Securus Exubitum

Hermione looked at the stiff hospital bed, on which a young man in battered black robes lay. Mud and blood were caked in his silvery hair, and his eyes were firmly shut against whatever nightmarish hallucinations tormented him in his feverish state. She blinked back tears; seeing some of the Wizard Warriors hurt still affected her.

Especially the ones she loved.

*****

Harry stood up slowly, gazing around him at the ruins of two magnificent armies. The silence was deafening, the cries of the wounded men having been blotted out by death. In the warm glow of the sunset, the bodies without obvious wounds looked eerily peaceful.

Far above the battlefield, an owl screeched. Harry forced himself to turn from the sight and limped slowly off the field towards the medical tent.

*****

Ron slept fitfully. He had been having nightmares all night. Even though the battle was over, his regiment of Wizard Warriors was moving towards the battlefield to assist with the cleanup process that war always left behind.

His nightmares were always the same: a sequence of lightning-fast images. A black-haired wizard walking from the field. A brown-haired witch with tears running down her face. A silver-haired wizard whose face was covered in blood. And a red-haired witch huddling in the dark.

*****

Ginny hadn't heard noises from the field in several hours. Complete night had set in around her and the forest on the edge of which she sat had awakened. She felt like something or someone was watching her, and she knew she needed to get out of he woods.

Getting up slowly, she started moving quickly and stealthily towards the open grass in front of her, where the full moon cast its pale light.

Abruptly something wrapped around her ankle and she fell with a gasp before everything went black.

*****

As Hermione leant over the quiet person in front of her, he opened his gray eyes, unfocused, and opened his mouth to speak.

"If only I'd told you," he rasped.

"Told me what?" Hermione said gently, running her finger down his moist check. Blood and sweat made his skin sticky beneath her touch.

"That I love you," he said and Hermione's heart swelled. She looked at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. She'd hoped that this would happen for a long time, and now he'd told her he loved her and she didn't know what to say. "Ginny? Ginny, where'd you go?"
With those words, her heart sank again into her shoes. "I'm here Draco," Hermione said, not wanting to disappoint him, since he had no real idea what was happening.
"Oh, good. I thought I was going to die and you wouldn't know how I felt."

"Don't worry, Draco, we'll have you back in armor in no time." She picked up the wet sponge she had dropped and continued mopping the grime off his face, trying to find the source of the blood. She was rattled and only hoped Draco wouldn't remember any of this.

There was a commotion at the entrance to the tent. Hermione kept to her task. Soon word reached her that a Warrior had come in from the field who had been counted among the dead.

"Well," she replied to the wizard who gave her the news, "that brings the wounded count to a whopping 48. How did they let this happen?" As she took out her wand to repair a gash in Draco's head, her tears mixed with his blood and he opened his eyes again. She kept working as he watched her quietly.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Surprised, she spun around, wand in hand, and was caught in a pair of thin, yet strong, arms.

"Harry," she said flatly, surprised but not wanting to show her concern. She looked at a face she hadn't seen for days. "They told me you were dead." Suddenly everything she'd been keeping inside rushed at her and she dropped her head against his chest and sobbed wearily into his dirty, battered robes.

Harry awkwardly ran his hand over her back. He had come to get medical attention, not to comfort the girl who'd just broken his heart. But he couldn't pretend that he didn't want everything to be okay for her. When, in a few minutes, her weeping had subsided to deep, shaky breaths, Harry gathered up his courage and spoke.

"Hermione, they said you were the best for broken bones. That's really why I'm here. My-- my leg, you see? I think I broke it when I fell." He lifted his leg up and rested it awkwardly on the stool Hermione had been using as she cared for Draco. She looked at the appendage: the ankle and foot were turned at an irregular angle. Gently, Hermione felt for the break as Harry winced, then she healed it with a quick spell.

"Anything else broken or damaged?" Hermione said and regretted it immediately. She looked at his tired, war worn face and smiled sadly, but his eyes stayed cold.

"You know it's only my heart. Thanks for the help, do I owe you anything?"

"Of course not, this is a military hospital, you're a Warrior--"

"Okay," he said curtly and turned on his repaired leg and left the tent.

He didn't want her to see him cry.

*****

Ron looked down from the Firestorm on which he rode above his troops. They had just crested a hill and now the wreck of the battlefield stretched out ominously before them.

