A note from the author: Darlings! As requested, here is the next chapter. I'm so pleased you're enjoying it so far. There's no gore to worry about this time round. Just greedy horses, red apples, tricksy quartermasters, many many patients, Rose's Bible, and a question asked and returned. As always, any translations that aren't in the text can be found at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy.

Der Apfel

One and one-half days after Brandt's grizzly find, the crackle of gunfire that'd made the air in the camp on the hill thick with tension melted away into silence. A portion of the strife gripping the land, it seemed, was over. Instead of the scent of gunpowder, it was that of freshly soaped and beaten linen – hung out on the triage's balcony - that greeted the soldiers toing and froing along the camp's main thoroughfare in the early morning light. In place of tense guards and an ever ready contingent of cavalrymen, there wandered the quartermaster about his rounds, Dr Hall out for his daily constitutional and a page carrying messages between the English and German high commands. Each faction occupied one half of the settlement in terms of barracks and bed-down space – the English on the triage's side of the camp and the Hessians the opposite – and while there was no bad blood to speak of between them their commanders were each equally glad of the space they had to impose their own brand of order and discipline on their forces. It simply made for a more orderly way of things.

The page was on his way back, a new missive in hand, when he noticed the passage of another kind of courier. This one was mounted, his garb non-descript, and he had just received, unless the young man's eyes were playing tricks, a missive from the hand of director of the triage: Henry Barmouth. Handed over by hand and tucked away quickly, the missive and its courier made haste to whatever destination they were set to – likely, the page reasoned, one of the dotted string of allied camps like this one that fanned out north and west. What with battle being joined and having ended so recently, the director was likely wary of running low on supplies if a torrent of wounded men fell through their gates without proper preparations being made beforehand. Wondering at the man's foresight since no official news had yet reached the camp of the battle's end, the young man hustled back to his duties. It wasn't for him to second guess people so far above his station; it was fast feet he needed, not so much a thinking brain.

Mr Barmouth's foresight, not a day later, proved to be almost clairvoyant.

The deep night had closed in by the time the weak and weary were ferried through the gates by Brandt's patrolling corps. Their captain at the column's head, Michael flanked the raggedy battalion's fore to mid reaches and their comrades Peter and Eduard the mid to rear; keeping the exhausted moving and in as high spirits as they could muster with little nudges, little ditties and sips from their water-skins. Over a third of their number, to hear the wounded tell it, had fallen in this latest skirmish. An ambush had been laid, a line of gunners backed by cavalry and foot soldiers taking their otherwise sturdy band by surprise. It was only the cover of the forest and some unexpected aid that saw them through; a scattering of men, their numbers uncertain, their colours and banners their own, roared through the enemy's ranks without warning – an ambush on an ambush – and brought them into such disarray that the soldiers could rally and turn the tide. Vulture-like the uncounted group circled, picking off the fallen where they fell and then evaporated into the forests from whence they came. They were opportunists – mercenary in the most literal sense – but their aid was true and their presence, at least in spirit, remained with the battalion still.

At the back of the column, a lone man rode; bannerless but for the crests emblazoned upon his leathers. He'd picked up the battalion's trail a mile back and decided to shadow them on the off-chance their passage acted as bait to any lurking pockets of enemy soldiers. Keeping clear of all but the most observant's notice, he remained on the heels of the weary group as it breached the camp's gates and was set upon by helping hands that he himself had no use for. This place, he knew, offered both safe harbour to sleep in and the chance to restock his supplies between trips out into the wilds. Even solitary he wouldn't discount that opportunity.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon by the time the triage was in order. So many were the wounded that makeshift cots needed making up beside the beds to ensure everyone had a place to rest and be tended. Gladly though, after a sleep all but three of those propped up on thickly folded sheets and pillows and blankets were well enough to be put up in the barracks while the remainder of their number stayed at rest and were cared for within Ms Taymar's walls. The matron herself sat in the corner of the ward, a cloth set to dabbing at her face and neck following the day's stress and toil. She and Dr Hall had just finished an inventory and were pleased to see that, while Mr Barmouth would need to send for essentials soon, their stores hadn't been completely depleted by the rush. Add that to how well her nurses – she'd adopted Sally and Rose as hers weeks ago, much to Robin's amusement – had faired in the face of that emergency and the day was looking as bright as the blue skies outside the windows.

