Of Sleeping Dolls, Old Houses, and Runaway Soldiers

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As the light filled the room, he could see the old woman working furiously at untying a boy in a chair. The boy's eyes were wide and unblinking, but the heaving in his chest showed he was still alive. As he felt the ropes loosen, he jerked and looked around, head moving rapidly. At the sight of Tolliver, he began to scream and struggle.

The other men began to pull Tolliver, trying to get him out of sight of the child as they looked at the man suspiciously.

Only after he was pulled away did the child stop screaming. Quiet sobbing replaced the ear-splitting terror, and as the woman tried to reassure the child, one of the big guys looked over Tolliver appraisingly. "Ruvan soldiers, or...?" He looked at the other.

"Maybe." He raised an eyebrow at Tolliver. "Got spare clothes?"
 
The sight of the boy screaming at him stunned Tolliver, that earnest expression of terror being the last thing that he expected to see. He hadn't done anything, had he? All Tolliver had done was smash open the cellar doors so that they could enter! Surely that should have marked him as one of the proverbial 'good guys'??

But he let himself be pulled away, scowling, back up the stairs and into the midmorning light of day. The fields were still burning in the distance. This late in the summer, the crops were starting to dry and the flames sent huge billows of smoke up into the air as the harvest was consumed. No doubt the columns of black would soon summon others from around the countryside; everyone loved a good fire, after all. Staying overly long here wouldn't be a good idea. If not more farmers, then more soldiers would come to either investigate, aid, or loot. Tolliver couldn't imagine any such people being glad to see him there.

"Clothes?" he finally replied curiously. Looking down at himself, he had to wonder. Had soldiers already been there, and if so were they Ruvan or were they Ruvan deserters? But if there were other people to rescue, only the boy could tell them, and he sure as fire wasn't going to that if he kept screaming every time Tolliver came his way.

"Yeah, yeah," Tolliver replied with an air of distraction. "I've got a… a few things, I guess…"

Just as well, this shirt was getting damned fragrant anyway.

Tolliver left the party and headed back around towards the front of the house where he had set the doll to watch his possessions. Taking off the regimental tunic felt… odd. He knew he was better off without it for all that it was warm, for it made him stand out all the more. Yet being found out without it was a sure way to make his hanging happen as one who abandoned the army. And he had worn it for years. Once, he had taken pride in it! He still remembered when he had first paid a laundress to sew on the sergeant's chevrons on the one sleeve. But there was no help for it.

He threw the jacket over the fence and reached down to pull out the clothing that he had salvaged from the manor house. The shirts were fine but simple, no real changes having happened to men's fashion in that regard for the past hundred years or so. The pants were… Well, they were old, and he was going to look slightly ridiculous in knee britches, but it wasn't as though he had any more choice about them than he did the jacket.

Sighing to himself, he laid out the stolen clothing over the fence as well, and began to strip down so that he might change. His thoughts were so jumbled that Tolliver didn't even think once as he shed his shirt and trousers right in front of the doll to appear only in his short clothes. A soldier's life, sharing several bodies to a tent, was not one of privacy or modesty.
 
"Pervert." The voice was tiny, the same that urged him to run before. It came from nearby, and almost seemed to be in his own head rather than an external voice.

While the man dressed, the woman led the young boy into the house, his eyes covered so he wouldn't see how his home was burned, or that he was alone. She spoke to him in soft words as the two sat on the floor, and the two big men stood beside him, hands on the child's shoulders as they murmured encouragements, that they'd protect him, that he was safe.

That they weren't army.

One admitted he worked on a livestock farm, and told the boy about how the smart pigs caused trouble until the boy's small giggle reached Tolliver's ears. The other spoke quietly, and soon the boy seemed to pull from his terror-fueled silence, but the woman refrained from talking about the farm.
 
"Well, where the fuck else do you expect me to change? " Tolliver looked up, perturbed, to address whomever might have called him a pervert, only to find himself still alone. The twins were still keeping an eye on things, the other were with the boy, there wasn't anyone else within ear shot…

The look upon his face was practically comical as it whipped first left and then right, an expression of confusion that quickly became one of concern. Slowly, he pulled the pants up around his hips, thinking. It was with a distracted air that he tugged the shirt on over his head and slid his arms in. Distantly, some part of him thought on how much softer and better fitting the stolen shirt was than his uniform shirt, and that he really should burn the uniform before he got too much further out into the world, and, Deus above, was he finally losing his mind and hearing voices now?!?

