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Chapter Four - Cataract

Flynn floated on his back in an endless expanse of blue. His eyes were closed, but he could feel the luxurient warmth of the sun on his blue fur. With a smile on his face he was carried on by a slow, smooth current. He couldn't recall ever feeling so peaceful, so serene, so enveloped by love.

He cracked one eyelid open to see a perfect azure, cloudless sky stretching out above him. He made slight ripples that would radiate outward forever as he turned his head lazily to one side, then the other. The warm waters stretched from horizon to horizon.

Flynn closed his eyes again. He couldn't say if he had been here an hour or a thousand years. It didn't seem to matter. He was contented to just exist in this space, in this moment, drifting timelessly on a boundless river. Contented to just_be_.

He saw no one else but he could feel that he wasn't alone. In his heart he knew it. Edward was there. His mother was there. Millions more were there, invisible but all around him, connected to him and flowing through him, drifting together as one. Being.

Flynn...

His submerged cervine ears perked up and out of the water, sending ripples expanding infinitely outward in space and time.

Flynn...

The familiar voice seemed to come from the air itself, riding on the warm breeze.

"Edward?"

Flynn, I'm sorry... It's not time...

The feeling of eternal contentedness was collapsing in Flynn's heart. Confusion and fear were filling the void it left behind. His connection to the whole was being severed.

"Edward? Is that you? Where are you? What's happening, where am I?"

Flynn, I'm so sorry... you have to go back... It's not time...

Flynn felt something brush against his left leg. It burned, searing flesh as it strongly coiled around his thigh, just below his hip, and began pulling him downwards into the deep.

"Edward! Help! Help me!!"

Flynn, I'm sorry... We'll meet here again someday. Someday. I promise we will. I'll be here waiting for you. We will all be here when you return, Flynn, I promise! We will! But it's not time yet. It's not your time. You have to go back, Flynn... You have to go back...

"Edward! Edward!"

Flynn was falling quickly away from the apotheotic surface of the water, away from the light. The flawless blue above him faded rapidly as he was pulled back down, down, down - down again into the cold, abyssal gray.

---

Although musket and cannon have torn his gray coat,

don't he look fine and handsome, don't he look at his most?

For he fought in the foxholes, and of this I will boast:

don't he look fine and handsome, my poor Johnny boy's bones?

Now who will bring back my Johnny boy's bones

to lay beneath the trees of his Tennessee home?

A box, a box made of sturdy white oak,

with his arms folded up

and his blue eyes all closed.

~ Colter Wall and the Dead South - Johnny Boy's Bones

July 1, 1863

Chambersburg, Pennsylvania

"Edward!"

Flynn awoke with a jolt. He was laying on some kind of a cot in a darkened drawing room, tastefully furnished. Straight ahead of him through a window he could see just make out the deep purplish gray of the sky as it met the black silhouette of the treeline on a distant hill, telling him it was the earliest hour of the morning.

He looked to his left and, in the dim light, could see several other cots arranged in the room. Most were empty, but he could see that a few were occupied. On one he could see there was a coyote man with a bandage wrapped around the stump of an arm. He was looking at Flynn through barely cracked eyelids, woken when Flynn yelled Edward's name, but he closed his eyes again when Flynn looked at him.

As he regarded the coyote and his condition Flynn realized where he was and what it meant. The memory of the previous day came back to him. Oh god, he thought. His leg.

Flynn pulled up the blanket covering him on reflex. At the same time, he tried wiggling the two prongs of his cloven hoof. He sighed heavily with relief when he realized his left leg was still there. There was a bandage around his wound, and it was still painful and tender, but everything was still intact.

Yes,everything_is still right where it should be he noted with a chuckle, as he realized that he wasn't wearing any pants. He lowered the blanket back over himself and thought it best to go back to sleep until some other people woke up. He could figure everything out then. He turned over on his right side and was about to close his eyes when he saw it. When he saw _him.

