A note from the author: Darlings! Here we are again! Lovely to see you, as always. I love and appreciate all of you, and am so wretchedly sorry for the delay in publication. As always, translations are at the end of the chapter (there'll be a few this time as lots is going on!)
Please do enjoy.
Aftermath
"Had I slept the night through, unknowing" Rose murmured, looking around her as she and Sally alighted the triage's balcony and made their way onto the camp's main thoroughfare. "I'd have been readier to believe that the war had suddenly ended than to accept what truly happened here." Shaking her head, she turned in a circle and gave a disbelieving huff. "I mean just look at it."
Sally did. All around them battle's insidious touch lingered. It was in the air, the lingering scent of a fire spent hanging heavy in the fog that'd rolled in as morning came; in the blackened swaths scorched onto once pristine buildings; in the ruin of the tent-village in the yard of the Hessian barracks, and the nervous energy of the soldiers and cavalrymen who roamed through the camp on guard, posting sentry, or gathering up the dead. It was in Captain Brandt who they passed on their travels; in the busy scratch of his quill on parchment as he hurried to catalogue his losses; in the adrenaline-fuelled determination that forced even the exhausted into action on this least wanted of mornings.
It was everywhere.
And it was loathed.
"This just doesn't seem real."
"I wish it weren't" Sally mourned, crossing the path with Rose at her hip. They spent a few moments at the fence they found there, squinting through the dim for signs of life among the scattered tents that filled the yard beyond, but saw none and quickly made for the camp's lower reaches. The scene there though looked only more grim. Dead men, enemies and otherwise, were being moved off as quickly as there were free hands to shift them. Lumps of charred wood that'd come free from the buildings closest to the fire lay where they'd fallen; yet more threatening to come crashing down moment by moment upon the heads of those who passed by unwarily. The air was even thicker here, the ash seeming to collect around the well as though it was its want to choke it, and as to the stable block-
Oh it was in dire, dire straits.
The sight quickened Sally beyond description. She crossed the cobbled expanse that separated the stables from the road in a blink, her pail forsaken in the rush to reach the carcass of the once well used, well loved structure; to peer between its proverbial ribs in the hope of finding nothing. A call from Rose - on her heels but slowing, drawn away elsewhere by ragged coughing - went unheeded as she searched; the scent of what remained of a single horse, its body twisted by the agonies death by fire causes, catching Sally in the gut when she neared it. Unbidden, her mind went to Gänger - the lordly stallion the last steed she'd seen here - and she prayed that thought was wrong as she flitted to and fro, clearing the remaining stalls.
"One…two…three…four…five…" she counted. "And the sixth is the last; double-wide because it was for mothers and foals. Room for seven horses, but it's clear…It's clear except for-"
"Sally!" Rose tried again, and then again with an entreaty. "Sally, help me here!"
And that – that caught her ward-sister's attention.
Whipping round to face Rose, Sally's heart sank. Her counterpart was knelt by a man so caked in ash and muck that, like the soldiers who'd wandered by him as they worked, she'd have mistaken him for dead or debris at first glance. He was pressed up tight against the outer wall of the ruined stable's farthest reaches, and Sally braced herself, through the seconds it took to gather up her pail and get close enough to really look at him, for the unhappy revelation that she somehow knew him. After a moment's pause though – after kneeling by him and washing the grime from his face and hands while Rose sought out his injuries – something of relief prickled up over her skin. Looking at her blankly were not the eyes of any man she'd come to know even in passing during her time at the camp. Those she faced now were muddy brown and exhausted; shot through with pain from the leg wound Rose was fighting to uncover. Two pairs of hands, a small cutting blade and a tug later, both nurses held firm against wincing at the sight.
"This will need packing" Rose assessed, digging through her belt-pouch for a vial of Camphor to coat her fingertips – an effort to both clean them and to pass on through touch the soothing effects of the tincture. That done, she handed the small glass vessel over to Sally and went about examining the wound's edges; speaking to the soldier as she did. "You will be well, Sir" she reassured, glancing between the ragged one's face and his battered leg. "Needs nought but a stitch, I'd wager. We'll set you right."