The pants were tight at the knees, a problem he took care of with the simple brutality of slicing the fabric to make it a little looser.

From the sounds out of it, the other were keeping the child inside entertained. Tolliver didn't see any immediate need to poke his nose into things, although no doubt the boy had information that he needed to know. If Ruvan forces were looting, forces that had already gotten ahead of him somehow, it couldn't be good. And the mystery as to why these refugees were fleeing south, which was towards the Hildi army instead of away, still remained. But there were other problems to be dealt with first.

Tolliver leaned against the fence post and sank down until his ass met the ground, and he took a deep breath as he looked up at the blue of the sky. The clouds were fluffy and white. The sun was bright and warm. The wind blew in just enough to ruffle his hair and keep it from being too hot. Over all, it was… burning farmhouse, traumatized child, and demonic hound of hell aside… a pleasant day. He needed a rest and now was as good a time as any.

"It's you, ain't it?" he asked the doll after several minutes of doing nothing but staring upwards. Tolliver's voice was as contemplative as his gaze. Unforced. Unimposing. Soft, even! To anyone passing within even a few feet, it would have sounded like he was muttering unintelligibly to himself. But he knew, he knew, that if the doll was somehow alive, it would hear him. "Just now. You called me a pervert, didn't you? And back at the bridge, you told me to run. You're alive somehow, ain't you? You know more than you're saying, too, I bet, and even if I've gone balmy and I'm dreaming all of this then you've still got answers."

Lolling his head to one side to look down at the doll, Tolliver sighed. "Well, here's the deal, Miss Pretty." He paused to dig his canteen out of the pack, taking a big long drink of water that shouldn't be as icy as it was; some good had come out of being chased through the supernaturally freezing night, at least! The cold water soothed his throat. "You either start speaking up and telling me, chapter and verse, what's this all about?"

Tolliver raised his gaze upwards again away from those ever-changing glass eyes. For effect as much as for thirst, he took another long slow drink.

"Or you'll find out yourself just how perverted an old soldier can be, Miss Pretty."
 
The doll remained still as he yammered on, until he came to his threat. Her eyes snapped toward him when he blinked. "Not near these peasants. You have a tendency to react wildly." Her quiet voice came as her porcelain lips moved. "We will speak after you have parted their company."

She waited for the next time he blinked to return her gaze forward, and she looked as though she had never moved at all.

Inside the house, the boy finally seemed to remember, and sobered. "Where are Ma and Da? They tol' me to no let ennyun in when they're gone." He looked around. "They usstairs?"

The old woman took his hand slowly and squeezed. "I don't know, lad. When we got here, we didn't find anyone except you, but we're still lookin'."

Slowly, his face shifted to one of intense grief. "Did... didja look 'hind the barn? Where we gots the shit pit?"

The old woman looked toward the brute who raised pigs, and he ran out. "I just sent Biggums ta go look. D'you want a hug while ye wait?"

The child nodded, then pressed himself against her and gripped her thin body tight as he began to sob. From outside, hoofbeats and creaking approached—not the sound of an army, but the sound of one.

If Tolliver turned to look, it was the family from the day before. They were loaded into a tiny wagon, with their beautiful stove nowhere in sight.

"Look, Papa! It's the dog!" A small child's voice shouted from the top.
 
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"Wildly," Tolliver snorted half to himself in distain. "Chased by some nightmare out of my great-granny's tales, and she says I'm reacting wildly. Deus' balls. Al right, all right, we'll play this your ways, Miss Pretty. But time comes, you say what you've got to say, yes?"
He didn't bother waiting for an answer, fully sure that she wasn't going to reply anyway. Despite all that had happened, he wasn't able to think of the doll as an 'it.' He wondered if he ever really had. Maybe on some level, somehow, he knew that the porcelain toy in its antique lace was female in more than just appearance. Whatever she might be beyond that was in question. With luck, however, he'd soon have some answers.