Flynn's eyes widened and he let out a frightened yelp before covering his mouth with one hand, clutching the blanket tightly with the other. Just feet away was the terrifyingly familiar face of the wolf who had nearly killed him. The memory of the wolf poised above him ready to drive a bayonet down into his chest raced through his mind as, to his horror, Flynn saw the wolf begin to stir. The wolf made a low growl as he brought a paw to his eyes and rubbed them. He was waking up.

Flynn was frozen in fear as the wolf opened his eyes, looking directly at him. The wolf blinked twice then, unexpectedly, his eyes widened just as much as Flynn's had. But not with fear.

Flynn watched paralyzed as the wolf's expression changed to, seemingly, one of unbridled joy. In a single quick motion the wolf hopped off the chaise he had been sleeping on and was crouched on the floor next to the cot, face to face with Flynn with a childlike smile on his face.

"You're awake! Thank god, you're awake and you're alive!"

His expression changed yet again to one of concern and sympathy as he realized how scared Flynn was, and why.

"Oh! Hey, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I promise I'm not going to hurt you," the wolf said as he put his hand over Flynn's, which was still tightly clutching his blanket. "I promise. Just give me a chance to explain."

Flynn was petrified. He didn't dare move; was this a nightmare? There was no doubt - this is the same wolf who nearly killed me, he thought. Why is he here? Where am I?

"Please... I'm sorry, please give me a chance." The wolf said pleadingly.

Slowly, Flynn slid his free hand off his mouth. What choice did he have?

"O-Okay..." Flynn said, not sure how to respond, still too scared to move.

The wolf paused for a moment before looking towards the window and sighing.

"Okay," the wolf said after gathering his thoughts, returning his gaze to Flynn. "Look, first off, I want to apologize. For... what I did to you in that field. I'm sorry, and I mean that. I'd take it back if I could."

The wolf paused but Flynn didn't respond.

"After I knocked you out I felt horrible. I mean, really genuinely horrible. I couldn't just leave you there so I took you to a doctor. I brought you here."

"Where's 'here'?" Flynn squeaked. Was he in a Union prisoner camp? No, he was in someone's house. What was going on?

"Chambersburg. Maybe, 60 miles west of Sporting Hill? Where you were when... you know."

Flynn was struggling to understand the situation. It was then he noticed that the wolf was wearing a gray Confederate coat. What did _that_mean? He had to figure out what was happening. It was all so strange, but the mortal fear was beginning to subside as it became clear the wolf wasn't going to murder him on the spot.

"How long have I been out?" Flynn asked, still trying to make sense of the situation. Did he understand this right - did this wolf, this Union soldier, smuggle him back behind Confederate lines to a doctor? Why? How?

"Since yesterday. Since... I guess it was early afternoon sometime."

"And we're in Chambersburg?" Flynn asked, still confused and trying to make sure he'd heard everything correctly, trying to fit the pieces together.

"Yes. I... well, we got here around midnight last night."

Flynn remained silent for a moment. He tried to remember anything else, but the last thing he could remember was this wolf driving the butt of his rifle towards his face. I should have died then, he thought. But I didn't. I'm here.

"Well, thanks I guess. For not killing me I mean," Flynn finally said after this deliberation. He accepted now that he wasn't in immediate danger - if this wolf wanted to kill him he would have done it in that field.

The wolf's hand was still on his.

"Yeah I umm... I'm glad I didn't. Kill you, you know. I..."

A few seconds of awkward silence passed before the wolf spoke again.

"I'm Calvin, by the way. Calvin Riley."

"Flynn Harrison," Flynn answered.

"Nice to meet you Flynn."

"Same," Flynn replied, turning his hand over from underneath Calvin's for a handshake. It lingered for just a moment before Calvin spoke again.

"Well, the doctor told me to get you some food and water when you woke up, so I'll get to it. I'm pretty hungry myself truth be told. Any preference?"

