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Evolution of the Revolution (Wolvenrogue and Lovebug)

wolvenrogue

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Aug 21, 2011
Sargeant Matthew Biggs had signed up for the Army of the Patomic the first day he heard of the revolution. He had left a prosperous smithing business back in Yorkshire England to come to the colonies and make his fortune. He had been told that there, one could live free of the medling of kings and other entitled land owners. Further, Smith's were in short supply. He had arrived to find a much different situation . The king had his thumb on the colonists and took in taxes almost as much as the harsh living left them. Sentiment was high amoung tradesman like himself to break free of the opressive control by the crown which was so librally imposed on the colonies.

Unfortunately, a Muscat and a miniball had put his high ideals in a far different perspective that night as he lay bleeding in the mud and snow that evening, fearing that he would soon die as loss of blood from his torn up leg was clouding his brain. The rest of his patrol had been scattered, and he had been left for dead, his weapon taken by a comrad as he ran away. Matthew, had been too week to even raise his voice in protest and soon found himself alone with the mud and a few cornsttaulks to keep him company. The wind howling, and the cries of a few wild dogs were the only sounds. He slowly slipped away and was preparing to meet his maker, when the feel of a wet scrap of cloth crossed his face, and he struggled to focus his eyes on the beautiful red hair and green eyes that were now so close.

Matthew was an imposing figure of a man, when not passed out in a mud puddle. He stood over 6 foot 4 inches tall, and his big boned body weighed in at over 200 lbs. He was far from out of shape, His chest was hard and cavernous and stood over a narrow waist, and thighs like the trunks of trees, the damage to his right leg not withstanding. he had a shock of sandy hair, a full beard and steel blue eyes, that just now seemed dull with pain. He groaned as the wound to his leg began to throb.
 
Ella had reserves about going out to the field after the fighting had finally dissipated. She wasn't sure what happened out there, but it had been brief. There had been some gunshots.. and then nothing but silence. She shifted slowly through her dark house, now in a mess after having been occupied not too long ago. Her "guests" had not been friendly, to say the least. They had wrecked her house, committed wicked crimes towards her, and even killed one of her livestock on their way out. That was the only reason she dared step from her house that night; her livestock. Since her late husband's death she had been taxed with maintaining their small farm on her own. She knew little about farming, being a young nineteen years old. Her husband had been whisked away in the war not too long after their marriage so unfortunately his wisdom had not been bestowed upon her. She just.. tried her best. That was all she could do.

Pulling a sham around her dirty white dress, she bundled up as she stepped out carefully into the elements. Her first priority was the three cows in the barn and the one bull still out in his pen. They were fine, despite being miffed. Her final concern was the bleeding soldier on the ground. Her small figure crouched by him, red hair falling down around her as she looked at his face for life and then his leg to observe the injury. Small flakes of snow fell on her freckled cheeks as she squinted, trying to decide how to go about this. She didn't want to invite a soldier into her house, but she was no murderer. Of all the things she was she was not that. She slowly pulled the sham from around her and wrapped it around his leg instead. First her actions were gentle, but then piercing as she purposely tied the knot into the wound on his leg.

"Wake up!" She demanded as the pain shot through him. "I can't carry you on my own! Carry yourself, my horse is right over there. Use that if you have to, you'll die out here!" She stood, extending a hand to him to offer him her help. Despite her non-delicate manners, Ella herself was a very small woman, with thin and worn features from a hard life lived. She was quite beautiful, but with the impression that she could be gorgeous if her circumstances were better. She lead her mare over to the man for him to use as a prop to get to his house.


She would try and clean it up.
 
Matthew shook himself trying hard to clear his head. The woman was shouting at him, but although her voice seemed shrill, it wasn't threatening. He didn't want to die, and she had spoken the truth. He was nearly dead before she had waken him from his slumber and now he was extremely aware of the life within him. His leg felt as though a hot poker had pierced it, and his shoulder ached from the fall to the ground when the bullet had ended the war for him. He took the offered hand first and then when guided to the stirrups on the mare's saddle he used it to pull himself to his feet. When finally he stood, he looked down at the tiny woman who had drawn him back from death and managed a "Thank You Maam" . She was all of 18 inches shorter than he, and couldn't have been half his weight, but she seemed to have a fire in her belly that he had seldom seen in a man.

