Camp was bustling, at least for the most parts. Everyone who didn’t want Grimshaw swatting at them was working.

You had just fetched some buckets of water for the washing station. As you walked across camp your eyes drifted to Arthur, who was carrying hay bales to the horses.

You were so busy watching him that you don’t notice Uncle who was sitting on a tree stump, bottle in hand and watching you. Nor do you see the foot he sticks out to purposely trip you.

You go flying, dropping both of the pales of water, and accidentally splashing Pearson who immediately starts yelling at you.

Uncle laughs hysterically, almost falling off his log. The rest of camp was looking which made your face go red. Grimshaw was already storming towards you, making you groan internally.

“Stop yelling at the damn girl, Pearson. It’s water. You were in the navy for christ sake. Ain’t nothin new.” Arthurs familiar voice says as he helps you up. He turns toward Uncle, knocking the hat off his head “The hell is wrong with you? Do somethin’ with yourself instead of terrorizing the others. Go chop some more wood, old man. Lord knows you need the exercise.”

He ignores both the other men, picking up the dropped buckets and handing one to you. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the river. Horse troths need water anyway.”