The ladies in question were still hard at work now, finishing their rounds on the ward and tending to any needs their patients had. Rose, Ms Taymar noticed, had settled between a couple of gentlemen with her well-loved Bible, reading passages to them as they rested, shared their experiences with her and found what solace they could in the verses. Sally on the other hand was dispensing cups of water and administering tinctures that promoted sleep to those who'd found rest hard to come by because of their injuries. They'd barely had a moment to breathe, the pair of them, so when the sandy haired lady's rounds came to an end and she lingered longingly by the doors between balcony and triage, Ms Taymar shooed her out into the fresh air with all the gusto she had left in her. Rose too, she declared, was free to take time for herself when she pleased; a fact that was met by a gleeful smile and a long stretch from the young lass in question. She'd hustle off in a few minutes, Rose said.

Just after these next few passages.

Finally free of the triage's confines, Sally let out a long breath as she, like Rose had, gave a long, arms over the head, up on tiptoes stretch. Her hands went to her hair as she relaxed, over her face, her neck; something of self-comfort in the gesture. She'd made it through the most trying day she'd yet faced without keeling over panicked or overwhelmed. Indeed, only once had her breath gone short and she'd needed a moment to gather her composure, and that was just after witnessing Dr Hall removing lead from a gaping fissure in a very much awake, aware and agonised man's lower leg. His recovery wasn't certain, the doctor had told her. It was all they could do to keep the wound clean and the man as comfortable as their supply of pain relief – small as it was – allowed.

Settling against the balcony's railing, Sally cast an eye out over the camp and did her best to set thoughts of the day's tribulations aside for a little while. She and Rose were never really off shift – if an emergency occurred she was expected to drop what she was doing and attend, no matter what her doings were – but her downtime would feel hollow, unused, if she spent it lingering on work. The camp seemed full to bursting with new faces following the night-time arrival of the thirty battered and exhausted warriors they'd taken in and seen to. A rough half of that number had been mounted, so along with weary soldiers going about their business there strode the occasional horse and handler on their way to or from the fields that bracketed the camp's far edges. There the men could find a lick of peace and the horses a spot of fresh wheat or new grass shoots to nibble on; a respite from the bustle of the camp's now full stables. All bar the army – whose horses, like the soldiers, had their allotted lodgings – kept their mounts warm, fed, and watered there and it was towards this building that Sally was gazing when the quartermaster bustled over. A stocky man, more arms than much else, he tipped his cap to the nurse on the balcony as he approached from the Hessian barracks opposite the triage. The deep basket he held looked ominously like a favour, and his opening gambit –

"Lovely day, madam!"

- was too chirpy for the usually severe man not to be harbouring requests.

"It is" Sally said, gesturing to the basket and hoping that, incoming errands or no, she might snaffle some extra provisions for herself and Rose to share. "Are those for us?" She could see from above that there were carrots inside; carrots and apples and other small fare that would be lovely warmed in tea or cooked into a broth.

At her question, the quartermaster smiled beneath his bristly moustache. "A portion can be" he said, setting the basket down on the little stairway leading from the path up to Sally's vantage point. He waited until she'd come down and was picking through its contents before springing what she'd rightly assumed was a little trap. "If you'll take the rest about the camp for me. I've got a meeting with our good English Captain to get to – supply routes 'n that, very boring – and wanted to ferry the rest of this about the camp since we've got new men about; new mounts and riders. Even with rations, on days like today charity's a boon, don't you think?"

"I do" Sally agreed, more amused than irked by the man's request. It was hardly work to wander about offering treats from a basket, and it gave her an excuse to potter down to the stables and slip her favourite residents a few little treats once any loitering cavalrymen were seen to. Moving down onto the path properly, she hefted the basket up onto her hip.