He grabbed the horn of the saddle and held on as the woman lead the horse and him with it up the gentle hill to the house. When he got near the porch he reached out to the rail and held on with two hands and then stumbled onto the porch before falling and then screaming in agony as his badly wounded thigh was the first point of contact with the porch. He rolled over on his back and tried to sit up. Grabbing the porch rail he pulled himself back to his feet and stood waiting while the woman tied the horse to the rail. "i can walk" he said, "but I have no balance. I need help!"
 
Ella was glad the man had responded to her words and managed to pull himself up. She was worried he was going to be too far gone, and at that point she wasn't sure she could help him. When he managed to get to her porch she tied her mare off to the railing and quickly moved to him at his plea for help. She slipped her small arm around his muscled back and acted as a brace for him. Her cheek pressed awkwardly against his chest. Being that close to a man of war turned her stomach but she moved slowly to the door, making sure he was able to keep up. "I have you." She promised him quietly with just a little more kindness than she had shown him in the field earlier.

"I'll be back." She promised her horse softly before carefully helping the man inside. Once he was in she took him no further than the sitting couch in the foyer that hinted this might have been a nice house, once upon a time. Now it was weathered and worn, even dusty. Once the weight was taken off of his leg she crouched quickly down in front of him, inspecting the wound as best she could.


"Take that uniform off." She demanded him as she stood. "I'm going to get some water and I need to get to the wound." She wasn't sure what she could do, but she could try her best. On her way out she lit a lantern and all that could be heard then was the distant clanging of her digging out a pot to fill with water.
 
He sunk into that old but comfortable couch . He just wanted to sleep, but the young and commanding woman who was in control had given him an order. It wasn't a request, it was an order, and as a good soldier, he dis what he was told, exactly, and to the letter.

He had been in the battle now for months, he had only the uniform, everything else he had had a few hours ago was now gone. The shirt was easiest, so it was first, a few buttons later it was on the floor. Normally he would have had woolen underwear, but the rebel troops had fallen on bad times. The warm wool was long ago bartered for food, so his chest was naked as was everything else beneath the uniform. The boots he had, had no laces, so he kicked them off. He winced in pain as he pushed the boot off the injured leg. It felt like a hot knife was pressed into his thigh, but her did what he was told. Then came the trousers. He unbuttoned them and began to push them down. as he got to the wound high on his thigh they had dried to the would and were attached as if they were sewed. He pushed , but the pain was too much and he passed out. He collapsed into the couch , the uniform half way down his thighs almost completely exposed but unconscious. He had done what he could.
 
After some time Ella returned to the room where she had left the fallen soldier, carefully toting a pot of hot and steaming water. The sight of him passed out there drew her to sigh. In the back of her mind she knew he would be stuck there for the night but she had been hoping to get rid of him. His presence there would make her a target, for his friends and enemies alike.


She ccarefully crouched before the man and peeled his pants from the open wound. The scent of blood made her nose clam up, but she had soon stripped the man completely and discarded what was left of his uniform. Then began the process of cleaning the area. Unfortunately her medical supplies had already been siezed by travelling soldiers, she would have to work with what she had, essentially hot water.


Once the wound had been cleaned and she had picked debris from the area she tightened a cloth around it to work as a bandage. Unfortunately it was all she could do for now.

The woman stood and took a moment to look over her work and thr soldier himself. Poor guy probably had a family somewhere worried about him and he was stuck here with a stupid girl with no supplies or knowledge of how to help him.

She returned outside to put her horse away, then upon entering the house brisked away the snowy and bloody uniform he had forgotten. She dissapeared into the hhouse and found herself soon in bed. The soldier would stay or leave as he pleased. She had no control of that.
 
Mathew woke out of a haze of pain a second time but this time, all he saw was the dim light of a lantern left burning on the mantle piece. He puled himself up and tried to stand, but that turned out to be a mistake, for as soon as he was even half way vertical, his vision closed in around him and he passed out with the pain. He fell back, crumpled in a pile on the floor, where he would remain. He had no idea where he was when he fell and even less the next morning. He woke in a puddle of his own blood as it slowly leaked from the wound on his leg. Someone had removed his clothes and the only thing he was wearing was the cloth wrapped around his thigh, though that was of no consequence since he couldn't move much more tahn it took to sit up and lay back against the couch on the floor.
 
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