Thread: Innocence and the Enemy (Sweet Angel Jocelyn & CharmSnake)

Following the path through tall old trees, he heard the trickle of the creek that ran parallel to his right hidden by the brush. Kept in the shade, the cart ruts in the road were softer than the baked mud he had marched upon for days on end. Grass grew up on either side of the path and along a strip down the middle. There were many minor dips and bends but the road headed in a generally straight direction. He heard the trickle grow louder and the next bend wandered to the creek bank. The sun, very low in the sky, reflected orange on the water. The current was casual but steady and being late in a dry summer, the level was low exposing wide muddy banks and some clean round stones. A boulder sat in the middle of the stream parting the flow and causing the trickling sound. Birds chirped idly. There was no wind. Not much further along Gregorsz saw a small alcove in the bush with an old dead heavy log felled across, obviously well used as place of rest. A small circle of stones for fire a pit full of old black ashes sat in the dirt. He wandered along slowly just trying to calm his nerves. She might not even come. He tried to think of a song to occupy his mind and recalled one that his mother used to sing about watering flowers while waiting for the return of a lover. It was a pretty tune with a definite shade of forlorn. Gregorsz whistled it to himself as he ambled on. After some ways, the path came to the edge of the wheat field to his left. The sky was deep dark blue with the stars coming out to play and trying to outshine a thumbnail of a moon. Only an orange band low in the sky backdropped the black silhouette of distant trees. He had gone far enough and decided to turn back. His foot was still tender but the feel of the bandage wrapped around it inside his sock warmed his heart with her memory. It was a sweet feeling but was quickly followed by the emptiness of her absence. He resumed whistling the old tune as the faint moonlight glistened off the leaves of the trees and shrubs. He stayed on the path by following the blackness between them. Soon he was passing the trickling rock. He knew that he was almost back where he started when he could hear the sounds of the camp in the distance, voices and laughter, a harmonica warbling to the rhythm of handclaps, a horse whinnying. He had not encountered a soul on the path. Turning about face, he repeated the trek, each footstep on his blisters reminding him of her. He let out a sigh and whistled softly again as the sounds of the camp faded away. Passing the trickling rock, he stopped to sit on the log. The sound of the creek was soothing and eased his nerves if only a little. To be in the sweet embrace of that young girl was all he wanted at that moment. She could make everything else go away. Eventually he couldn't sit still and walked on again whistling softly until he reached the same clearing to the field and turned back once more. Gregorsz began to realize that this could go on all night. He couldn't walk any slower to waste any more time. That was all he was doing, wasting time until he could see her. Sensing futility, he returned to the log near the trickling boulder and sat. What was he doing here in the middle of the Russian steppe, hundreds of miles from what was once home? Had life really fallen apart that badly? He was numb from everything that had happened since the spring when all had crashed around him. Gregorsz had hardened himself and was realizing that seeing her in that window was the first strong emotion he had allowed himself to feel in months. He rested his head on his palm, took a deep breath and sighed. Then he whistled the first bars of the old tune to keep from shedding a tear. Hello? He froze. It was a girl's voice, speaking in Russian. He stood up seeing nothing in the darkness. His heart started to race and he tried to keep calm by breathing evenly. Gregorsz stepped forward to the edge of the path and reached to straighten his hat before remembering that he had left it at the tent. At least his uniform was clean, thanks to her. Hearing a footfall, he looked and found a shadow stop not far before him, although it was impossible to make out a face. Privet , he said quietly. It was one of the few words of his limited Russian vocabulary. She was so close that he could hear her breathing. It had to be her. Who else could it be? He stepped forward again and reached out.