"It's not problem. I'll see it done now."

"Thank you" the quartermaster breathed, relieved. "I was going to get a Hessian lad to do it while I was over there, but he scampered off before I could catch hold of him."

Sally blinked. "Hessian lad?"

"Aye, One of Brandt's boys. The young one. Bit twitchy these past couple of days; stayed in from the watch last night."

That connected dots. "Thomas? Oh, I haven't seen him today. He must've-" She caught herself before she could start rambling and delay the man; aimed at him instead a demure smile. "Anyway. I'll see this done."

It took Sally almost twenty minutes, once she and the quartermaster parted company, to make it round the camp and down to the stables. Her supplies had been depleted somewhat on the journey, so the fact that she could only see a lone gentleman sat busily darning one of his shirts by the last open stall was relieving. He'd have the pick of the crop that remained, it appeared.

If she could reach him.

Between her and her goal prowled perhaps the tallest, proudest looking stallion she'd seen in all her days. Free of saddle, tack and reins the horse strolled here and there, reacquainting himself with his surrounds with much the same ease Sally imagined a general or a lord of some lofty manor might. All flicking ears, snuffling nose and frighteningly intelligent eyes, he fixed on her the moment she paused to give him the space so large an animal demanded and made something of a beeline for the basket; long used, during his visits here, to pilfering treats from the burly quartermaster who usually ferried this very container about.

This being the stallion's habit though meant less than nothing to Sally as he bore down on her. Her first instinct was to run, but she knew better. There was no outrunning a horse - never mind one this size - so she surrendered instead, sinking down uneasily as his great head delved into her basket and guiding it to the floor more gently than the he would've managed unaided. She was busy plucking what she could from within, talking crossly at her happily chewing accoster –

"No no no no no! I mean really! Couldn't you wait? Your poor master over there. He is your master, isn't he? They'll be nothing left for him if you slobber all over it! No one wants to eat apples that a horse has slobbered on!"

– when a second voice broke in on the scene.

"GÄNGER!" it bellowed.

Sally dropped the apple she'd just rescued and gawped at the horse as he rose, still chewing, and approached the man seated by the empty stall. She knew that name and the voice that spoke it; recalled it from the road and smiled brightly before she could stop herself when her gaze moved from the horse to his master. Here was the Hessian she'd feared dead, alive and well; the one with the sword and the creaking leathers, and a voice that could come off like canon fire when he raised it. A thousand questions begged to be asked – about the blood he'd left in his wake; where he'd gone; what he'd done there – but he spoke to her before she could to him.

"Zis horse" he said, standing as his steed approached and giving his flank a rub with both hands. He patted twice for emphasis, then gestured to the half-decimated bushel of hay that sat just inside the stall's door. Another pat followed, then words again, low and gruff. "Vud think he starve."

"...Sta- Oh!" Sally chortled softly, catching his sarcasm a wisp late. So distracted was she by his simply being here, she'd not paid much mind to his expression or his tone of voice. "Yes, you'd think so" she replied, sorting through her wares carefully to separate those that'd been Gängered from those that the stallion's master might like. She pondered that name as she worked, searching what German she had for its meaning and coming up short. Between carrots and apples, she grew brave and asked him.

"Was- Ahh...Was bedeutet das wort? Gänger?"

If her use of his mother tongue pleased him it didn't show. "Verstehst du Draufgänger?" he asked, glancing over only briefly; wondering if the word in its full form might jog her memory. When it did not, a soft "Nein" her answer, he translated. "Daredevil."

"Daredevil..." The repetition was thoughtful, the words after it brave again. "Does the name match his character, or yours?…Sie sind ein Draufgänger?"

