When Alessia, loaded with the tips of a stableman and dragging along two less-than-compliant goats, got to her cart, it was already beginning to get dark. The long, scarlet day was replaced by the blazing flames of army fires, smelled of smoke, a short summer night.

Near the cart, where she had left the foal, she saw with fear several people standing around and discussing something alive.

“Ugh, what a nasty creature,” said one of the girls, “where did he come from here?”

“But he was just born, but all covered with blood,” one of the men answered her indifferently chewing on a straw — he lies, wheezes, does not rise to his feet — will die soon.

“Whoever brought him here, in vain, did it for nothing,” added an older woman, but still attractive with bright, mature beauty — statuesque, with full breasts, sharp hips, exuding strength and health.

“That's for sure, Martha,” confirmed the man, in whom Alessia recognized one of the soldiers, Ralph. He was often called by his nickname - Lonely Wolf, or simply Wolf, for his unrest in battle and love for loneliness after. In spite of his outward bloodthirstiness, he was one of the few who did not pick up the captives and treated them like people, not temporary bedding.

“I heard,” a short pimply guy who had served as an assistant at one of the knights suddenly spoke, “as if the Sir ...” he lowered his voice to an alarming whisper, “brought him here.

“Come on,” Martha snorted, “what is he going to do here?” Gossip it all. Surely, our Zamarashka himself dragged him, her own carriage.

“So that at least someone warms her at night,” the redhead giggled, hanging on the shoulder of a stocky, resembling a small bear soldier, “she didn’t find a normal peasant.

At this time, one of the goats decided that she was tired of standing and, pulling the rope, bleated loudly, attracting the attention of the whole company. Seeing Alessia, who was red as a beet, they parted, opening a passage to her foal, quietly trembling under a draped-over blanket. He really looked worse than two hours ago - his eyes rolled out and dried out, and his fair hair hardened from gore and mucus.

“My little one,” the girl darted to him, in a moment forgetting about mocking glances behind her back. Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out an oblong earthenware jug, with which the groom had supplied her. They couldn’t get mare's milk - the mare wouldn’t want to let strangers into it, then Sepp, that’s the name of the stableman, poured goat’s milk in it, diluted with water and added a drop of honey. All the while he instructed her, picking up simple words from both languages, so that she could understand, he looked at her curiously, as if trying to understand what was so special about her to attract the attention of a man like Lord Radovan.

Twisting a piece of soft rag, she inserted it into the neck of the jug, making a primitive nipple. The colt, smelling the food, spun and tried again to rise, but unable to hold on to its weight, fell back along the litter.

“Quiet, quiet, small, everything will be fine,” a girl consoled him, trying to adjust the bottle to his lips. He only smacked, not understanding how to take the nipple.

“You tilt the bottle to make it run better,” said the Wolf. Alessia shuddered in surprise, and she did not notice when he approached her and, squatting beside her, watched her inept attempts. The rest huddled away, exchanging blank looks, transferring them from her to the foal and long-haired, well-groomed goats, clearly not brought from the soldiers' kitchen.

Alessia did, as he said, the milk dripped over the foal's lips, and he finally seized the nipple and began to suck.

“Hold the bottle, girl, it’s very hard for him,” Wolf again encouraged her.

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Alessia gratefully.

While she fed the foal, the Wolf found and tied, the goats were gone.

“You took up the difficult task, girl,” said the Wolf gloomily, not letting the straw out of the corner of his mouth.

“I can do it,” Alessia whispered, removing the empty bottle and stroking the baby’s stiff, dried mane, “should ... I cannot let him die either ...”

The girl spent the entire evening arranging goats — looking for bits of land where the grass remained not trampled so that there was enough food. Milking them also turned out to be torture, they behaved as if they were donkeys, not goats. But with skill and patience she managed to cope with it. The baby, who had fallen asleep after the meal, soon woke up again, smearing the mattress with a thin, sour stool. Having brought a bucket of water and an armful of straw, she began to wipe it off, at the same time fearing not to catch a chill. He only weakly twitched, and tried to suck her hands, showing that he was hungry again. Mixing the milk in the bottle, she fed him again.

The camp, meanwhile, was living an ordinary life - it smelled like soldier's soup, cheap wine, and the talk and laughter, warmed up by degrees, grew louder. This time of day, Alessia feared the most. In recent weeks, she made a habit of hiding somewhere until the soldiers dispersed in their tents, and only then got out of their shelter to intercept food debris and help with cleaning the old Helge, who was preparing for this unit. Now, feeding the foal, crouching beside her carriage, she was in plain sight and looked around in dismay at every burst of coarse laughter.

- And here is our Zamarashka, - incoherently stretched that same red-haired girl who mocked her. Alessia did not know her before the war, but the girl was from her people, and her vicious attitude hurt her more - how did your nasty brat live? Not dead yet? - and she laughed drunkenly.

“Do not climb to her, Rufina,” one of the soldiers approached the girl, “let's go better with me, beauty,” he grabbed her behind the waist, and smacking her neck with a taste, unceremoniously reached into her half-worn corsage. Rufina, not embarrassed, only bent even more in his hands, shaking her ass against his loins.

“Or maybe we’ll take her with us?” - grinning, the girl whispered hotly, shamelessly exposing her small breasts with stretched nipples to the show.

- You have one little me, devil? - Soldiers zagotat. Then, looking at Alessia, added, - Who needs this piece of wood? And if it is true that what was whispered near the fire, my head is still dear to me.

“Nonsense, all this,” Rufina hissed, bursting out of his hands and not even bothering to hide behind her, “I don't believe in these tales.” What is there to like him?

“Well, do not boil, do not boil, my kitten,” the soldier grabbed her again, pressing her lips against his lips and pressing into her angry compressed mouth, “let's go, pussy, I'm burning with impatience, my boyfriend missed your wet caves.” Ver blew his tan in the bones, so I, as a true friend, invited him to join us. You do not mind, pussy? Together we will be able to satisfy your insatiable appetites.

Rufina reluctantly, throwing a full of malice glance at Alessia, let herself be carried away. The camp gradually subsided. The noisy troopers dispersed into their tents, leading with them the feigned, rested, half-drunk girls. Soon the air was filled with passionate cries, a muffled puff, and after a while everything was completely silent, plunging into the darkness of the night. Alessia, sneaking, snuck up to the dying fire. Helga nodded dryly at her pot with the remnants of chowder. Having quickly finished with her, the girl habitually began to help the old woman. Although she was rude, she was not cruel, loading girls with work. She spoke rarely and only to the point, and this even liked Alessia - she didn’t want to talk to anyone at all. Martha somehow tried to get close to her, motherly asking her about what happened to her, but Alessia had lost the habit of being kind, and pushed that away with her sullenness.

Having finished work, Alessia returned to the cart, where again it was necessary to clean and feed the foal. Finding an old blanket abandoned by someone, she spun into it and lay down next to the baby right on the ground, trying ...