saw earlier how such wounds were treated.”

“Elizabeth?”

She looked down at her husband whose eyes remained closed but whose hand was reached towards her. His hand was pale, as though all the blood that soaked his right leg had absorbed the hue from all around it. She knelt down and took his hand and his eyes opened slightly, but the gaze was too much for her to bear, and she dropped his hand, rushing away from him. Barrington watched her go and frowned slightly as she fled from the tent and out into the camp. He turned back to Captain Tenterchilt, questioning what would drive a man to bring his wife into the theatre of war when she was too fragile and delicate to withstand its horrors.

“Barrington!”

He moved once more out into the morning, patting the shoul...

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