"Halt!" he called. The troops stopped and Ron sent three scouts, already weary from the march, down on their brooms. "One can never be too careful," he muttered to himself. He looked on the dead nearby. Magical warfare ended one of two ways for the folk who died in its battles. Either their bodies were completely destroyed, or they were left in what looked like peaceful slumber, an unearthly reminder of how easily we can be broken.

Within minutes the scouts returned with news that all was still on the field and that a medical tent was still standing across the pitch. Ron left the next-in-command to wait with the troops, and brought one of the scouts with him to check the status of the medical tent. Immediately, Ron thought of Hermione, who had been a military nurse since the start of the White War, and who had probably worked at this battle, since Harry's volunteer regiment was here. He hadn't heard from either of them in several days, and had only seen them in his nightmares.

As the pair of young men approached the tent, they saw a flare of movement as the lookout who had marked their descent went to alert the wizards inside. A middle aged wizard stepped out of the tent. His hair was very dark and his eyes shone bright in his lined face. Behind him came a younger witch with dark hair and a worried expression. Ron and the scout landed and dismounted, walking forward with hands outstretched in peaceful greeting.

"Sirius," Ron said, shaking hands with the older wizard. A glimmer of recognition flashed in Sirius Black's eyes and a smile lit his face.

"Ron!" he said, pulling the young man to him in a warm embrace, "It's been a long time! I didn't recognize you in your officer's getup. Too bad we couldn't have met under better circumstances."

"Cho," said Ron, kissing the young, beautiful witch on each cheek.

"They're inside," she said, smiling sadly. "Hermione, Draco, and Harry are, at least."

"And Ginny?"

"We haven't seen her yet," Sirius responded cautiously. His smile saddened. "But she also hasn't been seen among the dead. She may have run into the wood if she had been disarmed or been in danger. She'll probably show up yet." Ron followed Sirius' gaze into the thick wood several hundred yards off.

The silence was broken as the tent flap was pushed aside and Harry emerged, disheveled and looking utterly devastated. Ron saw him and ran over to Harry, expecting a warm welcome from a best friend. Instead, Harry didn't seem to recognize Ron, or anyone.

"Harry?" Ron said. "Are you okay?"

"Ron? Oh, hi Ron. Good to see you. I... I need to go on a bit of a walk. I'll be back later." Harry briefly placed a hand on Ron's shoulder and then turned and walked around the side of the tent and out of site. Ron turned back towards the trio that had watched the awkward exchange.

"Girl troubles," Cho Chang began uncertainly. In the last few months she had become good friends with Harry as she had worked with him in the war effort. She knew that Ron and Harry were best friends but that they had been dragged apart by not only distance but by work. She didn't want to step on Ron's toes by knowing more about Harry's life than he did. "Hermione broke up with him about a week ago. He's been having a rough time of it. I thought he was going to Curse himself out on the battlefield and just get it over with. Makes him a fierce fighter, but it's killing him otherwise."

Ron felt horrible. He hadn't known that Hermione and Harry had broken up. He hadn't even taken the time to write Harry because he'd been so "busy." Had Ron been too busy to be there for Harry, his best friend as his heart was broken by the love of his life, Hermione? Apparently so. And now he had no one to blame but himself. Sure, he was a bit angry with Harry for confiding in Cho, (and jealous of Cho for that matter) but he was more angry with himself for being an inadequate friend.

"Well," said Sirius, trying desperately to break the silence. "Do you want to see Hermione and Draco now? Draco's pretty beat up, but Hermione's been working very hard. I think she thrives on stress. Come on, they're right in here..."

Sirius kept talking, but Ron wasn't listening as he followed Sirius and Cho into the medi-tent. Being a magical tent, the room inside was huge compared to outward appearances, and at least 2 hundred cots were set up along the walls, with partitioned off areas in the center for urgent care patients. Ron was surprised at how empty the place was, only about a quarter of the beds had occupants. His thoughts turned to the cluttered battlefield and he wondered for the first time just how many lives had been lost and if he or someone he loved would be or already was among them.

