Sofie added rabbit meat to the stew and stirred. Her large pot was filled to the brim with carrots, onions, turnips, potatoes, and fresh herbs. The heavy gravy coated her spoon and the aroma penetrated the room. Richard sat at the table, and reassembled the bolt mechanism with his tools and an old round magnifying glass that was chipped around the edges. His obsession would not end until after it was completed. Sofie turned, looked at him, and shook her head.

The sun was slow to make an appearance but dust particles danced in the rays that shone through the windows. The air had cleared and the room no longer smelled of blood, sweat, and mud.

Richard sighed, rubbed his face, and looked to his right. The musketeers had succumbed to exhaustion and continued to sleep soundly. Porthos lay on his side facing them, his right arm bent at the elbow and used as a pillow, and his left fist clenched around the dagger near his chest. His blanket had been tossed aside, and rested in a heap behind his knees. d'Artagnan found comfort on his back. His right elbow draped over his eyes, and he snored lightly as his breathing relaxed after another attempt to shift his position had been halted due to the pain of his left shoulder and arm. Aramis had at some point slipped from his chair and rested with his back to the wall and he leaned against the bed, his head on his left shoulder and his right hand rested on his lap. Athos had not moved. He still lay on his back, face turned toward the wall. Their exhaustion, and unseen injuries were evident as the night grew long. Despite the sounds of Sofie's cooking and Richard's activity as he walked from the fireplace to the table, and outside to care for the animals, they slept. He stood, scratched behind his ear, and then walked to stand behind Sofie as she added additional seasonings to her stew. He placed his hands on her hips, and rested his chin on her shoulder. She chuckled, switched the spoon from her right hand, to her left, and reached upward and patted his cheek.

Their home was simple, four square walls, a small kitchen with a wooden table that Richard had carved from an oak tree that had been struck by lightening. He had even made the chairs, while she had woven the seats from cattail leaves she had treated and prepared. The table and two chairs had survived the fire that had taken nearly everything from them. Soldiers had arrived, made demands, taken what they needed and wanted, and lit fires to destroy the rest. They had lost their son, their animals, and most of their belongings, but they had each other. And Richard would stop at nothing to protect her, despite his advanced years, and bad knees.

Richard kissed the top of her head and turned when he heard the sudden intake of wheezing.

Athos pushed himself to a seated position, his right arm cradled in his lap and atop the gathered blankets at his waist, his left hand was braced against the wall, fingers spread wide as he searched for support. He leaned forward, head bowed, and panted for breath.

"Monsieur, Aramis," Robert said. When nobody moved, he said again, "Monsieur!"

Aramis looked to his right toward Richard.

"Your friend." Richard pointed toward the bed.

Aramis franticly pushed himself up, and swore under his breath as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, and placed his hands around Athos jaw and neck. "Athos?" he said, and forced Athos' face upward. Panicked eyes met. "Breathe!" Aramis caught his breath in his throat as he watched Athos' lips part, as he fought to draw breath.

The wheezing intensified. Athos grasped the front of Aramis' shirt and twisted the fabric in his fist. He shifted forward, and painfully tried to inhale.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked. He stood near the edge of the fireplace, his hand still gripping his dagger, the wide collar of his shirt open, exposing the right side of his collarbone and neck. He furrowed his brow, flared his nostrils, clenched his jaw, and watched Athos struggle.

"I don't know," Aramis said, met Porthos' eyes, and shook his head, "I don't know." The corners of his eyebrows raised, his brow furrowed, and he watched Athos' eyes blink slowly. "Breathe, brother!" he pleaded, and adjusted his hands as he felt Athos weaken. "Please."

D'Artagnan pushed himself against the wall, raised his knees, and sat with his right arm protecting his left. He swallowed, felt his own breath hitch and he watched. He chewed on the nail of his right thumb, ran his thumbnail over the bottom edge of his tooth, and listened to Athos' erratic gasps for breath and Aramis' pleas for him to breathe.

Sofie swallowed, looked toward her husband, and then toward the men who now found themselves facing their own painful reality. She grasped her husband's arm, and nodded. Richard grabbed a bucket, left the house, while Sofie removed two towels from a hutch and tossed them both into the cauldron of simmering water that hung from a trammel hook above the fire in the fireplace. She used a wooden dowel to submerge both towels before she pulled them back out, and with hands familiar with heat she squeezed out the excess water and folded each towel to shoulder width and depth, and then rolled them together tightly.

Aramis pressed his palm to Athos' face, felt the heat of a fever, and grew angry with himself as his knowledge of medicine proved insufficient for what he now faced. "I'm sorry, brother," he whispered, clenched his jaw and felt it pop as his frustration grew. He grasped the back of Athos' neck and pressed his forehead to his own. "Breathe, Athos," he encouraged, "just breathe."

