Night arrived early. Cannons continued to be fired, and the heavy fog of war remained hovering over the battlefield. Sudden blasts of red fire could faintly be seen in the distance. The dark sky was darker as heavy clouds continued to hide the moon and the stars.

Athos walked along the path toward the refugees who had moved their living quarters beyond the reach of the battle. Many stood on the outskirts, just watching the fog and flashes of red as cannon fire continued. Children had stopped crying, but clung to their mothers' skirts. Boys, too young to fight, wished they were older, braver, and one of the soldiers on the battlefield. Men too old for combat sat on their stools with blankets over their shoulders and they watched and reminisced about days long ago when their joints didn't hurt and their strength had not waned. Fires burned, and cauldrons filled with meager means promised little more than warmth for those suffering.

The refugees were simply trying to survive as their homes were overrun, families threatened, or driven away because of the fear of what may come as the war progressed. A few nodded to Athos, others greeted him by name as he continued toward the Fontaine tent.

"Athos?"

Her voice sounded familiar: strong, refined, and unwavering. Athos paused in his steps and looked to where he heard his name called. He squinted into the darkness and watched her step from the shadows. The light of the flames of the fire glowed around her face. She stood just as strong as the day she had left Paris, just as determined. Her long, curly blonde hair frayed from its pinning behind her head and along the sides of her face.

"Ninon?"

Ninon smiled and nodded. "It's good to see you," she said. She clutched the ends of the shawl that wrapped round her shoulders.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had gone —"

Ninon nodded and cut him off when she said, "The school where I was teaching was burned out." She shrugged. "There was nothing left for me there. I joined the caravan and moved west."

Athos looked toward the Fontaine tent and then back at Ninon.

"Go," she said. "I know you've got more important things to see to." She raised her eyebrows and raised her lips into a subtle smile. "Winning a war, perhaps?"

Athos nodded, and made a motioned to leave, but paused. "Stay behind the tree line," he said. "If you have to — if the Spanish get past us — take as many with you as you can… if… the Spanish cross that field… I cannot say what might happen." He raised his hand and motioned west. "Don't stop." His eyes widened, and a look of seriousness caused Ninon to understand the severity of the situation.

Ninon swallowed, and with a nod, said, "Go."

Athos clinched his jaw and quickly strode away. He glanced back at her and watched her clutch her shawl around her shoulders once more and look toward him. She was beautiful, and while she still carried the strength of pride, humility had played a large part of her life over the course of the past two years. Her dress was no longer grand, her neck and ears no longer adorned by fine jewels, but she stood just as determined, and just as defiant. Athos paused in his steps, looked at her once more, and then nodded to her before he turned and called to the Fontaine family.

The tent flap opened, and Piers smiled, and motioned for Athos to enter. "We were just about to have a cup of soup, Captain. Would you like to join us?"

"No," Athos said briskly, and then quickly softened his tone. "No, I've come to ask for some assistance."

"Anything," Isabeau said. She placed a cup of soup before her youngest boy, and then quickly wiped her hands on her apron. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and looked at her husband.

"Whatever it is you need, Captain," Piers said and looked at his family. He grabbed the back of his chair and gripped the curved wood tightly.

Athos looked at Walnut, who immediately squinted, and then stood. He bowed his head to keep from hitting the top of the tent and then cleared his throat.

"What do you need?" Walnut asked in a heavy voice. He looked at his sister-in-law, and at his brother, before he tossed his napkin on the table and wiped his hands on his britches. He looked unnatural in the confined space, not unlike a bear in a small cage. The heavy jacket only amplified the width of his shoulders and thickness of his neck.

"I need powerful men to help us behind the lines," Athos said. "We need iron rods hammered into the vents of the cannons to disable them. I can't think of anyone stronger." He looked at Walnut, who nodded.

"Will it be dangerous?" The youngest boy, Amis, asked. He ignored the look from his mother and chewed on his thumbnail.

Athos looked Walnut in the eyes and said, "Very."

"Don't go," Mary said. The eldest daughter was still gangly, but carried herself pridefully. With her shoulders back, her chin held high, and her hands clasped before her, she said again, "Don't go."

Walnut chuckled. "I'll be back — and if this will help us get our home back," he nodded, "of course I will help." He held out a massive hand, stretched his fingers wide, and then slowly tightened them into a fist. He looked at his brother, clapped his shoulder in reassurance, and then motioned toward the exit. "Let's go."

Athos looked at the family and focused a moment longer on Mary. "Thank you."

Mary frowned, drew her eyebrows together in concern, and then crossed her arms over her chest. She clenched her jaw and watched as the tent flap was opened and both men exited without another word.

"This isn't our fight," Mary said.

"The moment General Raboin stepped foot on our lands… it became our fight," Piers said. "Be grateful we're surrounded by honorable soldiers, Mary. We could be in a much worse situation."