[color=8882be][i]Sigurd blinked in mild surprise, noticing the beauty before him for the first time. He felt color rise in his cheeks as his clumsy, stiff hand brushed hers as he accepted the water and drank it greedily, choking on the last of it. The coughing didn't help anything, but he was mostly able to keep the pain of his wounds at bay. He set the empty flask down, and wolfed the food down. It was not the hearty breakfast he was used to, but he understood she wasn't exactly in a position to make him a feast without others noticing. Taking stock of what he had, and didn't have physically, now that his brain had some nourishment to work with. His pistol was gone, that would raise questions if found by the wrong people, but it was probably to late to retrieve it now. Not that he could have done so in his state. He belatedly realized his rudeness and scrambled to find the right phrase, the pilots had all been required to learn several simple phrases in French, just in case they were shot down, but Sigurd had been a poor student, like most of his peers, being shot down was thing old men talked about, it never happened to the Fuer's brightest young new aces in the making. Yet it had happened... and now he could not remember the phrase he needed. In frustration, he slapped his leg, an old habit that he immediately regretted.

He clenched his teeth, grinding them, and sucked air through them and then shoving it back out with a low groan, his eyes squeezed shut against the fresh wave of agony. He almost repeated the gesture, in his compounded frustration, but he just managed to catch himself in time. Letting out another hissing breath, he finally remembered the phrase, and spat it out rather roughly in a heavy german accent.[/i][/color]

[color=a0410d]"Merci Madame!"[/color]

[color=8882be][i]Immediately regretting his harsh tone, and how poorly he handled the foreign tongue, he shook his head and calmed himself with no small amount of effort, before uttering the same phrase more softly, and with a hint of gratitude peeking through the pain. Though this time it remained in german.[/i][/color]

[color=a0410d]"Danke Frau..."[/color]

[color=8882be][i]He looked back at the woman who had taken such good care of him despite the war, and having every reason to hate him. Didn't she understand they were enemies? Why hadn't she killed him already, or turned him over to the authorities? Surely they'd reward her handsomely for a german pilot, even one as injured as he was. Was she a german sympathizer? If so where was his pistol? None of it made sense... Weariness and pain washed through him again, and he winced as he shifted slightly, trying to relieve pressure on his leg, before drifting towards unconsciousness again.[/i][/color]