Athos loosened his grip on Aramis' shirt, felt a sense of lightheadedness, as the pain inside his chest eased. Muscles relaxed, and grew weak, as short gasps continued.

Sofie gripped Porthos' arm, released it, and pointed toward the bed. She held the wrapped towels, and motioned toward the bed.

Porthos shook his head. "I can't…" he shook his head. "I can't watch 'im die — not like this." He clenched his jaw, blinked back tears, and shook his head. "I won't." He dug his nails into the palm of his hand, and felt the slickness of blood. He looked toward the fire, and ground his teeth.

Sofie shook her head, pushed him toward the bed, and motioned for him to sit behind Athos. She adjusted the towels in her hand, and once again pushed him forward. Reluctantly, Porthos stepped forward and glanced toward d'Artagnan who remained quiet, and fearful. Sofie helped ease Athos back against Porthos' chest. He tightened his jaw, placed his left hand on Athos' brow and kept him steady against his shoulder. Athos gasps continued. With glazed half-hooded eyes he looked toward the ceiling, and succumbed to his body's weakness. His neck muscles relaxed, and his Adam's apple bobbled as each passing moment grew longer and longer. Sofie motioned for Aramis to hold the towels, and she ripped the fabric of Athos' shirt to expose his chest and shoulder. She leaned forward, pressed her ear to his chest, and then carefully placed the heated towels over the right side of his chest and covered him with a blanket.

Aramis frowned, grasped Athos' wrist and gently squeezed. Aramis looked up and met Porthos' eyes and nodded when he flared his nostrils, pursed his lips, and shook his head.

They turned toward the door when Richard entered the room with a bucket of cold water. He looked toward his wife who motioned with her hands toward the bed and then toward the cabinet. He nodded, did as instructed, and placed the bucket near the bunk, grabbed another towel from the cabinet, and submerged it into the icy cold water. He grabbed a heavy woven blanket that was folded over a rack near the fireplace and handed it to Aramis. Sofie gathered some herbs and placed them in the simmering pot of hot water, and motioned for Richard to place the pot near the bed.

Aramis stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and watched Sofie take a seat near Athos' hip, pulled the blanket back, and removed the hot towels. Pink skin flared back at them, and Sofie tossed the towels back into the pot of hot water. She then removed the cold one from the bucket, wrung out it, folded it, and placed it over Athos' chest. He shifted suddenly and tried to sit up, but Porthos held him steady. Athos coughed, inhaled, coughed again and settled. Sofie covered him again, and this time added the heavy blanket over the top. She repeated the process, and listened carefully as Athos' breathing changed in severity. The wheezing became less severe, and each struggle for breath became less harsh, and deepened.

Aramis frowned, rubbed his jaw, and watched.

Sofie turned toward Aramis and nodded. She curled the right side of her mouth into a slight smile and repeated the process — moved from cold to hot. Athos opened his eyes and blinked slowly a few times before he finally rested his gaze on her. Again, she tried to smile, but looked toward Richard who stood nearby. Sofie made a few motions with her hands. He nodded, poured some of the creek water, now tepid, into the herbed water and returned the pot to the fireplace to reheat.

"She wants to repeat this in a few hours," Richard said. He grabbed the bucket, and took the now warmed towel Sofie had pulled from Athos' chest, "His right lung is weak," he said, and watched her cover Athos again with blankets, get to her feet, and walk toward the kitchen. "Sofie wants him to sleep — he won't heal without it." He turned toward the door.

Aramis nodded, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked toward Porthos who sighed, and maintained his hold on Athos. "What about his lung?" He turned toward Richard. "Will it heal?"

Richard looked toward Sofie who shrugged. "It should," he said, "Sofie is brewing up some tea… it should help with his fever." He tipped his head once, opened the door, and left.

D'Artagnan released the breath he had been holding and lowered his right leg to the floor. He rubbed his brow, and then wiped his bloodied thumb on his breeches. He looked toward Aramis and watched him return to his seat on the bed by Athos' hip. Aramis rested his elbows on his knees, his hands dipped toward the floor, and his shoulders slumped.

Athos closed his eyes, felt movement behind his shoulders, but sighed slowly as his breathing eased.

Porthos breathed deeply, felt his muscles relax, and leaned back against the wall. He gripped Athos' left shoulder and slowly eased out from behind him. Aramis and Porthos stuffed several pillows behind Athos, and again covered him with blankets. Aramis sighed, watched the color return to Athos face, and took a relieved breath.

Sofie dished out four bowls of stew, placed them on the table, and looked up as Richard stepped back into the home.

"You should eat," Richard said, and looked toward them. "Sofie went to the trouble to make it… it'd be disrespectful not to partake." He took a seat at the table and grabbed a bowl. "Let him sleep — it's the best thing for him."

Aramis looked up and nodded.