Though he barely winced for all her fussing, a poor sign in Rose's book, the man seemed to nod as she spoke to him; the effort earning him an encouraging smile from the attentive Schwesters watching over him.
"That's the way" Sally murmured kindly, rubbing the contents of the Camphor vial into a strip of clean bandage while Rose worked on examining and cleaning the wound. They shared Rose's waterskin to keep blood and ash from their pails, and traded duties between them with practiced confidence when it came time to slip the Camphor-laced material into the wound; Sally dabbing fresh blood away while Rose pressed the slender, soaking bandage where it was most needed. Their patient hissed this time, tensed all over and cursed but they were neither budged nor bothered by the outburst. Both women had weathered much worse over their time in the triage, and soon found themselves possessed of a sore and grumpy but slightly more enlivened patient, who even rasped out a "Th'k yuh" when Rose prepared and helped him drink from a stein of water in an effort to soothe his throat.
"You're very welcome" she smiled, looking to Sally then. "If we could try and move him to the tri-"
She got no further. The soldier jolted where he sat, a fearful "No!" coughed out as he fought the fatigue in his limbs and pressed into the wall at his back in an attempt at sitting up straighter; at putting on airs of being less in need of hospital care than he really was. He managed the words, "Death house" before his throat seemed to give in again, both Sally and Rose left pained but sadly unsurprised by the description. For many a man as gravely wounded as this one, the triage was where they would die – be it through blood loss or opportunistic infections or anything in-between – and while those ends were made as peaceful as possible, they were never welcome; never unfought.
"Peace, Sir" Rose soothed, her hands palm-out and empty; in no way to be misread as an attempt to grab or cajole. "We won't force you there. It would simply be more comfortable for y-"
"No" the man snapped.
"…Very well." Resigned, Rose again turned to Sally. "Darling" she said. "I'm going to see what I can do for this gentleman here." She glanced at the distrustful man, ensuring that he understood her. "If he'll let me, I'll bind his leg and see about getting him on his feet after a little rest."
Following her ward-sister's train of thought, Sally nodded. "You'd have me continue the rounds, yes?"
"Yes" Rose replied. "These wounds aren't so grave that I need another pair of hands to see to them; they're deep but slender – an easy stitch, provided he let me at them with needles."
Their patient grumped at the idea blearily.
Rose and Sally shared an exasperated look.
"I shan't go too far" Sally said, nodding out towards the cobbled road beyond the well. "Just out to there. If you're sure you're happy-"
"I am" Rose assured. "We're not hidden here. There're soldiers coming to and fro near-constantly. If I need aid at all, even aid in lifting him to his feet, there'll be people about to help me."
With a nod and a protective, reassuring smile the nurses parted company; Sally moving out of Rose's line of sight and up the path enough that she could be easily seen and approached by the gentlemen busying about their duties. Her pail at her feet, she found quiet contentment in sharing out steins of water and giving simple ointment treatments to fingers and ankles made sore by heat and labour; in making light conversation with the soldiers and in bringing a little jollity to those struggling to find it elsewise. She learned several interesting things as she chatted away, all of which she simply had to share with Rose when she got the chance.
Apparently, a passing Englishman shared, a corps of Jäger – crack-shot riflemen who wore green uniforms instead of the standard Hessian blue – had arrived this morning. They'd come from the north and followed on the heels of the aid drawn in by Captain Phillips' plea. Captain Brandt, the soldier said, was much aggrieved that they hadn't been on hand when his men were up against it, but he seemed pleased enough at the presence of extra hands; even if they seemed content only to loiter round the camp's gates, their bayonets making the group look like a terribly prickly, angry pincushion.
Also in the news, a veritable bombshell - there was talk going round among members of the English and Hessian high commands, said an overly tired page in desperate need of a place to air his worries, that the camp might be disbanded and moved elsewhere now that it'd been struck so decisively. A thousand thoughts and opinions boiled up in Sally at that notion, but it wasn't for her to get into heated debates with the poor chap who'd let the secret slip in his fatigue. She simply forced a smile through the chagrin the idea brought on, offered up a stein of water and bid the man farewell as he made haste back to his duties.
