Neither has the beast next to him, which still traps his arm. The all-enveloping thud of the creature’s heart seems slower now. With each beat he waits longer for the next, the anticipation building up like a wave crashing onto a beach. He tries to free his arm, but cannot. It is firmly trapped under the flesh of the animal. There are dark shapes to either side of him and he spends some time trying to decide what they are. Legs, he decides. The creature is lying on its side and he is trapped against the underbelly. He wants to call for help, but he is afraid. If there are any soldiers still on this battlefield, they will be French. Worse than that are the peasants. Locals who will plunder the dead and dying. The wounded they will silence forever with a knife across the throat as they steal their jewelry, watches, and coin. He could wait for first light, but that would bring no benefit and the idea of lying all night against this hellish creature brings waves of nausea and despair. “Help,”