"Not hardtack, if that's an option," Flynn said.

"I'm with you there! Hopefully I can dig up something better," Calvin replied with a smile. "Be right back."

Flynn turned his head and watched as Calvin walked into the kitchen, grabbed a pitcher and walked out the back door. He still couldn't make sense of what this wolf, this Calvin character was about. Wasn't he a Union soldier? How is he here, in a Confederate occupied town? Flynn had camped here the day before his division marched to Carlisle. They were far from the front line. What the hell was going on?

Flynn racked his brain for an explanation, but the only explanation he could think of that made sense was that this wolf was telling the truth, that he _was_sorry that he did what he did in that Pennsylvania field, so much so that he risked his life to bring someone he didn't know to safety. So much so that he is _still_risking his life pretending to be an enemy soldier. No other explanation made any sense at all to Flynn.

I don't know what to do, Flynn thought. He saved my life, but he almost killed me too. He shot at me! He shot my antler off! But I shot at him first - I did. I wish I hadn't but I did. I was scared, I was panicking - that wasn't me. Maybe he feels that way too? A moment of fear and panic, a quick action, consequences that can't be erased. Maybe he's really not a bad person. He seems nice now, if this was the first time I had met him. But it's not. And... and... I don't know what to do! What should I do, how should I feel?!

Calvin returned with a tray in one hand that held two empty glasses, baked bread, some dried meats and dried fruit. The bread was clearly a few days old, but it was leagues better than army rations. In his other hand he had a full pitcher of water.

"Ain't much but it's something," Calvin said as he sat on the floor next to Flynn's cot. He passed the tray to Flynn, who sat up on the cot and began eating, before pouring both glasses full of water.

"It's a lot better than what we normally get," Flynn said, trying to keep his composure. "Thank you."

The two ate wordlessly for a few moments before Flynn spoke again. There was no sense in further avoiding the obvious question, and he needed to address it to really know for sure what was going on.

"You said you wanted a chance to explain, right? Okay. I'm listening. Your uniform seems to have changed colors."

Calvin put down the piece of dried beef he'd been eating.

"It's..."

He looked up and into Flynn's eyes.

"I can't do it any more. I can't kill any more, I can't. I won't. I'm done with this war, one way or another."

Calvin leaned on the edge of the cot and turned his face towards the door.

"When I saw you laying there, after I hit you... I broke down. Totally. I felt ashamed of it. I felt ashamed of everything I've done since this war began. I still feel ashamed. I saw you lying there, maybe dead or close to dead, and knew I did it to you and it made me feel sick. Deep down sick, like I was rotten inside. I wanted to undo it just as soon I did it, but I couldn't. Some things can't be undone. I've learned that. I just... I can't explain it. Two years of fighting and death. A part of me has given up. Just gone. I know that. And another part of me that isn't gone is ready to give up and _be_gone, I guess you could say. Just ready for it all to be over. But I figured if I am gonna give up maybe I can save someone before I do, do something good for once before I give up. Maybe I can undo just a little bit of the hurt and pain I've caused, the evil I've done."

He turned to Flynn again, looking him once more in the eyes.

"I hope you can forgive me, Flynn. I wanted to earn your forgiveness."

Flynn could see the deep sadness and anguish in Calvin's eyes. Flynn had only seen one real day of war, and not even a proper battle, but it was enough to know how horrific a thing it was, how quickly and pointlessly life can be robbed. He couldn't imagine enduring it for years on end.

Over the next hour sunlight slowly crept up and over the wooded hill outside the window. As the first rays of morning sunshine entered the room, Calvin told Flynn everything. He told Flynn about his trek from Sporting Hill to Chambersburg, about his experiences in the war. He told him about the badger. He told him about Lizzie and the feral deer.