While her ward-sister struggled on under the weight of information presently beyond Rose's ken, Rose herself was troubled by something that was equally beyond Sally's. For the first time since she'd found her poor wounded man propped up against the stable's outer wall, she'd noticed the uniform he wore – its colour muted by but breaking through the slowly drying muck and mud that coated it.
It was blue.
He was Hessian, and she'd been so fixed on sorting him she'd not noticed until now!
"Meine Güte mich!" she exclaimed, all abashed laughter and pinked cheeks; gentle hands landing like feathers on his forearm. "Ich bin gedankenlos. Ich war mir sicher, dass Sie Engländer waren! Bitte verzeih mir."
The invalid barely twitched for her realisation – simply looked away from her as she spoke to him – but Rose didn't hold that against him. His reserves, she surmised, must've been on the wane; exhaustion and cold creeping up; creeping in. She'd seek out a blanket for him soon, should he carry on like this – his head seeming to grow heavy; his gaze averted, as though he was forcing his focus elsewhere to distance himself from what was happening to him by inches as the minutes ticked by. An hour, Rose thought clinically. He had about an hour if she couldn't get him risen. But she wasn't the sort to abandon him to that. She had hope yet.
As noise swelled around them – passing soldiers trotting here and there; returning cavalrymen announced by pounding hoofbeats, disappearing as quickly as they came; a sing-song erupting among a group of soldiers near the well – Rose inched closer to her man and started binding his leg with strips of clean cotton; translating the warblings of what became a gleefully roving quintet as she worked.
We killed seventy of the bastards!
"Wir haben siebzig der Bastarde getötet…"
And we'll kill seven hundred more!
"Und wir werden siebenhundert mehr töten…"
We'll cut them up with swords and axes!
"Wir werden sie mit Schwertern und Äxten zerschneiden…"
And soon there won't be anymore!
"Und bald wird es nicht mehr sein!"
A soft giggle escaped the watchful Schwester as the group broke into applause – rounds of congratulations for everything from holding a tune to surviving the night going round and round among them as they searched for their next ditty. "They're a silly lot" she mused fondly to herself, missing how her soldier's gaze flickered towards her as she spoke. He averted it quickly, but listened close as she glanced up and conferred reassuringly with a passing Englishman who'd paused to check on them.
"Don't worry" she said, forcing hope into her smile. "Not long now and he'll be strong enough to stand."
She couldn't have known it, but the invalid was banking on that.
Far and away from Rose's patient-caused-consternation, Sally found her portion of the camp engulfed in the same jollity that the joyous group's sing-song had brought on. Three of the five had wobbled up onto the well's lip now, the other two providing supporting shoulders as they worked out between them what next they might sing. Luckily enough for their joint endeavours, they had the pick of the crop in terms of topics to choose from. There'd been more strife overcome and more battles won close to home in the past days than there'd been in months!
As lyrics were tried and tested, Sally smiled fondly and cast her attention back out into her surrounds; mindful, as ever, of her duties. Little by way of nursing work passed her by over the next few minutes, but there was still gossip to catch up on when folk lingered for a drink.
So said a Hessian soldier, the lost to battle count had risen to twenty-four so far, but the wounded were much fewer – a side effect, for good or ill said the soldier, of the ferocity of the attack. Those that'd been wounded had died where they fell bar two or three; a fact that, guiltily, Sally was almost glad of. The triage was struggling along as it was without a new deluge of patients stretching its means yet thinner.
So said another – and this, oh this made Sally quake with glee - the local village had remained untouched by the violence that'd shaken the camp and, excitingly, hoped to send aid to its battered but still standing defender as soon as possible.
Aid.
Aid meant food. It meant fresh water and spare hands to help make right the damage that'd been done by axes and swords and flames. And dreamily too, perhaps, it meant more guards, and more nurses – if not of Sally's ilk, then wise women from the village who knew enough of medicine to tend to their communities and lend valuable assistance here too.
