The boy stood there before the house, his fist trembling as he looked up at its large doors. Was this even the place? He gulped and decided to take the risk. With slight reluctance, he brought his hand to the door and knocked three times, standing and waiting for a response. But this was very soft and so it was unlikely that he was heard. He bit his lip, knocking again, and found satisfaction once he heard running footsteps from the inside of the house. The door opened quickly to reveal a young man who wore wrinkled and bloody clothing. This man looked around for whichever being may have been at his home, before looking down and immediately noticing the boy at his doorstep.

The man gasped and was quick in picking the child up, holding the child in his arm as he closed the door. He looked over the boy's injured head and battered limbs with a horrified expression on his face as he ran through the corridors, yanking open a door to a room and setting the child down on the cot that was inside it. "What happened to you?" The man asked in a hushed voice, so as to not awaken the man in the bed beside.

"The Mounties beat me up," The child whined, the man cautiously shushing him and pointing at the other sleeping patient. The child, however, did not seem to care about this other man and instead continued his complaint. "They tried to kill me…"

"I have no doubt about that," This man whispered with a soft sigh, lying the boy down and draping a blanket over top of his battered, tired body. It was a miracle that this little tiny thing had made it all the way to Saskatoon, especially in his current state. But this man was no doctor. He was just the homesteader whose house was being used as a field hospital for whichever man escaped death following the injuries they received at Batoche. He had practically been forced to practise medicine, and was extremely grateful for the more knowledgeable people that had been told to help him. "How old are you? What is your name?"

At this, the little boy shrugged. "I don't know either of those," He admitted with a sigh. "What about you?"

"No name?" The man gasped. Everybody had a name! How could anybody live their lives without a name? He was extremely perplexed with what the child had told him but he forced himself not to drawl over this and instead conversed with the boy over the topic he had chosen. "My name is Alexander Marr. It's a bit of a tongue twister at your age, so you can call me-"

The boy had already begun, trying to pronounce this rather lengthy name. "Ala-" He stammered, of course getting it incorrect at first. "Ala- Ala-Sandy Marr…" He scrunched up his nose and furrowed his eyebrows, an expression which caused Alexander to chuckle, although the man vowed not to lose his patience with the young one who had already been through so much. This was evident on the clothing he wore and the injuries which littered his small, thin frame. Alexander pitied this child, who had clearly been through so much and had been given nothing to compensate. Why, the poor boy didn't even have his own name! "Sandy… Marr…"

"Y-You can call me Sandy, if you'd like," Alexander offered with a weak smile accompanying. "Now, I'll fetch you a medic, so you should just lie down and try to go to sleep…" As Alexander shuffled shyly away, he did not keep his eyes on the boy, but he was certainly on his mind. Soon enough, he figured, this child would find a way into his heart. Alexander wanted to know what happened to this child, who took care of him? Was he Riel's own son? Is that why he was despised so much by the RCMP? No, the chances were highly unlikely. Riel would have named this boy. Did this child have parents at all? Did this child need parents? Alexander sighed, approaching a young nurse by the name of Beatrice (though everybody called her Betty), and beseeching her assistance in bandaging the boy's wounds.

The child looked around the room, around at his surroundings. A small window was there, covered with pale yellow drapes. The walls were wood and were not painted, and the floor was hard, with a rug having been draped over it. There were two cots beside him: One was empty but contained wrinkled sheets and a blanket thrown to the side, as well as a pillow at the head. The other contained a tall, fat man that happened to be sleeping, who had thrown his blanket to the ground. The man had long, black braided hair, and wore long underwear underneath a pale green gown. There was a bandage wrapped around his hand, and he had a tourniquet around his right arm. There was a deep gash on his cheek that had been stitched up as well. The people here had provided that man this aid, even though others wouldn't, simply because of his race. Discrimination certainly existed here still, but the child smiled in admiration. "I knew it. All the people here are still kind."

The man opened his eye and looked straight at the little boy. "You really think that they wouldn't be?" He asked, to which the boy shrugged. "This is the North-West Territories. One land united. People, united."

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing Betty in her dress and apron, a small carpetbag in her hand. She set it down and opened it, removing from it a vial and syringe. "Are you the young boy whom I was told fought bravely in Batoche?" She asked, to which the boy said yes. "I see that. What a courageous thing you've done for the North-West Territories. And I thank you."

"The RCMP-" The boy began, but was interrupted by Betty.

"I'm going to fix you up, but first I have to give you this medicine," was what she stated, and she quickly rolled up the boy's sleeve in order to do this. He looked at her with wide eyes, wincing as she stuck the syringe into his arm. It only took ten seconds for the child to be fast asleep.

'You expect me to believe that such awful things happen in Canada? Matthew Williams is extremely responsible and we both know he only makes choices that are in the best interest of his people. This would never happen.' The words hit him harder than any bullet, but he didn't dare back down from what might be the only chance at getting the madness to stop. Manitoba was out of prison and now he was in London arguing a case that he knew he'd never win. 'Why, the mere idea of it is absolutely insane!'

'Ontario is a nightmare to work with,' Manitoba snarled coldly. 'And I blame Matthew for putting him in charge.'

'Ontario is capable if Matthew makes that decision,' Arthur Kirkland himself was not having it. There was nothing anybody could get away with, and that was clear. 'Why are you beseeching help from me? Why not Canada himself?'

'Because the last time one of us asked Canada for help, he sent over one thousand armed men to hunt down and torture my little brother.'

The child woke up in the exact same room as he had fallen asleep in just a few hours ago. The scenery was very much the same, and the man in the cot next to him was sitting up straight. Although, the boy considered, this man probably would not be too keen on talking with him. The boy sighed and lie back down, looking above at the wooden ceiling, trying not to think much of the circumstance. This was the best field hospital in Saskatchewan…. Thank you Riel…. Thank you Marr.