Musketeer horses were well trained. They were disciplined, they could charge into battle, unfazed by the noises and the action. But one thing they did fear. One thing that most animals feared; was snakes.

Porthos' horse reared a second time. Porthos fought hard to maintain his balance. But he lost. The horse threw Porthos and cantered away from the slithering beast that was making its own escape in the other direction. The snake disappeared into the long grass beside the path.

Athos winced in sympathy as his friend crashed to the ground. His own horse was skittishly stepping backwards and sideways. He decided it was best if he dismounted and let the beast calm himself. As he jumped to the ground, he allowed his mount to trot away, following Porthos'. The two horses were soon sheltering in the shade of a large tree, oblivious to the situation they had caused.

Porthos had landed awkwardly. Athos knew his friend had landed awkwardly due to the audible snap of something as he hit the ground. And the loud cry of pain confirmed Athos' theory.

The Musketeer threw his head back and cried out a second time as Athos reached him.

'It is a good job we are not on a mission which requires stealth,' remarked Athos, deliberately keeping his voice calm.

Porthos' eyes were screwed shut; he held his right arm across his chest. Athos surmised the injury was to his friend's arm. He reached out to prise the hand that was protecting the arm away.

'Porthos, will you try to calm down,' said Athos.

'Why aren't you Aramis?'

Athos paused and stared at his friend.

'Because he is on a different mission at the moment. I am deeply sorry you do not have your usual nurse to tend to you.'

Porthos opened his eyes and looked at him; he took a deep, shaky breath.

'Sorry,' he said.

'Let me see.'

Porthos relaxed his left hand and allowed Athos to ease the right arm away from his body. Athos paused when Porthos tensed up, hissing in pain.

'I think I've broken something... felt it snap.'

'I heard it snap, Porthos. I do not need to be a field medic to know you have broken something.'

He looked along the road towards the horses, then up at the darkening sky.

'We are too far from the next village to walk, and you will not be getting on a horse for a few hours at least-'

'Not sure I'll be standing either.'

'Did you hit your head?' asked Athos, cursing himself for not checking Porthos for any other injuries straight away.

'Think so...'

Athos spent a few seconds inspecting Porthos head. He found no bumps or obvious bruises, giving him a little relief. A nasty graze across the palm of Porthos' left hand would cause his friend a few issues until it had healed. Porthos would not be wielding a weapon for a few days, even if he did not have a broken bone in his arm.

'Can you stand - with my help - and get over to that tree?'

Porthos managed a nod and reached out his left arm. Athos eased his friend into a sitting position before pulling him up to stand. Porthos wavered dangerously before steadying. Athos slipped one arm around his friend's waist and supported him as they walked towards the tree. Porthos' horse snorted and pawed at the ground, his head bobbing up and down. Athos wondered if the horse was apologising to his master.

They settled next to the trunk of the tree. Athos helped Porthos to lean against the tree, resting his injured arm in his lap.

'You know all I can do for you is to splint it? I am not competent enough to try setting it.'

Porthos nodded, 'I think it's a simple break; I should be fine. Just hurts.'

'You've broken a bone before?' asked Athos, curious at his friend's response.

'Once, when I was in the infantry,' replied Porthos with a distant look in his eyes.

Athos waited for his friend to continue, but Porthos did not add to the statement. Athos wondered if there was more to the story. More that Porthos did not want to say.

Porthos leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Athos left his friend to search for something suitable to splint his arm. He had not gone far when Porthos spoke again.

'It wasn't long after I joined up,' said the injured man.

Athos found a couple of stout sticks; he tested how sturdy they were before returning to his friend's side. As he splinted Porthos' arm and wrist, his friend continued to relate what had happened.

'I'd just managed to make friends with a couple of the other men. Jean was older than me, one of the oldest men in the regiment. They all called him lucky to have lasted as long as he had. He didn't know any other life. He'd joined up as a boy. The other man, Martin, he was younger than me. I think Martin and me, we sort of gravitated toward Jean because he was the most like a father. He didn't care that I had a different skin colour or that Martin was barely old enough to be away from his parents. Jean treated us as equals. He taught us both a lot...'

Porthos trailed off for a few seconds.

Athos wrapped a bandage around the splints, Porthos watched him work before sighing.

'We went into battle. Martin was terrified. Jean told him to keep to the back; I think he hoped the lad would miss the main fight. It didn't work. A few of us got separated and caught up in a skirmish. We were in some woods. Martin panicked and ran. Jean saw three of the Spanish fighters' chase after him. He grabbed me, and we followed. We caught up with them... just as they were slitting Martin's throat.'

The Musketeer sighed again and gazed into the distance.

'We dealt with the men. Killed them all. But it was too late for Martin. Jean held the lad's hand as he drifted off. I don't think I'll forget watching that child's eyes go dim. 'Cos that's what he was. A child. He shouldn't have been there... Anyway, Jean was distraught. He went on a... on a rampage. He charged at a group of Spaniards. I tried to grab him, to stop him getting himself killed but he pushed me away. Pushed me over and down an embankment. I knocked myself out. Woke up back at the camp with my arm splinted and Jean's body next to me. He'd just died. The Spaniards shot him. But he survived long enough to get back to the camp and tell them where I was.'

Porthos smiled sadly and looked at his arm as Athos eased it into a makeshift sling.

'I've broken bones in my arm twice now. And neither time makes a good anecdote.'

'Some scars are for us to bare alone,' remarked Athos sadly.

Porthos nodded his agreement.

The End.

Whumpee: Porthos. Featuring: Athos