25th May Coming early

Pye nodded and shifted around a bit. "One hour. That's rather quick." He reached into his bread bag slowly and brought the small fluff out of it, gently sitting it down on his knee, beside the rifle that still angled across to his shoulder. He poured a little water into the palm of his hand and held it to the small animal, which a bit shakily moved closer to sip at the water.

One hour could drag on longer, if the tracking would prove more difficult or if they had to engage the French. If their weapons were really as poor and as few, the latter assumption could be as well wrong, but the first could still prove to carry some weight. He reached into his other pocket next and brought a small bit of food for the bird, and held it to it. He watched the little animal peck at his palm, gulping down the bits and then standing itself up in a rather self important manner. It chirped once before eating some more, quietly.

"Pushin' myself too hard, sir? Wouldn't think of it," Newbury answered and hoped the stitches in his side would hold up until the army stopped for the night.

"O' course you would," Cotton muttered, overhearing Newbury's remark. He grinned at the chick Pye was feeding. "You want to be careful with that, mate. You given it a name yet?" He reached out to run a finger gently over the creature's soft down.

Pye smiled. He'd grown less nervous around Newbury, and could find some amusement in his 'swearing' he'd never have thought to push himself beyond what was best for his health. He looked up, allowing the chick to still peck at his pam in search for the bits of food remaining, and paused thoughtfully.

"Well ... no.. i didn't think .." He blushed , ashamed he would have forgotten something as essential. "... I dunno wot' to name it." He said quickly to cover up his slip. The bird moved around a little to see who was touching it and seemed to make itself look as tall as it could on its small feet, chirping and pecking at the foreign object.

Newbury grinned innocently and shrugged. "I won't," he stated, then looked over at the chirping ball of yellow fuzz that Pye was holding. "What're you gonna do when that start's gettin' bigger?"

"Could call it Buttercup, an' hope it don't grow to be cockerel," Cotton said, amused as the thing pecked at his fingers. He was curious as to Pye's answer too. "Best get it stowed, though, we'll be on our way afore too much longer," he said, and adjusted his pack.

Pye glanced up at Newbury and smiled. "Well when it grows bigger, I'll have it in me hat.. n' when it's even bigger then..."He looked thoughtful. "I dunno if it'd get bigger than a hat..." He admitted gazing at the little ball of fluff. He hadn't thought about that either, not till Newbury had asked it.

"Buttercup? What if someone decides to eat it.. jus' for that?" Pye looked worried. He didn't want his 'pet' to end up in a pot. It could produce lots of eggs, he reasoned , unless it was a cockerel. In that case, it could atleast give the French a proper - albeit amusing - pecking of their life.

He curled his fingers around the small body and opened his bread bag. It was empty just to accommodate the little thing. "Would... how do you even tell wot' it is?"

"Dunno how to tell what it is, but it's a quiet sorta creature, ain't it?" Newbury fished around in his pocket for some crumbs of bread. "Hopefully it's a hen though. Won't get no fresh eggs outta it, else."

"Ain't no way to tell till it's a bit older, I'm 'fraid. Fresh eggs'd go down a proper treat, so they would." He grinned. "Could call it Daisy - an' change it to Davy if it decides it's a cock'rel."

Pye chuckled and though he'd just intended to put the chick back into his bag, it seemed that it didn't want to go in there just yet and pecked at his palm and at his fingers then turning to duck under his hand and stop finally on his knee. It was tilting it's little head a bit, looking at Newbury as if understanding the movement of his hand somewhere, where it was concealed to suggest there might be more to peck on.

"We'll call it sumthing." He nodded. "Maybe wait till it's old enough ter lay eggs or not.. n' then give it a name." He smiled. "Sure hope it's a lass. Won't be wakin' us up in t' morning if it is... not like them cock'rel's! N' then eggs!" It was already clear that the eggs would go to the riflemen and that the lad would not hoard them for himself. "Daisy, Buttercup, what do you think?" He asked the little bird, but the animal seemed more interested to see what Newbury had, than what the big human who had ran out of food was saying.

A couple bread crumbs and what smelled like a hunk of old cheese. Newbury broke off a tiny corner of the greyish lump to taste it, made a face, and flung the rest away.

"Here you," he said to the chick, holding out his palm with the bread crumbs on it.

Cotton had been about to see if he had any crumbs in his own bread-bag, only Newbury got there first. "Dunno 'bout anythin' else, but that'll be a nice fat chick. Or chicken, when it grows up."

The little bird moved closer to the hand. It pecked it testing the responsiveness of the fingers before gulping down a rather large bit of a bread crumb. It looked up, chirped appreciatively and seemed to puff up a bit. Then as it's fluff settled again, it began to eat up the rest of the food offered. If anything the bird looked very satisfied and like a very happy, never to go hungry, bird as well.

