Following the French - 25th Morning, Afternoon, Night

The men watched this confrontation, exchanging glances among themselves. They saw their lieutenant loose his temper, but had also heard enough of Hunter to know for what reason.

"We can shoot him, sir." Pierre suggested, motioning with his pistol towards Hunter. "Right deserving it would be." Commented another, placing his hand on the blade at his belt.

"Can find our way back on our own sir, we trust you." Aubert piped in, not much younger than the others, but as loyal to Napoleon as he was to this officer.

"You heard them Hunter.." Saint-Hilaire spoke, his hand that held the blade to his neck exerting a little more pressure. "..I would like to give you another chance...you might even reach Paris, alive.. and in one piece."

"Oh, I heard them well enough. My answer is this. Either you put up with me or go ahead and shoot me. I am not changing my behaviour just because it displeases you." Hunter's eyes narrowed.

"Do you have a death wish, Englishman?...I have seen the likes of you quiver and beg....at the smallest provocation." His eyes narrowed on Hunter's, challenging him. "..I am not playing around...what I said, I meant." He flexed his fingers on the blade, but pressed no further.

"Believe me, you have never seen the likes of me, Frenchman." While Saint-Hilaire did not press the blade closer, Hunter repeated his trick he used on Widmayer some days ago, and pressed closer himself, so that the blade was practically cutting the skin now.

"...no." Saint-Hilaire stared startled as he felt the pressure on his blade, the one that he did not create. He glanced at it and saw the skin, that might have been injured before. This man was mad.

He leaned back, then took a step, his foot dragging across the pebbles till it reached its destination unwilling to loose footing because of a stone too high or a clearing he would have misjudged in having.

He pulled his hand back and with it the blade, which then he lowered. "Lead the way..."

Hunter nodded at the young man and walked on, as if nothing happened.

In silence, Saint-Hilaire followed suit, and behind him the small army that he had gathered when fleeing the prisons. Even his men were now more quiet, unsettled and concerned that they might earn a lashing out from their lieutenant, only for having spoken a quiet word when his nerves were frayed.

They walked in gloomy silence for some time, until Hunter looked at Saint-Hilaire over the shoulder and sighed, shaking his head.
"To use your own words, do not pout so."

"I do not pout." But to no surprise his expression as he said it, marked him a liar. He seemed to notice that as he tilted his chin up a bit in a manner of one thinking himself still the wiser even if he has been proven wrong.

They were able to avoid any discovery by the local population and perhaps it was the army that was somewhere ahead of them, to the left or right, or going up a path parallel to their own, that drew all the curious and the vengeful to them.

When the sun began to come lower on the horizon, not that they could see it under the thickness of clouds and the shadows had become longer, Saint-Hilaire had begun to seek - while they continued on their path - a place or a region which he could deem safe for his men to rest at, preferably dry, though he doubted one such would be found, but certainly atleast with something to cover their backs.

"Of course you don't." Hunter smiled almost gently. "But if you did, I think it would suit you."

"...We'll stop for the night." Even if he had wanted to go on, the land was too dangerous with all the rain that had fallen and the night itself would not benefit the tired men. It was a decision that only he could make and live with what consequences it would bring.

There was a sense of formality when the men were dismissed, but there was no shouting, no sharp orders by which the men would turn. He needn't have his voice draw attention to the least wanted company.

Close by there was a stream. Perhaps just a sort that would appear when there was a great deal of rain, but would dry out into a trickle of water when there was none. Well, it was there at present and there was no doubt of that, humming softly to their left.

"...Clean up, replenish your water supplies and then eat your rations.." He gave exact instructions on how much they were to take and then motioned two to stand at Hunter's side. "..Is there anything you need?" Spoken half in a sarcastic half a serious tone.

"I'd like to drink some water, if that is fine with you." Hunter waved in the direction of the stream.

"..even prisoners have to drink." He murmured nonchalantly and nodded to Hunter , leaving a sentry at their camp. "I guess." He smirked at the Englishman and descended carefully down the precarious path that lead to the stream. There he aknowledged the sight of a man, overseeing the bank on the other side - albeit not that far at all - and the few soldiers that came to wipe their faces and have - for once - a some relief from their clammy, wet shirts.

The men may have been tired, not armed in a satisfactory manner, cold and in not the best of spirits, which couldn't be held against them, but even so they seemed to be more alert than they had been when by the house.

"Sir." Chevalier, a man of a short stature, with dark, short hair, keen eyes that left little from its sights, saluted the lieutenant. He made a motion to the direction from which he'd come as if to indicate what his reason for the request of an audience was. Below two of the soldiers had been warned by Pierre who had been appointed this temporary position by the lieutenant. The enemy was hardly so far that they could feel safe about it. If their assumptions were right and they had not gotten more lost - in whichever direction - that the distance would be even more questionable.