Tolliver capped the canteen and set it back alongside the rest of his gear and loot, then roused himself to go and stand by the door to listen in. The old woman… There was another female who had answers that he needed but would have to wait for. As she comforted the small boy, the soldier could only wonder what it was that had sent her and the others fleeing south, towards the enemy army; they sure as hell didn't look like sympathizers, not with the one still wearing the remains of a Ruvan uniform! Had something happened to the north? Had the Hildi somehow managed to best the Ruvan Navy and invaded from the coast? If they had, then it would have been a bloody miracle! They were the best of soldiers, far better trained and equipped than the men Tolliver had served, but it was generally agreed that their navy was proof that shit floated.

But if the fort at Vervey had fallen… If the garrisons of the major cities and towns had been routed…

Tolliver and the other refugees around him would be sandwiched between two hostile forces, and any Ruvan deserters (like himself) would be more concerned with saving their own hides than helping to defend a bunch of farmers and villagers.

He waited for the grandmotherly figure to look up from hugging the child to give her a sharp jerk of his chin, indicating that when she was done, she should come to talk to him outside. Once he was sure she understood, Tolliver turned just in time to see the farmer's cart come trundling up the road.

"Fuck." He'd uprooted them from their home, set them to the road to escape one danger, and now they might very well be rolling right into something just as bad if not worse than he feared. And if the damned dog was around… It should have been left far behind him at the bridge, trapped by running water and light, only if the burly landsman's littlest child could still see it, then it wasn't a good sign by any means.

Tolliver hurried over towards the road, waving at them to stop. The little's words had chilled him, sending shivers down his spine, but since it wasn't overtly present he wasn't going to let it stop him. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news again," he announced as he trotted up towards them, his face broadcasting concern, "but these folks just told me they're fleeing south. Haven't found out why yet. Waiting for the old woman who seems to be in charge to get out here and say something."
 
The woman nodded her understanding, and then watched Tolliver walk off, before she continued to comfort the boy, her voice gentle and quiet as her bony hand stroked his hair.

The farmer raised a brow at his child, then shook his head and turned it forward in time to see a familiar soldier ahead. "Sergeant." He greeted as he pulled his heavy horse to a halt. The beast was restless, but remained in place obediently, even as it tossed its head.

"Mister Sergeant! Mister Sergeant!" The little one slid down and ran to Tolliver. "Did you know your dog can change its shape? I saw it! It crossed the bridge right in front of us, hiding under a dead leaf!" He laughed. "He's funny, for being so scary-looking!"

For a moment, Tolliver could see its dripping maw behind and above the boy before the ephemeral image faded as completely as it came.

The boy's father dismounted the wagon, shaking his head. "Sorry about him. Imagination's running wild ever since he found out we were going." He scratched his forehead with his thumb nail, then paused. "Fleeing south? Probably fleeing nooses." He hooked his thumbs into his belt, then looked toward the twins. "You two! The idiots staring at my daughter! Leave your guns and get your sorry 'hinds here!"

The twins jumped, scrambled, dropped their weapons (which miraculously didn't go off), and hurried over.

"Yessir?" both asked in unison.

"You rebels?"

They went quiet, looking at each other nervously, then toward Tolliver. He may have changed clothes, but he arrived in a uniform. They looked back at the farmer slowly. Finally, they both spoke. "He a deserter?"

The farmer looked toward Tolliver.
 
Oh, no, you right bastard,' he projected hostilely towards where he had seen the dog hover. Tolliver's eyes narrowed at the phantasm that faded threatening in then out of view. 'You don't get off that easily. You want someone to chase, doggie? You chase me. Or the moment you take your eyes off of me I'll find a way to put my boot so far up your ass, puppy, that you'll taste my shoe leather every time you howl at the moon. I'm your prey, not him… if you can catch me.'

It was all a split second for him to think those thoughts, and then he knelt and smiled at the lad, ruffling his hair. "He's a bad doggie," Tolliver told the child in a confidential whisper. "He keeps trying to scare people. But he's really just a big, far dummy who can't even catch his own tail much less catch up with me!"

He rose again to the farmer's greeting, waving away the son's 'imagination' as nothing of concern. The next words out of the man's words made as much sense as anything, and Tolliver wondered how he had missed it. Of course they were rebels! Who else would be headed south, armed and not in uniform? Ruva did have civilian militias and garrisons, of course, but those were all in the cities and towns. If this motley band was a bunch of rebels, it made sense for them to head for Hildi lines and avoid capture. Tolliver took the stares in stride, taking a deep breath before answering.