Hermione had her back turned to them as they approached. In fact, Ron only recognized her because of her curly brown hair and the silver haired wizard on the cot in front of her. Cho went ahead of the group and spoke quietly to Hermione, who looked up at Ron. Her expression softened and she walked over to him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Oh, I'm glad you're hear. If only Harry was talking to me, we'd have a wonderful reunion! Ron... he'll never forgive me. I've--"

"I heard," Ron interrupted, looking at Cho who had taken over for Hermione at Draco's bedside. "Come, let's go for a walk. You look like you could use a break, and I have to send word to my troops to set up camp anyway."

"Okay, I'll grab my sweater." She walked off, wringing her hands in an absentmindedly worried gesture.

"Sirius," Ron said, calling the wizard to his side. "Has she had any breaks? I don't think she's doing too well."

"Neither do I, Ron, but in all honestly, she won't take any breaks. She's the best we've got and she knows it. It's almost like she thinks it's her fault that all the Warriors died and wants to save every wounded one single-handedly to make up for it, even the ones doomed to die from their first night here."

"Well, I'm going to force her to go on a walk. After that, we'll see what happens. Hopefully there'll be a break between this fight and the next and she can get a rest. All of us can get a rest."

"There's enough truth in that, Ron," Sirius said as Hermione approached. "Have a good time. The fresh air will do you good."

Hermione took Ron's arm and they walked out of the medi-tent. After stopping to give the scout a message to the Commanding Officer, Ron and Hermione began their walk quietly. The air was thick with the humidity of late spring, and the ground beneath them was squishy in some spots with mud. Hermione looked at the sky to avoid seeing the broken bodies around her, and Ron steered her in the direction of the river a little way off where, hopefully, there wouldn't be too much carnage. Hermione was quiet and seemed deep in thought, hugging his arm much the way she did when they would take walks around the lake their last years at Hogwarts when Harry had been away in Warrior training and she had worried. They had become good friends then, and Ron had a knack for saving her from herself when she worried.

"Ron," Hermione said as they walked away from the field and towards the cooler air by the river. "Do you think Harry hates me?"

"No, Hermione. Harry could never hate you. He loves you. Far more than he'll love anyone in his life. No matter what you do to him, he will always take you back. As his friend, as his lover, as his soulmate."

"But Ron, I was so cruel. And for no reason. We shouldn't have broken up. I mean, I love him. But I'm so scared of being vulnerable. I can't stand the thought of him dying in one of these battles. When they originally told me he had died in battle, the first thing that came to mind was 'At least I'm not the girlfriend he left behind,' and then I felt doubly bad because it was like I betrayed him."

The silence lengthened. Then Hermione sighed.

"When he showed up in the medi-tent asking for his leg to be mended, I almost died. I was filled with all these feelings. I was so happy that he was alive and back, but felt physically ill for having broken up with him and for having thought it was the right thing." Here the path narrowed and Hermione dropped behind Ron. They were approaching the riverbed. Ron saw a head of tousled black hair ahead and knew that Harry had chosen this as his spot of reflection as well. Ron had to decide whether to turn around or let Hermione walk into a potential fight. He kept walking.

Hermione stepped into the clearing an instant after Ron, just as Harry turned his head to see who had arrived. Her face showed longing, and hurt, and embarrassment, and his showed pain and sadness.

"Hermione," he stammered.

"Hi, Harry. Listen, can we talk?"

Ron took this as his cue and left. He didn't think they'd be back together instantly, but he thought that talking was a start. Besides, he had a little sister to find.

*****

Back inside the tent, Sirius was answering an owl from Remus Lupin, a longtime friend and one of the higher-ups in the volunteer forces. Lupin had requested a body count so that he could prepare a good number of troops for upcoming battles. He didn't notice that Ron had entered until Ron was at his desk.

"What should I tell my Warriors to start on in the morning?" Ron said. His face was tight and drawn, his tone said all business.

"Oh, uhh, Ron. Well, we need to start separating the bodies. The 'good guys' in one grave and the 'bad guys' in the other. Though, I think they're all the same once they're dead. But, still, protocol is protocol. We need counts on all the dead witches and wizards, both sides, and IDs on any that can be IDed. I guess that's all we can do these days."

"Right," Ron said, getting ready to leave. A flash of silvery hair caught his attention and he turned sharply, walking over to the cot where Draco Malfoy slept peacefully. Having been healed magically, he bore no scars, but his young face looked 10 years older than the last time Ron had seen him. "Well, well," Ron said, under his breath. "There is such a thing as a true surprise."

