-picks up in the middle of a battle-
"Taste steel." the man on horseback cried as he plunged his rapier into the throat of a British soldier.
"France will never fall to bathsome curs such as thee!" All around the man, battle raged on as the forces
of the British Empire and the French Monarchy clashed. The sea surged again as the gathering storm created waves nearly as tall as the small houses that dotted the town. An eerie, reddish glow was cast upon the horrific scene by thatched roofs that had been set ablaze.
"Hold tightly, comrades! The hour of our victory is nearly at hand!" Despite the British soldier's claim, it was still not clear as to who would win as blood was shed upon the cobbled streets.
Mary held her skirts in one hand as she tried to support a gaunt soldier with the other. She had no clue as to weither he was friend or foe, but it did not matter to her; he was in need, and she could help.
She dragged the man into a nearby shed and used the bayonette of his gun to slice through, where she found a deep gash in his side. Mary glanced around, desperate to find somthing to staunch the bleeding.
The soldier gripped her arm; the force was surprisingly strong, despite his injury. He quickly asked somthing in french, to which she merely shook her head. She tried to quell the erratic beating of her heart. If the British soldiers found her with the enemy...
Just as the thought crossed her mind, a door opened to reveal her brother in full infantry gear, fury plain on his face...
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