"Not saying," he finally decided out loud. A shrug followed. "Maybe I'm a deserter running from certain doom as our army gets its leg broken. Maybe I am on leave just at the right time and headed home to my family. Could be a rebel, too, mind you. Or I could be a madman who thinks he's got a doll that talks to him and a big black dog hunting that chases him all night long. Don't really matter what I say, 'cause any answer I give like that is gonna get me shot by someone."

He turned his back and headed over towards his gear again. "Only thing I can tell you? Whatever I was? Whatever I am? I'm done. Right now, I'm just trying to save whoever I can and not get killed myself in the bargain." Tolliver looked over the burning fields. "No idea who did this, but I'm guessing either other deserters or soldiers from the fortress up north; burn the fields, leave nothing for the enemy. Ruvans shouldn't be this far into the countryside less they came by sea, and that's not bloody likely. Smart rebels…"

Tolliver paused to look over the twins, then snorted and shook his head as though he could scarcely believe he was crediting these two chuckleheads with intelligence. "Smart rebels wouldn't want to piss off the locals. Better to get their favor."

Turning to look at the horizon, Tolliver scanned the distant tree lines ahead aways up the road from the farmhouse. "But with leave from the army or not, I doubt it'll matter much longer." He stuck a finger up towards the sky from where he had come. "That looks like vapor trails from Ruvan steam cannons. Lots of them, looks like. Must have been firing all morning to put that much hot steam in the sky. Our army ain't got nothing that can stand against those things."

He looked over his shoulder towards the rebels. "Only I told this family here in good faith that heading north across the river was their best bet. If that information's wrong, lads, we need to know. Otherwise that pretty lass you're trying so hard not to ogle? You don't want to know what'll happen to her. But I'll tell you true, it'll be a damn sight worse than what her father here does to you if you don't drop your eyes and show some respect, and that'll be pretty bad."
 
The boy giggled at Tolliver, then ran back to his family to chatter at them.

The twins swallowed, looked at each other, then spoke in eerie unison. "'S safe up nor'." They both agreed. "Ain't e'en got th'draft yet where we was livin by Norlan town." They continued, occasionally tripping over each others' words.

"Soldiers did it." A voice from behind said, quiet and feminine, with steel to it. It was higher than the crone's. "Got in time to see the soldiers riding off." Despite the person's feminine voice, it appeared to be a young man under the hood, by the visible stubble. "You should just go south with these lot. Ruva's gonna win anyway, and this is the least bloody way for a person to go under their thumb besides." He looked toward the house. "Anyone got found what's alive?"

The old soldier listened as everyone spoke, his frown deepening as he took in as much information as he could before he looked toward his wife, whose lips formed a thin white line as she listened as well.

"What do you think?" He asked her after a few long moments.

She shook her head. "I don't know. We can't stay, though. If the Sergeant is right, there's danger toward the fighting, and it'll only go further north." She scowled. "South... Pull out your map, dear."

He grunted, then reached behind the seat of the wagon.
 
Tolliver feared he was wasting time. He was going to need to rest, and soon, especially if the Hound followed him onwards into the night. It was already mid-morning. How much further along could he go into the day before he had to sleep? The nights were getting more harrowing, and while he'd be glad to be rid of the waking nightmare that chased after him, he didn't want it to be at the little boy's expense; nor did he want to die in the middle of nowhere where no one would find or know him. At least on the battlefield, his body would have been recovered, identified, and noted before his body being tossed in a lime pit with hundreds of others! The slavering demon that chased after him would not afford him even that small comfort.

Not to mention he needed some privacy. Miss Pretty was alive… somehow. She spoke and moved, and Tolliver didn't once doubt the reality of that. He'd seen how the eyes could be tricked: the gun smoke of a thousand-rifle volley creating phantoms in the haze, the tricks the mind could play when sitting on sentry during the night, how the sound of bacon sizzling sounded like rain. As startling and hellish as his life had become, there remained enough of a reality for Tolliver to cling to.

If he was mad? Which remained a possibility? Then he'd listen to what the doll had to say. That didn't mean he had to do as she said.