"Lefevre, Fournier guard the prisoner." Two of the men that had been by the river wiped away the water from their faces, taking a final gulp of it, before climbing up the river's bank to join the trio already standing there.

With quick salutes they took position either side of Hunter, still giving him enough space to move, but as each held a form of a weapon, clearly warning him not to try go far.

Saint-Hilaire gave a light bow of his head: "If you'll excuse me." And without further explanation he turned and followed Chevalier. With the distance far enough from them, so that none could hear their conversation he turned towards the man and inquired:" What is it, that you called me here for?"

"I've found tracks sir. Horses. " Chevalier answered, still leading the lieutenant behind him. He ducked a low lying branch, climbed the rubble covered area on their path before skidding to the muddy patch of beat Earth, grass and rock.

"I believe it's cavalry, sir." He said, indicating the path that veered around and disappeared behind the bend. The tracks were of many animals, heavy laden horses perhaps, there were other marks on the ground that could've been of wheel but whom such a thing would belong he could not tell.

"And.." Chevalier expected an odd, somewhat impatient look from his lieutenant. He was after all not yet finished. "..we've sighed horses." And then he hurried to add. "Two... they seem to carry civilian saddles. Couldn't tell more, it's getting dark."

They couldn't tell how old the tracks were, though they were beaten down, worn and the rain certainly made its best to leave only little to be observed. If there hadn't been as many bodies passing there at whatever time, he supposed, they could have only seen the ground somewhat disturbed. If.

The two horses that were sighed were a more alarming matter however. If they suggested spooked animals and the sighing of their equipment was incorrect, then perhaps whoever owned them might as well be part of the greater army and these tracks were fresh. If on the other hand ...

"..You do not look alarmed, Chevalier. What more do you have to tell me?"

"I believe I know who...er which horses they are." Chevalier looked quite certain.

At a raised eyebrow from his commanding officer he indicated the direction of their prisoner. "They look fair enough like the one that was his, and that companion's." If what the man had said was true and the animals indeed had not strayed far but rather had ventured in about the same direction as they, this was a fine bit of news indeed. Though.. perhaps if the grounds got any worse, a pair of horses could prove a hindrance as well. It was something to consider once the cat was in the bag rather than out running about.

"..." He was torn. "...If you can avoid straying far and making a commotion, then bring me those two horses." He glanced at Chevalier. "I want you and whoever man you pick to be back before nightfall, with or without the animals, have I made myself clear?"

"If.. you come across anything that might interest me, such as the enemy's tracks or danger that might be posed to us, you shall also return to report." With that, a salute later Chevalier left. He was one of the loyal men, a light infantry soldier, one of the 17th, so trust was more easily laid into his hands.

With a quick last glance at the marks , Saint-Hilaire returned to the bank of the river, an order given quickly that all men should be on alert, that they should keep quiet as much as possible and withdraw from the open grounds in quick succession. With a curt nod, he greeted Hunter: "...It seems you are taking us on the right ..away afterall."

Lt. Jacques Vincent was sent after Lt. Saint-Hilaire with a platoon of 20 men

Hunter grimaced at Saint-Hilaire and turned away. He was not happy that the horses had followed them. He was hoping they'd run back to the army and alerted someone to his situation.

Saint-Hilaire's orders were clear. The prisoner was to be escorted back from the bank and up into the trees where he would remain out of sight and would be kept quiet. If the wrong army was near, they could not afford playing around and being heard.

" Sit." The lieutenant indicated with his hand pointed at a log, moist and covered with some vegeation and fungi on the side. "How far was the army..." How stupid that he hadn't asked it then. "...when you've left it to meet with us. Draw the damn map in the mud if you need to...."

"I did not leave to meet with you." Hunter remained standing, looming over the shorter, thinner Frenchman. "And considering I left it quite a while ago, how am going to know where it is now?"

"No? ..where do you come from if not from the army?" He pointed to the log again and spoke sharply. "Sit down, Hunter." His eyes narrowed. "... Ah.. so you do come from it... though the length of this 'a while ago' does not strike me believable. Your army does not let men go about as they please for as long as they feel like it. Hardly more in the enemy's territory." He hesitated. "...in the territory where the enemy is in abundance." He corrected, making himself appear as tall and intimidating as he knew how.

"Well, for some men exception may be made," said Hunter, although in truth he was expected back this evening, which he was spending it being ordered to sit down instead.