The man's brows rose over icy eyes, curious, and Sally watched as he departed his steed's immediate company to make his way over to her. An effort to stand at his approach lost her an apple from the clutch she'd saved in her apron, so she settled again with a little aggrieved huff and favoured him with a smile as he stooped to inspect what she'd collected. Close to him now she noted in passing that he had something of a wildness about him that she couldn't quite place. Long limbed and strong, he carried the faint scent of his mount and sun-warmed skin on him; leather too, likewise warmed through noon, though he wore cloth garments at present. He also smiled in millimetres and with closed lips, and carried daggers in places she didn't realise one could carry daggers. This last thing she learned as he moved off, an apple in hand, and seemed to produce one out of thin air with which to cut the fruit.

She was a hair's breadth from asking him how he'd done it – for to her it may as well have been witchcraft for all the sense it made - when starving Gänger returned to snaffle another mouthful of not hay from the basket. His master didn't seem to mind his cheek this time, passing nary a comment as he selected a carrot from within and set to demolishing it as he had his hay bushel. Sally wondered as she watched him if it was his knocking her to the floor in his haste for treats that'd earned the censure the first time, less the stealing of those treats itself.

"I'll bet those're as much of a luxury for you as they are me" she mused to the stallion, earning one eye and one ear's worth of attention between mouthfuls. It would've meant nothing to him, but she couldn't help giving him a little grin before shuffling slowly round so she could close her apron, which she loosened and doffed, about her lap full of fruit to spare it from further horsey intrigue. The snuffle of disdain this action earned prompted softly chuckled words. "Oh no, don't talk like that. You've got your bushel over there, look." She aimed a little point towards the stable and Gänger-

Gänger did what she said he should, his regal head turning as she gestured.

The shock this seeming obedience gave Sally came out in a beaming smile and a breathed, "No..." – the thought that he may have somehow understood her earning a little shake of the head. "You're a beauty" she said, watching as he bent once more and partook of his ill-gotten gains. "A clever one, I'm sure. But I doubt you're tha-"

"Er ist ein deutsches Pferd" the stallion's master put in as he returned to his seat by the stall's door; amused and bewildered both by how his mount and their guest were carrying on. His Gänger was a warhorse, well versed in the rigors of battle and life on the road. Violence, he was used to. Strife, he was used to. Rare was the day though that he was faced by something so benign as a little village woman. He was surprised, frankly, that the hand she'd pointed with made it back to her lap un-nipped. "No Englisch. Nur Deutsch."

"Nur…I…Ach so" Sally exclaimed, nodding slowly even as she had to wonder… It was one thing to talk along to an animal without a thought to it understanding what was said – as she had been. But to have it implied that the animal she was chatting to didn't understand her because she wasn't speaking a language he understood…Well.

She could work with that.

With mirth in her voice, she paid Gänger a well-deserved compliment in words more familiar to him. "Sie sind ein schön mann, ja?" she said, her hands flying up to her mouth to hide a gasp and stifle giggling when his ears pricked and his head rose so that he could look at her properly. As if, somehow, he had understood. A half-step closer and she received a little nudge from soft nose to elbow, and then he was turning and wandering back towards his master; still happily chewing away.

"…Nur Deutsch" Sally managed, watching him.

"Nur Deutsch" his master replied, nodding once before popping a slice of apple into his mouth and returning his attention to his work. The thick under-leathers shirt he favoured had been torn through by an unlucky soldier's sword, and while his guest was amusing enough and had more fresh fruit with her than he'd seen in days, frivolity had its limits. Thus absorbed he didn't much notice how the woman lingered a little longer than she strictly had to; ostensibly to pick through the remains in the basket for any remaining shareable fare.

Really though?

In her heart of hearts?

She was working herself up to ask him all the questions that she'd caught behind her teeth when he'd first spoken. Three carrots emerged from the basket, were wiped off with her sleeve and tucked into her folded apron. A fourth then, and she took in a readying breath, looked over at the seated man and the words…all lined up correctly - in German even - and ready to go…died. He sat so content, so busily working and engrossed, that she hadn't the heart to disturb him with her curiosity. Sally rose instead, her fruit filled apron gathered close, and brushed off her dress before taking her leave with three politely spoken words.

