aide-de-camp thrown off by their own horses. Didn't even need the battle to get dirty', George grinned. 'How about you just shoot me now? If Wellesley saw this, hell, even if he didn't', George glanced down meanigfully at his filthy uniform, 'He's gonna gut me and then feed me to that horse of his'.

"Sorry sir." The captain could laugh and did, but the Hussar feared that were he to give a chuckle he might be called on for an assault of an officer even if he had as much blame on him, as the mouse that had observed them from afar, till she squeeked and ran for cover.

"I .. sincerest apologies sir." He spoke hastly, not sure if the captain was really all well, when he'd suggest that he were to be shot. "I'll have your uniform cleaned sir." He supplied helpfully and found the irony that it would have been already the second that he would be wipping of dirt or some such.

Not trusting the captain's mare not to head for his horse, the moment he'd let go of her reigns, and Bella looking rather sour that she was left tied and away, he slowly straightened up and with:" Just a moment sir. " He hastly had Firebird tied too, a bit further away and a fair knot that could be undone, if the horse would have gone wild as was safe for the animal.

Quickly he returned and without much thought to his person, he had knelt down on one knee, beside the captain, ready to check for injury or help him up even more so, if he wished.

"Sir, do your hurt anywhere?" Wellesley was a fair man, last he remembered, and it was in conversation about the French that he was questioned, but he might really not take to be glad his aide-de-camp was dirty head to toe.

George stared incredulously at the hussar kneeling next to him in the mud.
'Erm, what's your name?'

"Trooper Willoughby , sir." And he hastly added even if it was only his name he was asked, neither his rank nor station :" Of the 15th Hussars, sir." All screams, shouts and shots were tuned out from his mind, as he kept his gaze lower than that of the officer, feeling the unnerving stare on him though.

'Right, Willoughby. You know, I am hurting. In my brain! You know why? Because I cannot fathom the reason for your apologies! If anyone's at fault it's me for not keeping my bloody hands on the reins. So lay off the apologies. As for the uniform, I have unexpectedly acquired a servant this morning so I am sure he'll take of it'. George glanced down at Timothy's legs, already stained heavily with mud. 'And get out of this mud before you spoil your own uniform beyond any hope of redemption. Come on', George started to get himself up carefully, not wanting to slip again,

He nearly had himself staring at the captain. He had yet to meet an officer who would have blamed himself when a subordinate was around and easy to blame. Well, he met one now, and it shocked him enough that he became without anything to say. He offered his hand to help the captain up, while he easily had done so himself. Having nor sporting and cuts such as the other man. He was meant to say a sorry, for causing 'pain' to the man, but caught himself, for it might just push his luck further.

As they both got up, George glanced down at himself: he was honestly scared for the state of his face now. 'No point in dusting myself off, is there?' He snickered, then looked at Timothy, his eyes twinkling with mirth: 'You know, however, this plays out now, I cannot wait to see the look on the General's face when he sees me like this'.
George knew that he must look a fright: muddy uniform, face crusted first with blood and now with a layer of mud, adding the tear tracks from laughter. 'At least now I won't have to lie about being kicked by my own mare'.

Why was he hopefuly to cause anger or annoyance on his superior's face? Willoughby could not understand as much as he tried to find reason. If a private had been found in less than presentable condition when they were checked (because the word escaped from my mind) they would be far less eager to be noticed by their sergeant or similar.

"Yes sir."

He looked at the two mares which stood far enough appart that neither could do harm to the other. He reached down and dusted some of the mud from his grey trousers, the dirt going of easier where there was leather - at the inside of his legs. Attentively he watched the captain as he moved, ready to move to him, if his kicked leg gave under him.

Willoughby obviously didn't appreciate the humour of the situation or was too scared to show that he did. George cursed the fear that so many soldiers seemed to have of their officers. What officers needed was respect, not fear. His own mirth subsided a little, and he walked quietly with Willoughby towards their horses, limping rather heavily.

He noticed the limp and he turned. "..Sir.." He began braving himself up:"..We better escort you to the surgeon's wagon... just to look at that leg, sir." He knew how bad a leg could become, and how a mere limp could turn into one being stranded at the surgeon's for a good long while. And if not taken care of, Sinclair did have a full good imagery of what could happen to the leg. The heavy limp could indicated a grosser injury.

He hoped that the captain would not take those words as spoken against him.

George looked at Timothy, then nodded his resignation. Though his amusement was temporarily dampened by Willoughby failure to share in it, the devil was in him now. 'I guess I will have to go, though honestly it was a glancing blow. But only on one condition: I'm seeing Wellesley's face first. Although', he added slowly as if thinking hard, 'it probably won't be any different, oh, Sigrid the Haughty'. He waved a hand precluding any answer from Willoughby.

'I know, I know, not funny. And yet, it is. As Lieutenant Sharpe put it, the aides are supposed to fawn over the General and look pretty and here I am, first day on the job and not very successful with either of these occupations. And here the little naive me thought it would be a boring safe job. Ha! Since last night I have acquired two bruises, a cut that won't stop bleeding, scratches on my palms and a limp. I have also ruined a uniform and killed four men. All that's left is to be shot and get kicked out of the army'. He chuckled.

"Yes, sir." He hesitated and then dared to add :"I would not suppose it is safe that you appear such before the general, sir." He offered a small smile, his gaze still as that of a trooper.

"The French will be sure to offer a resistance and opportunity of being under fire.. I am sure. There shall be a battle yet." He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the village and the soldiers fighting.

'Ah, maybe we'll get lucky and get pulled into the fighting. I think I require another coat of muck, somehow I am not feeling sufficiently dirty', George snickered, putting a finger to the still bleeding cut and smearing it recklessly over his cheek on top of the dirt there.

"Perhaps, sir. " He looked to the fighting again and smiled :"They are doing a fine job.. if I may be so bold to say, sir. We have good men." He shuffled a little as he untied Hunter's horse and slowly offered her reigns to him before he thought better.

"I can lead your horse, if you need sir." Wouldn't do for the man to be pulled after a mischevious horse after all.

'You may, you may' smiled George in return. 'They are good, and I think should we be lucky enough to join them, perhaps, we should ride on the different sides of the column. Otherwise, instead of fighting with the French, will be fighting against our horses'.

They finally reached their tethered mounts. 'It's quite alright, Willoughby, I think I'll lead her myself. Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll drag me past the General and his staff at full gallop'. George laughed out loud at the image.

"Sir.. " He began and shook his head. "Yes sir. Shall you..." He turned quiet. It was not in his possition to question the captain on his ability to ride or walk and so instead he went to free his horse and moved to her left, and pulled himself up on her back again.

He turned back at Mr. Hunter and wondered if he better be accompanied to the surgeon and more.. about the poor sod's muddy and bloody look. Not an example of an ADC. Not at all.