Flynn shared some about his own past as well, his cloistered life in the valley in Tennessee, but for the most part he let Calvin talk. He still felt confused and conflicted. Less than a day had passed since this wolf had almost killed him, but he'd also evidently saved him and brought him to safety. This was the soldier who had shot off his antler, but Flynn couldn't ignore that he'd shot at the wolf first. This was the soldier who had stood above him with a bayonet, but he didn't use it. Just yesterday Flynn had thought he was staring death in the face. The fierce and fearsome wolf seemed so frail and defeated now, sitting next to him on the floor.

"They'll hang you when they catch you," Flynn finally said, bringing the focus back to the present.

"Yeah, I know they will," Calvin said, sitting with his knees up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his shins. "It's okay, I guess. I deserve it. I won't run if you tell them about me."

"Tell them? I'm not going to tell those bastards anything," Flynn said indignantly, seated upright on the cot.

Calvin looked at Flynn with incredulity.

"What? Why not? You're a Confederate..."

"No... don't call me that. I'm not a Confederate. I mean, I never wanted to be," Flynn said, looking away from Calvin. "I didn't sign up for it. It wasn't my choice, I was conscripted. So was..."

Flynn could feel tears forming in his eyes as soon as he thought of Edward.

"So was my best friend. Edward. We tried to stay away from it as long as we could but it came to us. Came knocking on our doors, said 'fight for the Confederacy or we'll kill you.' Well guess what? Edward got killed anyway. He died anyway! They got him killed, for what?"

His voice was becoming shakier. Thinking of Edward brought back a wave of emotions.

"For what? For nothing! For their horseshit politics, for their pride, for nothing! It's their fault Edward is dead. They did it! Fuck them! Fuck them all! Fuck the Confederacy and fuck Jefferson Davis and fuck General Lee and fuck them all for killing Edward and fuck them all for leaving me alone and fuck my father for hating me for the way I am and, and..."

Flynn broke down and wept openly. As he brought his hands up to cover his face, Calvin rose to his knees and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Flynn and embracing him. Flynn wrapped his arms around Calvin, crying into his shoulder and neck. For several minutes Flynn cried as Calvin held him in his arms. Just yesterday, Calvin thought, it was me who was crying into Flynn's chest.

Flynn regained his composure, but he didn't let go of Calvin. This was the beast that had chased him down in the field just yesterday, he knew that. Why didn't he want to let go? Why did he feel this way in the wolf's arms now?

"I never knew what it was all about," Flynn finally said as he clung tightly to Calvin, his mouth behind the wolf's stout neck.

"I never knew. I knew some of the rich folks in the farms and plantations owned slaves, but that's so far away from where I'm from. No one in the valley has any money, no one. I'd never seen a slave or knew anyone who owned one. There's a difference between knowing something and _seeing_it."

Flynn paused to sniffle before continuing.

"The first time I ever saw one was after me and Edward got conscripted and they sent us on the railroad to Richmond for training. It was awful Calvin, they had them in chains like ferals, worse than ferals. It was evil, what they were doing to them. You said you felt ashamed for fighting? But you weren't fighting for that. I felt ashamed when I saw those slaves in Richmond, more ashamed than I ever felt in my life. I knew there was slavery, but until I saw it I never _really_thought about it, what it meant, you know? Out of sight, out of mind. And I never said anything against it, not a word. I feel so selfish and heartless now for ignoring it. Ashamed."

Calvin rubbed his hands on Flynn's back as he was holding him. He didn't interrupt, and Flynn continued.

"Then I felt even more ashamed because I was wearing the gray when I saw it. I'd allowed myself to become part of it, sent to fight to uphold it. And I let it happen. I fucking let it happen to me, Calvin, I let myself become that person. How could I have done that? How could I have not stood up against that evil, and what kind of a monster does that make me? I could have run but I didn't. I'd be an outlaw but I could have run instead of reporting to that draft office. I didn't. I was too scared, too weak, I don't know. That's no excuse. It's not. I can't pretend it's an excuse."