Caught up in the joy these possibilities brought her, Sally glanced about to see if anyone passing needed assistance and then gathered herself to scuttle down to Rose and share the good news. As she turned though, this way and that – looking first up towards the triage, then down towards the carcass of the stable block, and then out into the yard beyond the fence – movement out there, in what she'd first thought was only open space pockmarked with battle's desolation, caught her eye. And what'd caused it-
Oh.
A sea-change seemed to ripple through the very air at the sight of him – of a horseman, come from nowhere, swathed in darkness. He was guiding the great beast he rode to and fro with such ease they could've passed for having one mind; the pair gliding almost soundlessly through the lingering fog as they set themselves upon the concluding throes of their search for der Feinde. Invisible to the woman drawn to the fence by their presence were the bodies that dotted the yard. Invisible to her were how certain of them were the new dead, taken by a killing party that'd struck out from the Hessian barracks while the dark rider now patrolling their grounds was collecting heads in the fields beyond their borders. They were invisible, but he and his mount were not, certainly, for much as distance and the rag across his nose and mouth stole his features from her, she knew by sight the prowling gait and commanding mien of Draufgänger; and knew as well that that horse had but one master.
Relief of a strength once reserved only for old friends chased this realisation through Sally's system; something that, before this place, this time, would have never been. She didn't know this man she watched beyond the sight and sound of him, but even that small knowledge, now, after hell itself had risen and ravaged all she knew here, was enough to make the safety offered by his mere existence so welcome that Sally might've cheered were she unaware of how vulgar a display doing so would be. As it was she simply took a long, long moment to memorise the feeling of heart-ease so powerful an allied presence brought, then gathered herself to move off, to leave him to his work, and…stopped.
She was not alone, it seemed, in being riveted by the warrior prowling through the dim.
The warrior, his awareness pricked by her presence in his periphery, had also riveted on her.
Their eyes met across the distance and Sally froze where she stood, the fierceness in the man's bearing sending her throat as dry as the ash that'd turned his steed and armour in part silver-grey. Black on black on black he was beneath that coating - fit best for battle in the night's deepest reaches – but for all he'd likely been up against it the whole skirmish through there looked to be no weariness in him. There were no drooping shoulders, no curved back, no sign that he struggled at all bar how, when he neared her and tugged the rag that'd covered his face away so he might speak clearly, he breathed through an open mouth.
It was then, as that covering fell away forgotten, like her heart-ease was, that Sally could truly say she recognised him – but not only from the memory she had of him at rest by the stables. She knew this man by reputation too, much as she hadn't known she did upon their first meeting; hadn't seen then what she could now – the dagger-point tips of filed teeth visible beyond his lips as he found relatively clear air for the first time in hours.
Thomas, she realised, thunderstruck, had been right.
Der Reiter was here, though he wore a face she never thought he would.
Realisation, in that moment, lashed through her like fire had the wheat field; though it was cold, deathly, heavy where it collected in her gut. How close she'd been to this man. How boisterous she'd first been. How friendly. And dear God what she'd asked of him – Sie sind ein Draufgänger? Sally could've died on the spot at the memory. She'd asked that of this man. THIS MAN. It was little wonder he'd laughed at her for the question; asked it back as if to probe if she'd known the depth of her folly.
She hadn't.
But God she did now.
Her whole body racked with adrenaline, Sally thought for a moment to run, to escape and pretend she'd never seen this vestige of war and horror so close as to know what his eyes and his smile looked like over but inches. The urge was immense – Thomas's stories of this man who their enemies called The Devil spinning in her mind into a ferment – but when he called to her-
"Dame-"
She knew that voice…and not from a demon's lips either. Here was the man from the stable block, and from the road; himself still despite how the night's strain had turned what'd been a warm rumble to gravel, and despite as well the warlord's mantle he now wore like a second skin. Caught by this familiarity, Sally fought back the urge to flee; forcing herself instead to still, and to breathe into the steadying hand she pressed surreptitiously against her diaphragm.
In through the nose – the scent of blood getting stronger while he lingered.
Out through the mouth – the sickly, cloying tang ignored as best it could be for now.
