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Francisco's patrol rode out just as the sun began to spread warm tendrils of light across the landscape. The darkness that had so fed his nightmares was vanishing to be replaced by the genuine pleasure of a ride in the country. He had taken the time to pull the helmet cover into place so that no light would flash from its burnished surface, double and triple checked his carbine was loaded, and ensured more times then he could count that his sword moved freely in its scabbard. 

As they moved out into the countryside Francisco found himself enjoying the ride. They passed first through the town and, once, under the foreboding gateway and past the earthworks, they entered into neatly kept farming country. The locals watched them warily but a few waved and a couple of pretty girls paused in their chores to blow him a kiss as he rode by. He winked back and was rewarded with a flurry of giggles as they rode through, their horses raising small puffs of dust beneath their hooves.

Their ride took them into the interior of the landscape, the high mountain peaks visible above the trees as they rode. The majority of the land about them was turning into open grazing, vast fields of it that rolled up to the edge of the forest to the North, and down to the ocean in the South. Francisco had worried aloud that an enemy might ambush them from the tree-line but one of the Cornets had scoffed at the concern. Only the British used proper rifles and they were far away. No musket fired from the distant tree-line was going to kill a man. What they were really looking for were other enemy cavalry, sent out to screen the advance of an army. No army could move without roads, the heavy supply wagons and guns would require the easy route or they would have to be abandoned. 

Despite the sun and the assurances from the Cornet, Francisco was slowly loosing his good mood again. The fear was back as he looked about him. They were at war. Eventually they would run into an enemy and then what? Would he be killed? Could he kill another person? He doubted his six weeks of training really made him a soldier and it seemed all the more obvious he was not as the experienced men in the bandon acted as if they hadn't a care in the world.

Francisco had no way of knowing that they were as nervous as he, their experience simply allowed them to hide it more effectively. His own fears made him feel cold despite the sun and he almost wished he had never left his family farm. At least, despite the off highway man, he had never been in any danger. The thought occurred to him that he would probably also be a father by now and he shuddered at the thought. Fatherhood was not high on his priority list.  

The path they were riding led to a distant bridge that they caught a glimpse of briefly from a high hilltop.  For a brief moment Francisco thought he saw a dark shape moving against a distant green hillside. He opened his mouth to report it, looked again and found the thing gone. Maybe he had imagined it? He couldn't say for certain and did not want to make himself look a fool for reporting vague shapes. He kept his mouth shut.