If only he hadn't allowed himself to get involved! Damn it! The decades of callousness he'd built up in the army should have allowed him to simply take what he could from whomever he could and keep on moving without a backwards glance. Only that was precisely the life he was trying to leave behind. And now he had started to care. He cared what happened to the old soldier and his wife and his kids, especially the little boy to whom the Hound had shown itself. He cared about the child in the house. He cared that someone had callously fired the fields of the farmers, and he cared about these rebels who were going to get their damn-fool selves killed because they didn't have the least idea of what they were doing.

So Tolliver found himself coming around the group to where the big man was spreading out the map on the tailgate of the wagon, taking a spot just off to the side so that he could see the whole of the region laid out before them on paper.
 
It took little time for the former soldier to find the current position of the awkward little group, and he motioned Tolliver closer. "Whered you say the fighting was?" On the map, Tolliver to could he was much further along than he first thought—halfway to the coast! A good two days of hard travel beyond his estimate, and even a bit South. They were a only day north of a spot on the map where no fighting had yet broke out, mostly because both sides had incredible defensive positions overlooking a wide, slow, shallow river—likely what the rebels in the rag-tag group estimated to be the safest crossing.

The large man pointed to the boys. "And you two, show me where you're going."

"We don't read." They replied in unison, then looked at each other. "We'll get Madam." Again, in unison. They darted away, leaving the large man shaking his head.

"Glad they're gone. They belong on a farm, not discussing plans." He looked toward Tolliver. "Now they're gone, though. You'll tell me your real name. Something's off about you, but you did give us warning to move. I'll have my family's gratitude directed at an actual person, even if he's one that can't dress himself." His eyes traveled over Tolliver's new clothes. "You look like a fairy."

"A fairy?" The man's daughter asked, suddenly interested.

"Different fairy, 'Pie."

She deflated. "Oh."
 
"Tolliver," he admitted with a sigh of resignation. There really was not point in hiding it now. The rebels would scarcely care about one lone deserter, not one whom to their knowledge hadn't harmed anyone, and the farmer seemed well disposed enough to him if understandably wary. With a handsome family that included a pretty daughter, why wouldn't he be? So Tolliver gave in without a fight.

"Tolliver Wrye, formerly a sergeant in the Light Company of the 33rd Infantry Regiment and now…" He rubbed at the back of his head and shrugged tiredly as he look in all that the map told him. One good thing about the Hound, it certainly had helped him make decent time away from the front lines! Still, the picture didn't look pretty. "Now, I'm probably damn well rutted. Ain't got a family that probably remembers me, no sons or daughters or pretty wife. But I'm aiming to live long enough have just that, and that's as true as my real name."

Glancing up at the big farmer, Tolliver's face soured. "And don't remind me about the clothes. I had to take what I could get. Found a deserted house a day or so before I met you, place hadn't been lived in for years, couple of generations easy. Took what I could carry, no one around to say otherwise, and ever since I've had nothing but trouble. I tell you half of what I've seen?" He shook his head sadly. "You'd think I wasn't half-off outta my skull."

Changing his glance over towards the daughter, Tolliver pursed his lips. "Do me a favor, luv? That doll I've got with me is over by the fence there. Take a moment and clean her up for me? Delicate thing like that don't travel hard too well, and I'd like to keep her pretty looking for when I get home."

It would do to keep the girl out of the worst of the conversation but within eyeshot and away from the twins. Her mention of fairies didn't sit too well with him; if talking dolls and hounds of hell were real, what were the likelihood of fairies existing as well? From what he could remember of his great-granddam's tales, they were capricious creatures. He could seek them out, see if they existed, but Tolliver needed something more… sound.
 
The girl looked to her father, who nodded, then spoke quietly to Tolliver. "Anything to do with my son seeing a dog nobody else sees, and you looking terrified each time he mentioned it? He raised a brow. "Because the way he describes it, seems almost like you're from a story my pa told once to keep me out of big houses." He smirked wryly, then shook his head. "None of this feels real." He ran a hand through his hair and glared down at the map.

A short time later, the old, thin woman emerged from the house, face sour as she spotted the farmer's daughter toying about near Tolliver's belongings. "Friends of yours?" She asked Tolliver.

"He warned us the fight was on its way to our house." The farmer spoke. "My wife thinks we should follow you lot, if it looks safer. What's your route?"