"Mein Herr" she wisped, realising belatedly that she'd barely ceased staring since first she'd caught sight of him. Vaguely mortified, she shrugged off her waterskin and went about preparing her visitor a stein of water. He had clearly fought the ash long and hard, after all. The least he deserved from her was a cool drink. "Vergib mir" she said. "Ich habe nicht erwartet, dich hier zu sehen."
That feeling, it turned out, was quite mutual. "Ich dachte dasselbe von dir" the Horseman noted, urgency beginning to pinch his features. "Warum bist du hier?"
The question gave Sally pause. "Wie bitte?" she asked, straightening up and offering the now full stein to him. Her effort was waved off brusquely; the repetition she got as sharp as shattered glass.
"Warum. Bist. Du. Hier? Du bist aus dem Dorf. War es angegriffen?"
"Angegriffen?" Sally's eyes went wide, that word – attacked – bringing sense to the man's insistence. Sitting the stein atop her pail's lid, she pulled together as thorough an answer as her still limited skill with German would allow. "Nein" she began. "Das Dorf ist sicher…Ich bin nicht von dort. Ab-" Her eyes flickered skyward briefly; a moment's thought needed mid-flow. "Aber Soldaten, die dort stationiert waren, kamen hierher, um uns heute Morgen zu helfen." A slight nod to herself after she got that phrase out. Almost there. "Sie wären nicht gekommen, wenn es einen Angriff gegeben hätte."
They were simple words but reassuring ones – the last carried on a little rush of breath, as if she was worried that she'd lose them if she didn't hurry – and in the seconds they took to sink in and process the Horseman felt himself begin to relax. Regarding the woman who'd spoken them, who seemed smaller even than he knew she was from his perch atop his steed, he noticed for the first time how she shifted from foot to foot where she stood; how her hands faintly trembled; how she had begun to wring them while keeping them close to her body and how, despite what these unconscious things meant and the sight he must be fresh off the battlefield, she held his gaze until politeness dictated she glance away.
He thought back as she took in the sum of him, grasping to no avail for the name she'd called herself when first she'd departed his company. While that little detail hadn't stuck in his mind however, the chuckle he'd had over the bit of harmless teasing he'd given her had done. It was a rare thing in wartime, levity, and he appreciated that the person at whose expense he'd found some had blushed prettily and bustled off in a rush, not fizzed angrily at him and mistaken his moment's joviality for cruelty.
If nothing else she was a brave, funny little thing.
"Wenn nicht aus dem Dorf" he asked, his voice gentler now; a lick of honest curiosity laced with the hope that he might calm her a little before they parted ways prompting the question. "Woher kommst du? Lebst du hier?"
Sally blinked up at him, the change of tack enough of a surprise that it took a moment for her to answer. "...Ah- Ja" she said. "Ich bin eine Schwester aus dem Krankenhaus." She nodded towards the triage, glancing between it and the Horseman. "Drüben…Just there."
"Eine Schwester?" he repeated, a drop of wit in the tilt of his head; in how he crooked a brow in joking askance. "Eine Schwester für…apples, yes? Gibt es kurative Eigenschaften in Äpfeln?"
The nurse spluttered softly at the question, her mouth agape briefly before a grin took it up at the corners; a gesture, she was surprised to note, that her visitor copied in his own muted way. Feeling a little like a mouse to his droll and watchful cat – one that said cat's ostensible geniality was making much too brave for its own good – Sally stood a little taller as she shook her head. "No" she countered, explaining and playing along at once. "Das war ein Gefallen. Ich bin eine Schwester für Soldaten. For soldiers."
A low hum and a little nod met her proclamation, the amused look in the man's eyes making Sally braver yet. She picked up her stein and edged a step closer, mindful of how the Horseman shifted to angle Gänger's hind quarters – where his swords and what she assumed was a cloak-covered saddlebag hung – away from her as she approached. When both horse and master were settled, she reached over the fence and offered him the stein once more; a reserved but friendly smile upon her lips. "Und Reiter. Trinken Sie etwas. Bitte."
