Thread: Out of Anguish (NurseMaxine and Traveler)

Are they out there? Hush, the leader of the Revolutionaries' scouting party scowled at the young man who huddled in the bush beside him. It was bitter cold that morning, the mist rolling across the fields like fingers portending death. The night had been clear and cold, and the men who had traveled to meet the Redcoats had sacrificed personal comfort to fight for a chance at a life of freedom from British rule. The young man wiped a nervous hand across his nose. He'd done much in their efforts to gain freedom from the basted British. He'd run messages, delivered supplies, and repaired gear, but this was the first time he felt like he might be asked to take a life. It was different when lives were at hand, and even more so when faced, at twenty summers, of having one of those lives lost possibly be your own. His fingers burned cold despite the two layers of woolen gloves he wore. The wool made his fingers clumsy though, so he had removed the tips long ago. His grey tunic didn't cover his neck high enough and when he put up his hood he felt like he couldn't see. It was either be warm and blind or able to see and frozen like the rivers were beginning to set. His eyes were hooded by strong brows, reminiscent of the hawk's, and though his jawline had grown wide and he had been shaving much longer than he could remember, his dimpled chin and the open way he looked at the world revealed how young he truly was. Comfort would have to wait. Today was the day they had been told that the Redcoats were planning on the attack, so today was the day that they had to be stopped. Zachariah Braun tried to still the shivering as he waited, and when the order was given to run back to the others and tell them that the enemy had been sighted he felt his aching, cold limbs protesting until they had warmed up enough to stop the pain. When the fighting finally broke out it was chaos. The ground explode where cannons had hit beside him, sending the shock of impact up his long legs. Next to him he felt the man's head explode when a round ball flew out of a musket and impact, and Zach's one thought was that the man's blood felt warm. Warm. He turned in slow motion to see the lower half of the man's head, still attached, working it's jaw as if to continue to call out 'Charge!'. In his shock he wondered if he even registered that he was dead, or if some part of the man still thought that he was part of the battle. Swords clashed, muskets exploded, even arrows flew. An Indian man with deep, sun-etched lines ran up to him with a long knife. He raised it to bring down the young Revolutionary, but a horse bolted beside him and trampled the native. Zachary broke out of his shock and started to run. He didn't know which way he was running, just that he had to move or he would die . He ran through the chaos. At one point he pulled someone off a horse who had started to beat at him with a stick of some sort. A few blurry moments of chaos later and he was wrestling on the ground with a Redcoat at least three stones heavier than himself. He remembered the frantic clawing, the hitting, and then he remembered the way the blue sky had looked as it began to turn dim in his eyes. Pain. So much pain... He tried to push the heavy weight off himself. There was a face, a kind one... but Zachary couldn't focus. He felt his head being lifted and a soft pillow placed underneath. Hel-help me, he whispered. His lips were cracked and dry, his eyes swollen, and his body felt like he had been trampled by a thousand horses. Please.