Ron looked at the chair where Draco's clothing lay folded neatly. The crest on Draco's chestplate was the mark of a Time Turner with a laurel crown above it. Draco had been fighting for the good guys, and Ron couldn't ignore that. It had seemed a surprise to everyone when Draco had shown up at Warrior Waxing, a kind of basic training camp for Wizard Warrior hopefuls. They had all just assumed that Draco would be fighting as his father had, on Voldemort's side. Since then Draco had proved a loyal friend and fierce fighter, but had never revealed what made him "change his ways." Some suspected he was a spy, but those closest to him on the field knew that he truly believed in the cause, and fought harder than most for it. Harry was one of the people who had grown very close to his once-rival.

Ron, however, couldn't quite get over his old grudge against the Malfoy family, no matter how much reformed Draco seemed to be. As he looked at the sleeping soldier, he was torn between urges to hit him and to fix his bedcovers. He decided to just leave, and go back to his troops' camp to face the night.
*****

Late that night, an owl hooted at the entrance to the medi-tent, awakening the watchman, who took the piece of parchment off the owl's leg and carried it into Sirius, who was asleep. Sirius read the letter and his face blanched.

"Send word to Ronald Weasley's troops. Tell Ronald that his sister, Virginia is in the hands of the enemy. Here, send this letter with the messenger. The chess pieces have truly begun to move."

*****
The next morning, a light could be seen through the thing fabric wall of the medi-tent. Sirius and Ron had been up for hours, poring over maps and documents, trying to decipher the cryptic letter that had flown into the camp in the wee hours of the morning. Ron rubbed his eyes drowsily. He felt like he'd been awake for days.

He picked up the parchment on the left side of the table. It was as if all of his nightmares were contained within this letter. He scanned the lines for the umpteenth time, hoping that somehow they'd reveal their message to him.

Well, well, Raggedy Ann is in our hands.

But where's Andy?

Send us the other three.

They'll have to fight for her, but if they win, they'll all return, no questions asked. If they fail... well. Do you really want to know?

They'll find us in a place where Time has no purpose, and light is rare.

Better be quick. Our patience is... short.

Ever yours,

Lord Voldemort

Ron and Ginny had always been especially close. The youngest Weasleys, they felt isolated from Fred and George, who had an obvious bond in that they were twins. When they had been at Hogwarts together, Ginny and Ron would spend late nights in the Gryffindor Common Room, talking and playing Wizard's Chess. She was his baby sister, so naturally he was protective of her. But, she was also his best friend, aside from Harry and Hermione, and he had always been scared that her importance as a witch had been underestimated.

Now this note: Raggedy Ann? Andy? Ron wasn't familiar with Muggle lore, and he was pretty sure that these weren't Wizarding terms. Sirius had briefly said they were some kind of cartoon character-- dolls with red hair. Which meant that Raggedy Ann was Ginny. Andy? Well, Ron only assumed that meant him. But which other three? Ron mentally reviewed the lists of Ginny's friends as best he could remember them. There weren't any three people he could think of.

"Sirius..." The older wizard grunted before glancing up, waiting for Ron to continue. "...I've got the Raggedy Ann thing... that's Ginny, eh? And I'm guessing I'm the 'Andy.' But who are the other three? None of Ginny's friends are really...in threes, you know?"

"Well," said Sirius, pausing thoughtfully, "I've been thinking about that too. I think it might be your gang... Harry, Hermione... Draco." Ron winced. "I know you don't like him, Ron, but he's one of us now. Fighting for the good guys. And I think the time is approaching when you'll have to accept that. Either now, in this little quest, or maybe later."

Ron heaved a sigh. Working with Draco didn't seem like it would be his idea of a good time. "I haven't talked to him since Hogwarts. He was a wart then. How could he have changed. No one changes."

"You'd be surprised, Ron, at how wrong that statement you just made is."

Ron grunted. He was stubborn, always had been. He didn't want to think about giving up his ground and agreeing with Sirius. So he changed the subject.

"Any idea of where she is?" Ron dropped the letter.

"Well. No. Time always seems to have a purpose, eh? If only to remind us how old we're getting," Sirius chuckled softly. Ron scowled. "Okay, let's forget about the light part. I think we can figure that out once we've narrowed it down by the time."