This time, she was not denied. A hand came down - the glove worn upon it more finely made than most anything Sally had yet seen during her time at the camp - and plucked the vessel from her fingers; the man's first sip, as she thought it might be, a starter for ten. He came up gasping once the stein was empty, his head back and mouth open, and Sally, though her heart stuttered at the sight of the daggers revealed by the gesture, did not think to flee.
Dropping down on one knee by her pail a moment, she filled her auxiliary stein to the brim from it and then edged back to the Horseman's side where, bless the man, he made as much of a beeline for the vessel as Ganger had for her basket when first they'd met. A quick stein-swap later and he was drinking deep again, the only break coming when he set those fierce teeth of his to tugging off one of his gloves. The moment his hand was freed it was used to wipe the water he'd lost to his chin up over his cheeks, his eyes, and his brow, fighting to be rid of some part of what was much more than a simple morning's worth of grime. He was ready to sacrifice a mouthful of water from the stein to the cause when the attentive Schwester spoke up.
"Mein Herr" she called, reaching up again to offer him a clean piece of cloth; newly wet by a handful of water from the pail. "Für dein Gesicht."
"Für mein-" A soft huff of surprise escaped the Horseman's chest. He nodded by way of a thank you, accepting the rag as his diminutive companion favoured him with another of her smiles; this one a little less measured than the last. A half-minute's worth of effort saw him looking more like himself, the feeling of cool air on clean skin lifting his spirits enough that he found a little more time for the helpful lady at his side than he might've otherwise.
"And him?" he asked, returning Sally's stein - the cloth tucked through its handle - and giving Gänger's neck a rub. He then pointed to the nearby pail and regarded its custodian questioningly. "Kann er auch trinken?"
A blink from the nurse.
The Horseman cocked his head a fraction. "Is soldier also" he said. "Same need für vater; für sleep; für food. Same joy; same fear. Same fight, like me; in fire; in smoke."
She could hardly argue that one.
Sally nodded quickly, an enthused, "Of course" coming up as she set down her wares and put her back into de-lidding and dragging the pail as close to the two-slat fence as she could. They sat on the horizontal, those slats – one about five feet off the ground, the other about two – and left easily enough space between them for the nurse to settle, heft the pail through and give it a push towards her most unexpected guests.
Her effort was met with a flurry of movement; the Horseman pulling off his second glove, unclipping from his neck the heavy cloak that draped down over Gänger's hind end and dismounting smoothly. He carefully arranged the garment where it lay so the fluffy-headed innocent settled not six feet from it would be spared the sight of what it hid, tucked his gloves away beside it and then worked the stallion's bit and reins free so he could drink uninhibited; which he did the second he could with abandon enough that his master had to keep a foot planted next to the bucket to stop it from toppling over.
His gusto brought the man concern and amusement, but it didn't surprise him. It wasn't in the nature of a horse, no matter his training, to be at ease in the presence of a conflagration. That fear brought on gasping breaths and that in turn made lungs burn and throats parched; ailments that only rest and fresh water by the hundredweight would soothe. For now though, with so much work yet to be done, one deep pail's-worth would suffice. Cool and crisp still, the water within splashed up along the bridge of Gänger's nose as he drank, and was caught there and rubbed further up still towards his eyes by his attentive master. Knuckles and nails both sought clumps of ash, each one brushed or scratched away to spare the stallion yet further discomfort; and to help man and mount – freed now from battle's grip - reconnect with each other in the calm as they had at strife's close since their journeys together had begun.
Minutes passed and they remained thus – Gänger absorbed in drinking, his master knelt down as he groomed the stallion's face and their silent guest, settled a few paces to their left on the fence's lowest rung. Rapt at the sight of them but too respectful of their need for a moment's peace to disturb them by fussing, Sally contented herself instead with keeping watch over the roadway; making sure she wasn't needed by any passers by while the Devil to their Enemies – for that was who he was, she reminded herself, no matter how benign he might've seemed – saw to his steed. Adrenaline crept through her every time that thought crossed her mind. It made her throat tighten and her breath hitch, but whether it was fear of him that brought it on or some murky mixture of awe, danger and a myriad of other formless, nameless things, she didn't know.
