1779, December 1st, 4:50pm

major benjamin tallmadge was sitting in his tent on a crisp winter morning,

The newyork in him though, was fairly used to the cold and snow by now. His comrades? Ehhh..

He picked up a quill and dipped it in the ink he freshly opened, then he began writing, writing what? He doesn’t know, something aimless.

He was very focused, only stopping to look at a messenger boy who came, then he continued writing, Washington was far too busy with his daily checks, so he had time to himself.

But what to do?