"Father, son, and the Holy Spirit… Amen" breath hazed up Alfred's glasses as he lifted his hand from the chest of one of his men. The snow was picking up, starting to cover the scattered tracks of the battle and creating sheets over the bodies scattered across the field. Climbing onto his horse, he surveyed the land, seeking any signs of life. A couple of horses wandered in the distance, their saddles crooked from their rider's fall, but it was otherwise quiet.
This was supposed to be a simple ambush to Alfred's troupe; sneak up on the supply wagon, kill the driver, and clean up nicely. A simple mistake by their scout lead to their demise, as there had been a large patrol only a kilometer back from the wagon that now was a shamble of scorched remains. It had gone up in flames shortly after the patrol found them. Now Alfred rode through the field alone. After one more sweeping glance, he turned his back to the field and nudged his horse towards the trees.
As they entered the trees at the edge of the woods, a twig snapped and Alfred's heart raced. Pulling his pistol from his belt and loading it, he edged around the corner, taking a breath when he heard the snorting of a horse. The horse backed up with another snort, it's reins clearly snagged by something, "Easy there, let me help ya big guy," He hopped off of his own steed and trudged through the snow. As he approached, He felt his breath snag in his chest as he saw what the horse was caught on. A British solider slumped against a tree, the reins stuck beneath him. At first the colonist assumed that, like all the others, this man was dead and started to heave his body out of the way to free the animal. Once up close, he saw the tiniest wisp of breath leave the man's mouth. Upon touching him, the man's eyes shot open, a rattled gasp escaping his mouth, "Well ain't ya a lucky bastard?" Alfred mused after his initial shock, kneeling down to get a closer look. The man had sustained a nasty gash across his chest, and his pale face and clouded eyes didn't bode well,
"So lucky to die staring into your ugly mug, how grand," The man muttered back, causing Alfred to chuckle,
"Ya ain't lookin too good yerself there, lad," With that he stood and put his pistol back, "And unfortunately for you, this glorious figure is far from the last thing you'll see," He reached down and tried hefting the other man up,
"Let go of me! I don't need your help!" Alfred shrugged and let go, letting the man crash back onto the ground. Soon after, he was retching blood into the snow,
"Sure you don't need any help? Or will your majesty the King take care of that for ya?" At the glare he received, he let out a chuckle, "What's your name? Or do I not deserve to know as a filthy colonist?" Picking the man up, he ignored the feeble attempts to escape and hefted him onto his horse,
"Kirkland. Arthur,"
"Nice to make your acquaintance Arthur Kirkland," Alfred swung onto the horse behind Arthur after tying the other horse to his saddle and started off through the trees towards the nearby road,
"Do I not get to learn your name?" Arthur asked, sagging over onto the horse's neck. His breathing was still ragged and shallow, and Alfred had to keep hold of him or he would slide off of the horse entirely. The sky was darkening, but if they stopped he would not make it through the bitter night. Reaching back and pulling a blanket from his saddle bag, Alfred wrapped it around Arthur to try and keep him warm,
"My name is Alfred Jones,"