❝Don’t you let me lie here and die here.❞
civil wars prompts - NOT ACCEPTING!!
night and RESTLESS thoughts steals him from the warmth of lauren’sembrace, a hoop of warmth buried beneath blankets and reeking of safety thatdoes not truly exist ( no e x p a n s e is safe from war —–it bleeds and stains allit can touch, and even that it does not ). and perhaps greatest of all, warsteals into the dreams as men try to use the vestiges of sleep escape from theharshness of truth only to find the realities of the imagined are often worse.hamilton usually takes up his quill to stave off its DEADLY kiss, but withnight pressing with dark fingers and tallow candles precious until the next supplies arrive he dare not,instead turning to chilly air to soothe his worries.
the sentries nod to him when he passes, his fingers clutchedinto the coarse fabric of a threadbare navy jacket, dragging it closer toscrawny frame to shield against the buffeting wind. the crunch of leavesbrings a MONOTONY to dull the course of frantic thoughts, not unlike that of a dull quill scraping its last words; hamiltondoes not dislike the sound, chaos of the mind getting tangled between frost-brittleleaves of red and gold.
he does not expect to stumble upon the general, and hecertainly does not predict his wandering to find his excellency caught in themidst of sleep’s throes.
tis not his place to see such a scene, but nor would it bewise to turn away lest the redcoats be closer than the scouts report -----howGUILT would gnaw at his bones if such a thing were to occur! ( and he too knows the horror of being stitched into a NIGHTMARE without escape, and wishes it upon NO ONE ). and so he approachesall the closer, hand outstretched with tentativeness written across each sinew. he is careful with his touch; many sleep these days with knives in hand in case of unfriendly intruders, and dreams too often cling to the gaze even after eyes have been opened. a gentle palm upon a broad shoulder, and tones taking on the sharp edge of urgency ( not unlike the wind that sneaks between the seams and buttons of a forgotten jacket ).
“ sir —–wake. cast off your dreams. sir. “