"Don't feed it too much! If it's real fat it won't fit under m' hat! Where else could i carry it then?" The boy said, not meaning to protest much about the sharing of food though. Perhaps it was more of a light hearted joke - surprising feat for the shy rifleman - and it was certainly no complaint.

"Thanks Newbury. it ..t' chick really appreciates it n' me too." He dropped his gaze quickly to look at the thing.

"Eats faster'n we do," Newbury observed mildly. "No worries, neither. I weren't gonna eat them little bits. Better off givin' 'em to somethin' that needs 'em."

The rest of the company was rousing up, it looked like. Newbury grimaced. "S'pose that's it for the halt."

"All right, break's over, men. Form up!" Vickery said and Cotton shrugged.

"Reckon it'll be easy 'nough to feed on our breadcrumbs, after all," he said, making a final adjustment to his pack.

"In with you." Though the bird must've eaten all that there was to eat on Newbury's palm it still gave a rather unpleasant salvo of protests when it was scooped up to be placed back into the bread bag. It chirped with a rather sulky tone for a short while, the amount of time that took for Pye to get up, sling his rifle over his shoulder again, check that it was not at an angle that would allow rain in, give his trousers a small swipe with his hands and to have his canteen back in place.

Finally it turned silent, though it did still squirm about for a few moments longer. "If that's all it will need." Pye grinned and was up, and straightened nice, even if his uniform was not resembling parade quality cleaningness.

"Bread crumbs and tea," Newbury said and hitched his pack a little higher on his shoulders. "That'll do most any lad, sure."

"We'll have to persuade it to drink tea, then," Cotton said. "Though you might want to give it cold tea, at least at first." He chuckled. "Ma wouldn't half stare to see anyone teachin' a chick to drink tea, though. We had one chicken used to try drinkin' small beer, if any got left out. That was a sight to see, that was."

"A chicken that drinks tea? Might jus' turn out to be a proper rifle's chicken then!" Pye chuckled, making sure that the little bird was now safe and secure and at best not too cold. He didn't want to have it die due to him not doing everything that he and the little amount of knowledge he had about it, would be able to do.

"Beer? Was it a drunk chicken then?" He blinked imagining a chicken sitting on the table beside all the men and having her pint of beer. It was enough to have him laugh again before, not willing to draw attention to the trio, he'd shut himself up and only grinned some more.

"Jus' don't think rabbit would do her ..or him good. Or other chickens." He murmured, ready to fall in step with the rest of them.

"Nah, you never feed meat to a chicken. Don't do 'em no good, see. Bread, aye, an' grain when you can get it, though that'll be later in the year. Not flour, though - it's too fine." He grinned. "Was only small beer - the weak stuff Ma brewed for us to take out to the fields, see, or have at breakfast. Got her drunk the first couple of times. Dan - me younger brother - swore her eggs tasted a bit strange after she go the taste for the stuff." He shrugged. "Dunno what your chick's eggs'll taste like, if'n she gets the taste for a drop o' tea when she wants it."

"Hmmm... that'd be funny. If them eggs contained beer if you fed 'em one!" He grinned and glanced at the chick. She had stopped struggling, and seemed to decide she accepted her fate to be carried in the bag for a while. She or perhaps he, the riflemen wouldn't know till it was older, decided to inspect the bag again and find if there was any more bread crumbs it has missed during the first inspection.

"Though.. then there'd never be trouble ter 'eat' er.. or drink it. Couse that's not a place anybody would look." He'd spoken more hushed then, as if afraid his words would draw an unwanted reaction, or if they were in itself dangerous.

"...But tea'd be good. Tea tastin' eggs. That'd be somethin'!"

"Could try cookin' 'em in tea, if you want to find out how they'd taste," Cotton said with a shrug. "Still, shouldn't be too hard to keep her happy an' fed, even when she grows a bit bigger. If it is a she, that is."

"N'... If she's a he.. wot' are we goin' ter do?" He asked. He knew they'd have little use of a male bird. They were said to be loud, liked to fight and lay no eggs. He knew little more since he'd never raised a bird and even these things he heard rather than seen. What he hoped most was for it to be a female bird. A Chicken, a she. Then she'd serve the riflemen and they'd let her live.

"Well, I don't s'pose you'd want to eat it for dinner. Could keep it, even if it's a cock." Cotton shrugged. "Well, you got half a chance it's a cock, but then you got half a chance it's a hen, so we'll just have to wait an' see. It's sweet, whatever it is."

"Maybe we'll find somethin' for it later," Newbury said. "That's us headin' off now, though."

He ambled away toward the front of the column, anticipating assignment as a forward scout.