"Okay," Ron sighed, "Let's get going."
***

In the woods, Hermione stood up and stretched her arms toward the warming sun. Morning always made her feel more alive. Rubbing the back of her sore neck, Hermione yawned and looked around her. The river rushed indifferently by. Nature didn't care whether or not she and Harry were together.

Yesterday's events were rushing through her mind. When Ron left, Harry and Hermione had sat in silence for several minutes, 'looking at the same river I'm looking at now,' she thought. Hermione had tried to speak first.

"Harry--"

"No. No. No, no, no, no, no. Not again. You can't talk your way out of everything Hermione. No matter how smart you are, how beautiful you are, how much in love with you I am. You broke up with me, here, honey, and you can't make me believe you didn't mean it in one session--"

"I do--"

"Let me finish. Just once, please, let me finish. You have held my heart in your embrace for years. Years. And for you to just let it go like that, right when I need you. Right when I'm finally part of something that isn't entirely up to me, that is so much bigger than you and I. But you and I was all I had. It was the insurance. I kept thinking 'I have a reason to do this. I have a love. A great Love. I have my Hermione. She's waiting for me right over there in that tent.' I had a reason to win that was bigger, better, more personal than 'the cause.' I had You. And it was all I needed. But then you threw that out of my reach. For the past few days, I've felt like I was falling into a perpetual pit of loneliness. Now, the feeling of falling is gone from my stomach, but the light at the opening of the hole is receding. I don't know if I'll ever reach it again. No matter what you say."

"Harry," Hermione choked. She hurt as much as he did-- more, only because she had caused the one man who she had ever-- would ever-- love so much pain. She sat silent for a few minutes, unable to formulate a complete thought. Everything Harry'd just said was exactly how she felt. But she didn't think he'd believe her if she told him that.

Hermione got up and started walking the path back to the camp. She kept replaying her conversation with Harry, wondering at what had happened.

"Harry," she began again. "The only thing I can say to you that I think you might believe is that I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you. My love for you is greater than life, than time, than all other loves. I don't care that people say I'm too young, I have better things to do than love. There is nothing better for me than you."

Harry's silence was like a knife through her heart. Had she looked at him, she would have seen the tear running down his cheek.

"I--" She broke off, hiccuping on a suppressed sob. "I only broke up with you because, well... I was so scared. For both of us. I thought... I don't know what I thought. I thought I'd lose you. And I thought it was better for me to prevent that."

Harry's rage had boiled.

"You what? Hermione, I'd always counted you as one of the most intelligent-- if not the smartest-- people I've ever known! And then, you make such a foolish, childish decision! You end eight years of romance, eleven years of friendship because you were scared? That's ridiculous. No, Hermione, no. Well, for that, you can stay scared. If you'd rather be alone than take a risk, so be it."

He looked at her from where he now stood. She recognized in his face all of the defiance, anger, and pride she had seen the summer after fifth year when Dudley had killed Hedwig in what he called a "cooking accident" and Harry had finally decided to run away, Dumbledore's consent or not. Hermione had come by to collect Harry so he could stay with her, and Harry had blown up at his Uncle Vernon, letting years of frustration out in one rant. His gaze held hers for a moment, and she felt as if he had taken all his knowledge of her spirit, her being, and set it aflame within her body, where she couldn't escape it. In one last gesture of finality, he took off the ring she had given him for Christmas three years prior and threw it on the ground, grinding it into the soft dirt as he turned on his heel and stalked back in the direction of the ill fated battlefield.

Hermione reached the edge of the wood and looked out on the cleanup that had begun. About four dozen young witches and wizards in the khaki cloaks that signified their roles in the cleanup, not the battle. Far in the distance, Hermione could see heavy purple smoke rising from the pyre where they were undoubtedly burning the remains that were too small or unrecognizable to be identified. Nearer to her were five piles of corpses. One pile for the identified soldiers on each side, one for the unidentified on each side, and one for the soldiers who had lost their identifying insignia.

She rubbed her upper arms in an effort to warm them. April nights were still cool, mornings dewy, and sleeping alone on the forest floor wasn't a good way to stay warm or healthy. Her gaze fell on the medi-tent. She had spent so much time there during the White Wars. Had it all been worth it? She'd often wondered if maybe she should have just stayed in London, waited for Harry there. Then she'd be reassigned to a regiment away from Harry's for a week or two, and that parting would be so heart-wrenching she'd know she couldn't wait for him in London.