Whatever it was, she jumped slightly in place when next he spoke to her.
"Für him" the Horseman said, gesturing to Gänger who, by the look of things, was refreshed and intent on catching his master's face with his sopping muzzle. Every time he tried a hand gently pushed him aside."Zis-" He indicated the stallion's next attempt; thwarted. "Is danke." A thoughtful silence came and went; words sought and tested. "…Thank you…Grateful."
Despite herself, Sally felt a grin tug at her lips for his effort. "Er ist sehr willkommen" she replied, struggling with a giggle when the crafty stallion got so close to his master's cheek that he had to shift back to escape him. Curious then, wondering quite how firm the man's command of English was, she brooked, "…As you are."
That he looked at her when she spoke was encouraging, no matter how her breath threatened to escape her for his attention, and how that betrayal made the rest of what she had to say come out sounding like kindness built on rattled nerves.
"To any help I can give you."
The Horseman considered her for a long moment, her words not so foreign to him that their meaning was totally lost. He drew breath to reply - to politely decline what aid she offered for, simply, he had no need of it - only to jolt in place at the sudden cry of a carrion bird, perched upon his saddle. It pecked, pulling at his travelling cloak – interested, Sally surmised, in the blood that must've coated it in places.
Irritated, the mercenary rose swiftly; waving the shrieking thing away before looking back at his diminutive companion. She too had taken to her feet at the interruption, and stood now beyond the fence as she had when first they'd remade their acquaintance. "Even ze bird" he said peevishly. "Vish rest from zis air. Come-" Stepping round easeful Gänger, he took up the pail and passed it over to Sally; gesturing to the triage when his hands were free. "Inside."
"In- I-" Sally tripped over the word, reminded suddenly of dear Thomas and his warning on the balcony the night before. The comparison between the two men was ridiculous, but it got her moving all the same. "Yes" she said, backing up a pace or so; readying herself for the small journey. She needed to fresh her pail no matter the air; needed to fetch more supplies, for surely she and Rose would be short soon. And most pressingly, she needed to check on her dear ailing friend who'd fought til the last shot was fired.
Yes. Inside it was, for now.
Translations:
"Meine Güte mich! Ich bin gedankenlos. Ich war mir sicher, dass Sie Engländer waren! Bitte verzeih mir." Goodness me! I am thoughtless. I was sure you were English! Please forgive me
"Dame-" Madam
"Mein Herr. Vergib mir. Ich habe nicht erwartet, dich hier zu sehen." Sir. Forgive me. I did not expect to see you here
"Ich dachte dasselbe von dir. Warum bist du hier?" I thought the same of you. Why are you here?
"Wie bitte?" I beg your pardon?
"Warum. Bist. Du. Hier? Du bist aus dem Dorf. War es angegriffen?" Why. Are. You. Here? You're from the village. Was it attacked?
"Angegriffen? Nein. Das Dorf ist sicher…Ich bin nicht von dort. Ab- Aber Soldaten, die dort stationiert waren, kamen hierher, um uns heute Morgen zu helfen. Sie wären nicht gekommen, wenn es einen Angriff gegeben hätte." Attacked? No. The village is safe. I'm not from there. But soldiers stationed there came here to help us this morning. They would not have come if there had been an attack
"Wenn nicht aus dem Dorf, woher kommst du? Lebst du hier?" If not from the village, where are you from? Do you live here?
"Ja. Ich bin eine Schwester aus dem Krankenhaus." Yes. I am a nurse/sister from the hospital
"Eine Schwester?" A nurse/sister?
"Gibt es kurative Eigenschaften in Äpfeln?" Are there any curative properties in apples?
"Das war ein Gefallen. Ich bin eine Schwester für Soldaten. That was a favour. I'm a nurse/sister for soldiers
"Und Reiter. Trinken Sie etwas. Bitte." And horsemen. Drink something. Please
"Mein Herr. Für dein Gesicht." Sir. For your face
"Für mein-" For my-
"Kann er auch trinken?" Can he drink too?
"Er ist sehr willkommen" He is very welcome