Post by Gideon Warnes on Oct 30, 2014 2:37:29 GMT
“Damn it all,” not for the first time a string of profanities flew from his mouth. Gideon had tripped over another root only this time it had caused him to fly forward into a patch of nettles. Already he could feel their stinging annoyance across his face and hands. He tried to wipe those hands on his pants. Ordinarily a bright shade of white, they were smeared in the green and brown of nature. Nature. He hated it. He despised it. And never more than now as he trudged and fought and crawled his way through several layers of it.
But that was not the worst of it. His coat was torn. His hat was lost. His hair a mess. And his musket? He refused to think of what may have happened to it. It was gone, was all he knew.
“Damn,” he said again. His sleeve had become hopelessly caught on a thorn. With a disappointing tearing sound, he pulled it loose.
His company was fairly large and ordinarily quite noisy. How could he manage to lose such a noisy flock of people? It was unthinkable! It had hardly even been foggy. What a useless skirmish too. They hadn't won. They hadn't lost – or at least he didn't believe so. And now he was lost.
For some time, Gideon had tried to retrace his steps. It shouldn't have been difficult. But, the smoke from the muskets mingled with the low-lying fog and, topped off with the oncoming darkness … it was hopeless.
“Damn that bloody skirmish,” he shouted, heedless of who might overhear. “Damn the Army. Damn the fog and the musket smoke. And damn, damn this damn bush!” He had run straight into a thorny bush and was now hopelessly entangled. He tore at the branches, cutting his fingers. With one hefty pull, the entire plant came up in a jolt. Off-balance, he fell backwards and landed with a thud in the dirt. The thorny bush fell on top of him showering him with dirt and leaves. “Damn.”
But that was not the worst of it. His coat was torn. His hat was lost. His hair a mess. And his musket? He refused to think of what may have happened to it. It was gone, was all he knew.
“Damn,” he said again. His sleeve had become hopelessly caught on a thorn. With a disappointing tearing sound, he pulled it loose.
His company was fairly large and ordinarily quite noisy. How could he manage to lose such a noisy flock of people? It was unthinkable! It had hardly even been foggy. What a useless skirmish too. They hadn't won. They hadn't lost – or at least he didn't believe so. And now he was lost.
For some time, Gideon had tried to retrace his steps. It shouldn't have been difficult. But, the smoke from the muskets mingled with the low-lying fog and, topped off with the oncoming darkness … it was hopeless.
“Damn that bloody skirmish,” he shouted, heedless of who might overhear. “Damn the Army. Damn the fog and the musket smoke. And damn, damn this damn bush!” He had run straight into a thorny bush and was now hopelessly entangled. He tore at the branches, cutting his fingers. With one hefty pull, the entire plant came up in a jolt. Off-balance, he fell backwards and landed with a thud in the dirt. The thorny bush fell on top of him showering him with dirt and leaves. “Damn.”