But what should she do now that she had no one to wait for?
*****

Draco woke up on his back. He didn't remember going to sleep. In fact, he didn't remember much of anything. He had been in battle. He knew that. But he couldn't remember how he'd fallen or gotten onto the cot he now lay on. 'Heck,' he thought, 'I don't even know which side's tent this is. I wonder if I should be worried.'

He lifted a hand to his silvery blonde hair, still growing out from the cheap, ultra-short haircut he'd received at the start of Warrior Waxing a year ago. He didn't feel any wounds, but he felt lightheaded, like he'd lost a lot of blood.

Suddenly a face he didn't quite recognize loomed above his.

"You're up!" said the voice from the mouth in the strange face. "I'll tell Hermione."

Hermione. The corners of Draco's mouth turned irrepressibly upwards at the thought of Hermione. She had befriended Draco early in the war, when he still went to the military nurses for every bump, bruise and scratch he got in combat. Now she was his closest friend away from home, and she tried to make him laugh whenever she could. Now her face suddenly loomed into view above him.

"Hermione."

"Draco."

Their words were short, but the twinkle in her eyes was present, and he knew he was still alive.

"Who was that man?" he asked, rubbing his temples.

"What man?" Hermione looked around the tent.

"The one who was here. Went. To. Get. You."

"Oh!" Hermione laughed. "You know who that is. It's Sirius. You know, Sirius Black. Harry's godfather." She stopped at the mention of Harry.

"Ah, yes, I do know him. He looks older."

"I think we all do. War does that to a person."

"How's Harry?" Hermione looked away. "Still haven't talked to him?"

"Just the opposite, actually," Hermione said, her voice thick with sadness. "We're done, I think."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Draco had never been good with comforting words. "I know you care for him."

"Worse," she said. "I love him. Come on, can you get up? You need a bath."

"Sponge bath, Nurse?" Draco winked at her. She laughed, a light, tinkling noise in the dim, stifling tent.

"You wish."
*****

Harry felt as if every nightmare he had ever dreamt had just exploded inside of him. He felt liquefied. He didn't want to be awake. Hell, he didn't want to be alive. But he didn't have a choice.

"Always fighting the good fight, Potter," he muttered to himself as river water washed over his hands. He rinsed his face and stood up, barechested, drinking in the scenery. The trees had buds sprouting on their branches, and if he inhaled deeply Harry could almost taste the rich, intoxicating scents of the spring flowers. But he didn't feel much like frolicking in the fields. He felt like curling up and going to sleep forever.

He grabbed his shirt off the ground and walked back towards camp. The shiny young skin in the scars on his chest shone in the morning sun like macabre war trophies. Hermione, changing the water in the medi tent wash basins, saw him coming and watched, admiring how perfect he seemed, his hair mussed from sleeping out of doors, his brow furrowed with sorrow and pain, his eyes cast downward as he picked his way along the battlefield, which was now clear of bodies but not debris. A silent tear slid down her cheek as she was reminded again of all that she had lost: a lover; the love of a lifetime; her best friend. She went inside without letting him see her. After all, she had a patient to tend to.

*****
Taking a break from solving Voldemort's riddle, Ron stepped outside his tent and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag and closed his eyes. He had always hated smoking, but had started once he entered the military because he had wanted to fit in among people he thought he had nothing in common with. Once he'd become an officer he cut back on the wretched habit, but he still turned to nicotine when he was stressed.

The midday sun warmed his face as he sat on a military issue folding stool and thought, happily, about absolutely nothing.

"Everything okay, Sergeant?"

Ron opened his eyes reluctantly. "No, Darby," he breathed to the beautiful blonde witch who stood before him. She looked concerned. "But don't worry. You can't do anything."

"You sure, sir?" Ron couldn't help but notice that her lower lip protruded enticingly when she frowned.

"Yes, Darby." He sighed and closed his eyes again. "I don't think anyone can do anything for the time being." He listened as her footsteps in the dry grass receded. He looked at his left hand, sheathed in a brown leather glove, and put out his cigarette in the palm. "Regulation can kiss my ass," he muttered, exhaling the last puff of smoke and getting up. He kicked the stool over, picked it up, and threw it down the hill on top of which he and his troops were camped.

Then he cried.