"Auf Wiedersehen Reiter."

She'd made it a handful of steps when he called out to her. "Bitte, dame" he said, pausing until she turned. "Ich habe eine Frage."

I have a question.

"Ja? Welche Frage?"

Yes? What question?

"…Are you a daredevil?"

There was a smirk she could detect in the words but not see on his face, and Sally…Sally went puce from the throat to the tips of her ears. He'd kept that question in his mind this whole time, it seemed – even translated it so he could ask it with the same inflection she had. If she had the power to will the ground to swallow her whole, she would have in that moment. She didn't though – couldn't magic holes in the earth like he could daggers from the air – and so was left to steadily pinken and splutter, words tripping over the embarrassment that prickled all over her skin.

"N- No" she managed, her words stuttering like the steps she took away did. "Ich bin Sally."

And with that she was off in a flurry of cataclysmically embarrassed skirts. As soon as she was out of the Reiter's eyeline her hand came up and hid her face; a groan escaping along with short breaths that were half laughter and half stifled panic at the thought of how foolish she'd been to speak as she had. A blind man could've guessed that horseman was a mercenary, and what'd she said?

"Sie sind ein Draufgänger?" The derision in her tone was thick as mud. "What was I thinking!?"

She berated herself all the way back to the triage where Ms Taymar, taking a moment for herself on the balcony, happily accepted Sally's pinny full of apples and veg as the young woman marched by shaking her head. Through the front door she went then, booted feet stomping nosily towards the quarters she and Rose had slowly made more and more homey as the months passed. They'd managed, through barter with the ladies at the local farmstead, to acquire a pair of lovely blankets to help them through the winter, a pair of thick socks each, a rug to soften the wooden floor between their beds and the knowledge, thanks to a lovely older lady who gave her name only as Bess, of how to press flowers. To say they took the latter and ran with it would be as great an exercise in understatement as calling their dear Thomas short when compared to them both. Books, between whose pages nestled blooms collected over their months abroad, were found both stacked and open to display finished articles upon every spare surface in their quarters; as were small bushels of flowering herbs carefully tied together with string. Those smelt divine, and lent the space even more of a comforting feeling than did the pretty pressed blossoms. They reminded Rose of her auntie's practice back home, and Sally of country walks she'd been on as a girl with her father.

None of that comfort though gave her even a glancing blow as she pushed the door open, a plaintive "Roooooooose" escaping as she did. The lady in question, who'd been penning her journal while settled on her bed, turned at the sound. Their eyes met, and Sally gathered her nerve.

"You'll never believe what I've gone and done."

Five minutes later Rose was still laughing. Sally was as well, mind, but she was as red as the apples the man by the stables had helped himself to; the very obviously martially competent man who she'd seen fit to ask –

"Are you a daredevil? Sally!" That was Rose, her glee easing into unladylike sniggers caught behind the fingers she'd raised to hide her mouth. "Whatever made you ask that?!"

"It's his horse's name!" Sally chortled back, rubbing her cheeks with both hands. She'd sunk to the floor beside Rose's legs while recounting the salient bits of her folly – that she'd come across a chap at the stables and managed to put her foot firmly in her mouth – but hadn't touched on who she'd realised that chap was yet. She felt she owed Rose the shock of good news after having her in stitches.

"Draufgänger. Which is longhand for Gänger." Sally peeped up at her friend, a little smile tugging at her lips. "Which was the name-"

"That the man on the road called his horse" Rose broke in, realisation taking her eyes wide and brows high. A flutter of fabric brought her eye-level with Sally, mirth foregone in favour of massive, massive curiosity. "What else did you find out?" she enthused. "His name? Where he went? Where that awful ooze he left-"

"Rose!" Sally laughed, open hands laid upon her excited ward-sister's arms. "The soul of uselessness, I only really learned his horse's name. The ooze couldn't have come from him or his steed though. They looked both to be in perfect health; no visible wounds and too much speed about them – especially that Gänger – for any to be hidden away."

