When Fire Burns

1

The stew, a collection of potato, carrots and sliced deer that had been shot down this morning, has burned. Henryk was only gone for a good five minutes and now look; all of his morning's progress up in flames. Literally.

Everyone's going to be pissed. The soldiers in his camp already gave him enough shit. This would only further dampen their mood. Especially after hearing the news from this morning. The cocksuckers are two days ride east, their commander said with his usual air of indignance. Lord Harper's told us to remain here while he sends reinforcements for the coming battle. Pray big and pray long that men do indeed arrive. The whole meeting had left a sour taste in everyone's mouth.

And now his soup would leave it even worse.

Maybe he could blame it on the other servant boy, the one who normally handled stocking and handing out the rations, on leaving it out for too long. He was a mute, something Henryk only realised after a few days in camp, so the plan was foolproof from the start. Only one thing kept him on the edge from enacting the plan.

All the men in camp called Henryk "Little Hen". Or his more commonly used nickname "Chicken". If he did this, he'd only be proving them right. What's worth more? My dignity? Or my life? Due to the rising tension, soldiers in camp had already been beaten bloody for less than burnt soup. Do I really want to be next?

He grabbed the wooden spoon left to fester in the boiling soup and stirred the contents around, hoping maybe, just maybe, he possessed some luck and there was something left over that could be used. Nope. It's all fucked. A groan escaped his lips, and the wind whistled in through the flaps of the tent in response.

Looking around, he tried to eye a place to dump the soup. He couldn't go outside, not with everyone milling around, all heads down carrying bad moods. But while he inspected the corners of tent, scratching his head, lost without a clue on what to do, somebody entered through the flap, muttering a loud,

'Fookin hell.'

Henryk turned quickly, heart racing, and found Dunkan, a great big brute of a man with long dark hair and a rough beard tracing his jaw and reaching down his neck, standing at the entrance. He looked to Henryk with a smile, large yellow teeth, the bottom two missing.

'What's happened here then?'

'What's it look like, Dunk?'

'It looks like you went and fucked it up, is what it looks.'

'Nothing gets past you, that's for sure.' Henryk said, allowing a smile, and approached the cauldron of soup which was beginning to stick and cling to the sides. 'Dinner may be a little late tonight.'

'It's a bad time you chosen to be late on the grub.' Dunkan took a seat on the ground with a hefty grunt, taking a whetstone out and unclasping the axe from his hip, beginning to sharpen the blade.

'Yeah, yeah, I know. I didn't mean to. Something just distracted me.'

'An' wha' exactly distracted you then, go on.'

Henryk rubbed the back of his head, thinking of his quick rendezvous with Sasha, a young blossoming girl who served as a washerwoman primarily, but when the curtains of the night were drawn and the stars were lit, many a soldier enjoyed her touch and warmth in their beds. She was pricey, but Henryk had been saving his meager earnings for the past few weeks now to enjoy her like many have before him.

'Oh. Nothing.'

Dunkan grinned. 'It's a girl, ain't it? I can always tell. Don' even try and lie.' The giant of a man held his axe out in a joking threat, chuckling.