27th May, morning; with wagons

"I know that, but it'd have made 'em go away sooner, without all the mess," Newbury countered. It didn't matter now, though. At least the provosts were gone. "Pye's chick was all for givin' 'em a fight," he added. "Never seen the like!"

Pye placed the chick carefully on the ground after the provosts had gone, and kept an eye on it, while he started picking of the things too. Careful not to dirty them, very careful not to wrinkle them either. The chick ran a few paces in the direction of the provosts, chirping like a brave chick it was, possibly telling them off in its own way. It then turned about and tilted its head around gazing at the men curiously. It had wanted to sit on that fuzzy big thing, the pelisse. But it had already been removed, folded, wrapped up and set back in its place. Instead it sought about the remaining bits, seeking any food that might've been left behind, pecking at one or the other thing and then settling itself comfortably on the ground just watching them.

By the time Pye had time to look at it again, it was fast asleep. It had probably been tired out from all the excitement. "..They're not taking her." Pye muttered, his voice low, hostile. "I'll.... I'll kill 'em if they try."

He was silent again, deciding that the provosts had not learned the lesson in humility when they were made to stink, and his loathing for them only grew greater. They were as bad as Hakeswill.

"Would've bin more of a mess if they'd wanted to string you up for summat, though," Cotton said, and swore as Willow shifted and put a hoof on his foot. "Stupid bloody animal! Move!" He put his shoulder against the mule's and shoved until it relented, letting him hop around a bit until he could put his foot down again. "Wish you'd done that a bit ago to one of them. Fine sense o' timin' you have." He looked across at Newbury. "The chick? Well, that is a rum do an' no mistake."

A grin spread across Newbury's face. "Aye, the chick. Went springin' off the mule and straight at 'em, it did. Daft little creature."

"Wish the bloody mule had as much sense" Cotton said, leaning against it to help maintain his balance as he rubbed at his foot. "It's got pluck, that little thing, that's for sure."

Peacefully asleep, the chick didn't know they talked of it, but it did like the freedom it had. Those men were gone and it needn't strike out any more. Perhaps later it could see if the big man with food still felt upset about the pecking which had been necessary to let it go at the vile men! Maybe he would have some more food too? The chick would have liked that.

Pye knelt by the mule, surprised at how upset Cotton was with it. The animal seemed bewildered as well, but no less stubborn. "Gabriel ... it's not t' mule's fault."

"Didn't have to stand on me, did it, 'specially with all its weight." He gingerly lowered his foot to the ground. "That's goin' to be a nice bruise come the mornin', that's what. An' I ain't upset with Willow so much as them damn provosts."

"They'll get theirs, Gabe. Don't worry." The lad glanced at his chick. He wouldn't let anyone take it from him. It came into his life by accident, but now it would stay. And he dearly hoped, that it would live and grow up into a proper feisty chicken.

"We'd best not go far from our wagons," Newbury suggested, giving the mule's neck a scratch in an attempt to settle it, lest it step on somebody else's foot. " 'Til we gotta head back to the company, anyway."

"We need to get the water, Joe. N' do other things you're not going to do be doing right in the camp." He hesitated only then remembering that they had a dead rabbit in the pack and grinned. "And we need to cook, though's that we can do in camp." A rabbit stew, they needed some additional things for that. And that was another reason to having to go out there and fetch it. Given, it was stealing unless bought from the camp followers, but how else could they make it so good?

"Sounds like a good idea," Cotton said, scooping another shirt off the ground. "Try an' stay out o' trouble... sometimes the tryin' is about all us Riflemen can do." He shook the shirt out and folded it before putting it with the others. "An' sure they'll get their comeuppance one o' these days. I'm jus' in hopes I might be around to see it, that's what."

"Aye. We do. But not too far, I mean." Newbury shrugged and picked a pair of trousers up. Lucky they hadn't landed in the muddier parts of the road.

"..It'd be good if one of those provosts found himself face first in the mud. Better if he choked on it senseless." Pye had other ideas, but the more he mentioned, the clearer it was, he did not care for the provosts' comfort at all. Far from it. "....if 'ey dug him outa a pile of shyte. That'd be a sight. 'Mistaken' for a frenchy.. the poor thing."

"It won't happen, though," Cotton said, retrieving anther pair of stockings. "About all I can do is tell the captain when we get back the company, but it'll be too late for him to do anythin' then, really. Be nice to see them provosts get what-for, though."

That it would, Newbury thought. Maybe some day. "What's that you said 'bout cookin', Pye?"

"Rabbit, Joe. " Pye beamed. Any thought of provosts lost out against the thoughts of food. "We've got a whole plump rabbit with us. Ready for a stew, or what you'll make of it." He looked at Cotton and then knelt down to scoop his chick up. It chirped sleepily and nestled itself in the palm of himself, deciding that the disturbance wasn't enough to wake it up, and not worth much notice either.

"You should've seen him catch it, Joe. I never seed the like afore. It hid itself under a bush an' we thought it'd gone down a hole till it cluthered an' ran. Startled the lad so much he went head over heels down the hill all mixed up with the coney." He was grinning as he related the story, the ache in his foot and the ruins of the Captain's well-packed baggage forgotten in the humour of the thing.

"That beats all," Newbury said with a grin. "If you're gonna catch a rabbit, might's well do it with style, eh?"

Pye smiled at the two riflemen, his cheeks turning as red as his collar. "..'been hungry n'.. Gabe said we couldn't shoot 'em..." He mumbled and looked down. He was hungry, the rabbit was there, he jumped and tumbled and got! Cotton DID tell him he was not allowed to shoot!

"I thought he'd broke summat in the tumble. Think the rabbit was as surprised as the rest of us when Pye sat up holdin' it in his hands.." He looked around to see if there was anything else left lying in the road; Vickery wouldn't be pleased if he managed to lose something, though it would all need a good sorting out at the earliest possible opportunity.

Newbury chuckled. "Aye, I'd reckon it would be. It'll make a fine stew all the same!"

There didn't look to be anything lying forgotten in the road, but he took an extra moment to be sure before adding, "Seems to be the lot, I think. We'd better get movin' again, though. 'Fore them provosts get of a mind to have another go."

"I dunno what makes 'em think they've got the right to go pawin' through an officer's stuff in the first place." Cotton sighed and strapped the last pack back to Willow's pack-saddle. "Bet the provost officer'd have summat to say about it, if someone chose to sling his things all over the road."

Getting away from the provosts was a good idea, and would be even easier if they could head back up towards the rest of the company.

A mischievous smirk brightened Newbury's face. "What if someone did?" He mused, nonchalantly stuffing his hands into his pockets. What if, indeed...

"Belike we'd be caught doin' it," was Cotton's reply, though he couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face. "Might be worth it, though." It was worth thinking about, of course. If they could think of a way to do it without risking getting caught. That would be the trick...

"Pushin' one of 'em in the river seemed to distract 'em nicely," Newbury remarked thoughtfully. "But their horses might be the better for gettin' them drove off."