The woman grunted, then approached the map and slid a finger along it, just to one side of the wide, shallow point in the river. "There's brush covering, but if you've got a family, you're better off not. Both sides are probably going to fire on us at the first sound, and I ain't havin kids with us for that."

"Fair." The farmer shook his head. "You from north?"

"I am."

"Where's it safe for my family?"

She scowled as she looked at the map. "Half a day north of my hometown, there's a rocky cliff. Fighting shouldn't get that far, and it's defended along two sides by the cliff."

"Long trip." He murmured as he stared at the distance between her finger and his own.
 
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Tolliver glanced back over his shoulder towards the fence as the farmer and the rebel leader conferred. He told himself it was just to check the surrounding area, not trusting the twins to keep a proper watch, but his eyes went towards the daughter and the doll. He hoped that Miss Pretty, whomever or whatever she was, appreciated the impromptu maid service. And yet there was also a jealousness in his gaze. There was the nagging thought, almost an anxiety, as to how he might feel if someone stole Miss Pretty away, that it would almost hurt him in someway to discover that she was missing.

He only let his gaze linger for half a second. Pretty as the daughter was, she was too young for his tastes and he didn't want his only real ally, the farmer, to get the wrong impression. Tolliver was just a soldier on the run, checking his stuff, that was all.

Turning around towards the map, he sighed. The big man was right. It would be a long trip for the family in their heavy cart. While they might have food enough for themselves, food for their draft horses might be a bigger problem. The Ruvan cavalry might well come across them along the way, too, and decided to "appropriate" their horses for the war effort at the last moment. While technically the army was supposed to leave family families with two horses for their livelihood, things were desperate enough that high command might not bloody well care!

"Well, you could take this route," opined Tolliver as he traced a route along the map with his own finger. "It's just a lane from what I remember. Runs between the boundary lines of these two villages, more just a farming road than anything. Tends to flood during the sowing seasons. Usually in bad repair, it'd be rough going, but it'd shave a day off of the trip so long as the weather don't get too bad."

His finger slide over the map again, closer towards where their present position was. "There used to be a supply depot there in the marshes." Tolliver tapped at the spot with a chewed fingernail. "Closer, but the terrain is hellish to keep people from getting nosy. The depot is built up high, though, up out of the waters and the walls are pretty thick. Fresh water, defendable, isolated. Downside is that outside of the walls you get some pretty big alligators. Flies can be a bit of nuisance sometimes."

With a sigh, he then shifted his finger back along the map towards the south. "Or… and I'm mad for even suggesting this… there's that big house that I came across. Right about there. House sitting top of a big hill, surrounded by the forest, but you can't see it from the forest at all for all of that." Tolliver scowled and glanced towards the farmer. "I get the feeling neither army'll see it either now that I think about it. Don't recommend it, though. Big black dogs and all of that."

Straightening, Tolliver looked over at the grandmotherly figure of the rebel leader. "Now it ain't my concern, but… You ain't talking kids?" A thumb was jerked over his shoulder towards the house. "What you planning on doing with the boy, then? Can't just leave him here on his own, and I can't bloody well take him with me. You know by now we ain't gonna find his parents. Not alive at any rate."
 
The farmer listened intently, watching Tolliver's finger travel, then glanced up toward the old woman. "We'll take him. You were going to toss him off on some other family on your way, I'm sure."

The woman nodded.

"We're heading somewhere for safety. We're..." He glanced at Tolliver. "Not hurting for supplies. We'll take the boy."

"Thank you." She nodded, then tilted her head at Tolliver. "You might go along with them, if you know the way to safe spots s'well." She smirked. "Could pose as his poncey brother."

The farmer smirked. "Wouldn't object to him along, but it is up to him." The comment about big black dogs and a mansion sounded like something from an old story, but he left it be to instead think on the marsh fortress and the alternate path that would take them along an unused road.

"The lizards should be sluggish this time of year, but I have children. That isn't an option, unless I want them to be alone after I'm gone." He tapped the northern cliffs. "Up here is the best choice for us."
 
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Tolliver was unsure about the wisdom of his traveling with the family. Not for his sake, but for theirs! A second little boy being added to the mix could not bring good things if the Hound was still following him, and the last thing he wanted to do was to bring them into greater danger. But at the same time, a second strong back couldn't hurt. The road he'd pointed out was a rough one, and for all of the farmer's size if the cart got stuck… It did leave him with the problem of when he was going to have a lengthy chat with Miss Pretty, though; it was a conversation best done in private, and the last thing he needed was for the family to think him any stranger than he was.