A frown creased Rose's brow as understanding came. "He must've been carrying someone with him then" she said. "Someone he wasn't in a rush to get to camp with, since he stopped by us and was travelling at a languid pace."

Sally too lost what traces of mirth had been left about her. "You know, I'd bet you're right...A fallen comrade maybe? Returned too late, and now buried somewhere that's less likely to be desecrated by fighting?"

"Possibly" Rose mustered, her mind having wandered down less savoury imaginary paths. Perhaps it was the lingering vestiges of horror that'd been recounted to her by the men she'd shared her Bible with earlier, but she couldn't quite manage Sally's optimism. Something simply didn't…sit right. A solider in the king's army wouldn't have left the field of battle to try and save a wounded man unless he was someone of immensely high stature, and no news of such a person having recently been taken ill had made it to the camp. That and the fact the man was using the stables and not the cavalry's allotted quarters marked him as a mercenary, and she doubted those felt much in terms of comradeship with others of their ilk; not enough to want to go out of their way to bury one at least.

A touch upon her brow, Sally's fingers, snapped her from her ruminations. "You'll wrinkle, looking like that" she said, the corners of her eyes crinkling with the implication of a smile when Rose gently batted her away.

"It's the sun that does that" she clipped primly. "Not frowning." A pause then, and her worry slipped through in words. "You waltzing off with apples for strange horsemen is more likely to age me than frowning will. Just-" She raised a hand to stop Sally's brewing rebuke. "Do be careful. Please?...On our side or not, don't let yourself forget what he is."

A hush fell as Sally nodded her acquiescence. She wanted to remind her friend that living where they lived, doing what they did for a living, they met men just like the one with the horrendously greedy horse daily. Uniformed soldier or mercenary he was an ally, and while that didn't preclude him from causing them damage, Sally got no sense from him that he was interested enough in her comings and goings, let alone Rose's, to do any such thing. She wanted to tell her this, remind her of it, but knew Rose too well to think that she wouldn't argue back. They differed on this, and Sally respected that. She chose instead a little fun.

"I promise you" she said, "that the only thing I'll ever say to that chap beyond our usual fare will be this. His horse almost bowled me over for the apples I was carrying; the carrots. I'll only ever say this to him."

Rose leant forth slightly, hopeful that her concerns had sunk in; wanting of a return to levity.

"I'll say-" A giggle cut Sally short. "I'll say, Das ist nicht ein Pferd."

"That's not a horse?" Rose repeated, a grin threatening.

"Nein! Es ist ein Schwein!"

"It's a pig!"

Laughter bubbled up in both women, Rose's playfully scolding, "You can't say that to a horseman!" challenged by Sally's, "Would you like to watch me?!" as she made to rise and go for the door. A brief struggle ensued – arms about waists and hands about wrists and turning in circles – that ended with both women collapsed in a cackling heap upon the rug-covered floor. Neither Sally nor Rose fretted another moment about the camp's new arrivals then; be they resident in the triage or busily darning shirts by the stables. Their evening remained peaceful, as did the camp's surrounds.

Translations:

"Was bedeutet das wort? Gänger?" What does that word mean? Gänger?

"Verstehst du Draufgänger?" Do you understand Draufgänger/Daredevil?

"Nein" No

"Er ist ein deutsches Pferd" He is a German horse

"Nur Deutsch" Only German

"Nur…Ach so" Only…Oh, right/I see

"Sie sind ein schön mann, ja?" You're a handsome man, yes?

"Auf Wiedersehen Reiter." Goodbye, Horseman

"Bitte, dame." Please, lady; Please madam

"Ich bin Sally." I am Sally

A second note from the author! Hello again friend :3 In case you were wondering, Sally didn't notice Gänger's master's teeth during their interaction. He was a good distance from her when he spoke about his dear steed starving and smiled, remember, only faintly and with a closed mouth when he was close to her. The penny will drop soon enough, worry not :3 For now, she's all innocence and apple cores :p