"I'll go with you then," he finally conceded. What choice did he really have? He frowned sharply then, still staring at the map. "So long as your wife there's got a pair of scissors so I can cut off all this damn lace. How the devil do rich folks get by with all this frilly nonsense at their wrists and throat, anyway?"

Speaking of clothing… Tolliver glanced at the rebel leader. "Might as well take my jacket and trousers then by way of my thanks. They're over there on the fence. Can't have my boots or rifle, mind you, but the uniform might be useful."

Then it was back to the farmer. "Why not see if your wife can get the lad in there to point out anything useful that might be left around. Technically it's all his now, so he might as well take whatever's useful with him."

He yawned then, a huge yawn that he couldn't shrug back. "Deus, I'm tired," he muttered.
 
"She does." He looked toward his wife, who hurried toward the front. "And if you're coming with us, might be good to know our names. I'm Mervin, wife is Tea, older girl is Hesty, younger is Nick. My boy's Junior." He pointed to each child in turn, with Hesty being the one with the doll. "Nick's hiding up in front, likely. She's the one that screamed when you showed up at our house."

He turned his attention to the old woman. "He'll keep his clothes. We can pack them so they're not visible." He looked to Tolliver. "Always keep your uniform."

Tea returned not long after with a round tin can. "I'm not wasting that lace." She muttered as she pulled out a two-pronged needle, and rather than attacking lace, she started to remove the stitches holding it in place. "It's too expensive, even old stiff lace like this." She scowled as she picked each stitch away, then removed the lace in one piece on his first sleeve.

The old woman walked away with a shrug and a mutter that were hard to hear.

Tea, meanwhile, spoke again. "Merv, I hope you're right about all this."

"My gut doesn't steer wrong." He assured.
 
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Tolliver nodded in the direction of each as he was introduced, but after the first lace cuff was removed he shed the shirt and simply handed it to Tea. The two pronged needle was making him nervous. Cool as it was, it was better to go about bare chested than to waste time standing there as she expertly but painstakingly removed each bit of it. "I'll get my stuff, then. There's a second shirt in my bag you can have the lace off of, as well, if you want."

Stuff was moved to make room for his gear, his uniform reclaimed and stashed deep within the family's possessions as the farmer and his wife took charge of the abandoned child. If the rebels found any sign of the missing family, they didn't say anything; the looks on their faces told everyone enough without words added. There was nothing that Tolliver could do either way and so he left it in the hands of those used to children. He could only pretend so far. Eventually Merv and Tea would pick up that he didn't have a daughter, which might raise questions as to why he was carrying and so protective of such an expensive and delicate doll. Those questions would be awkward, especially as Tolliver didn't really have an answer even for himself. It was getting to be more than simply believing that Miss Pretty had important knowledge. On some level, she was becoming important to him. His eyes kept straying to where Hesty fussed with the tiny dress.

After donning the now lace free shirt, he turned back towards Merv apologetically. "I'll be honest, Merv. I've been walking all night long, and I'd tired. Dog tired. If I can get catch a rest in the back of the wagon for a bit, I'd be grateful. And I'll pull my own weight, not to worry. I can jog ahead on point, find good sites to stop for the night, set up camp so you'll have hot suppers waiting for you and the like." He was sure that Merv knew that as a member of a light company, Tolliver could quick-march faster than the wagon could travel.

What he didn't say was that come nightfall, it was best that he be as far from them as possible so that the Hound didn't haunt them.
 
Merv listened, then nodded. "Sounds a good arrangement to me." With that, as far as he was concerned, the arrangement was made. "On our end, Tea will mend any tears that show up in your clothes, and we'll make sure you're fed, don't go cold at night, and we'll keep our mouths shut about what we know about you. Sounds a deal?" He held out his hand to Tolliver.

Cold air swirled around, but the man didn't seem to feel it, or to notice how his hair and clothes whipped about.

The rebels began to leave once the boy was in the family's care, offering only brief waves and salutes.

(( Short, but not much happening. Once they get moving, I may skip a day or so. ))
 
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