Flynn clutched Calvin tighter.

"And now Edward's dead. For nothing. No - for _worse_than nothing, for an evil cause. He would have run away with his fiance if not for me. I know he would, he felt the same way about all of it. And now I'll have to live with that, forever. I have to live with that regret and that shame, that I fought for evil and got my only friend killed for it. If I had any courage at all, if I wasn't so weak..."

Calvin heard Flynn's voice start to crack again. He broke their embrace slightly such that he was looking at Flynn eye to eye, their faces close to each other. He brought one hand up to Flynn's cheek to wipe away his tears. Flynn let him.

"Hey, it's okay. What happened to Edward isn't your fault. Okay? It's not. It's this war. It's this terrible war. It makes us all do things we regret, things we wish we hadn't, things we hate. Moments we'll go to our graves wishing we could have back, do over. I've done horrible things in this war. Terrible things. I'm filled with that regret and shame and disgrace. But we can't turn back the clock, right? We can't undo the things we did. You could wallow in regret for what's done. We both could. But that won't help us. It won't help anyone. All we can do is learn from it and not make the same mistakes, make the right choices instead of the wrong ones. Not have the same regrets."

Calvin stroked Flynn's cheek again as they gazed into each others eyes. Flynn had shifted his hands from Calvin's back to his chest without realizing it.

"I almost made the worst mistake of my life yesterday, Flynn, one that would have doomed me. But I didn't. I made the right choice for once in my life. And now you're alive. Now you're here. With me."

Flynn felt a warmth, an electric tingle, a desire he'd never shared with anyone. His eyes closed as he felt himself leaning in towards Calvin as if compelled by a force stronger than his will or sense. Calvin was doing the same. Their lips were just inches away...

At that moment the front door of the house was loudly flung open, causing Flynn and Calvin to reflexively open their eyes, reflecting on what they had each just felt. Calvin sat back down on the floor as they heard heavy bootsteps making their way from the front parlor to where they were in the drawing room.

"Well lookee here! Your wounded lives!" exclaimed Sgt. Will Thayer as he entered the room.

• -

Calvin and Flynn watched as the beagle confidently walked towards them with a grin on his face and a revolver on his hip. He stared down at Flynn before he took a seat on the chaise Calvin has slept on. Calvin remained seated on the floor next to Flynn's cot.

"Glad to see you've decided to rejoin us in the land of the living," he said to Flynn. "I'm Will. Sergeant William T. Thayer, but I'm called Will."

He extended his hand to Flynn, who shook it weakly. Something about Thayer's expression and demeanor made Flynn uneasy.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Flynn. Flynn Harrison."

One of Will's eyebrows raised, turning his expression to one even more disquieting to Flynn.

"Flynn, eh? That's right interesting... thought a little birdie told me you were a 'John.'"

Flynn's eyes flitted over to Calvin, whose pleading, frightened expression told him all he needed to know. It was clear to Flynn then that this wasn't a friendly officer checking in on a wounded soldier. This was an interrogation.

"Well... Flynn is my middle name, that's what I go by. But John is my Christian name," Flynn lied. "I never talked to Calvin before today but he was in my regiment. He must have heard an officer call me John a time or two."

Flynn hadn't had time to think, he had just reacted. The implications didn't even hit him until much later. But by lying to a Confederate officer he had crossed a bridge without even meaning to. He was now conspiring with an enemy infiltrator, helping to conceal his identity. He'd committed treason.

"Easy mistake to make, sure," Will Thayer said. "And what regiment was that, Flynn?"

"Alabama 43rd!" Calvin quickly interjected before Flynn had a chance to say anything. They were co-conspirators now, they had to get their story straight.

If Thayer were more adept at this game he'd have isolated them and confronted them one at a time to catch them in their lies. In his zeal and inexperience he'd thrown away the strongest contradictions he could have found almost immediately.

But while he was inexperienced and overeager, Will Thayer wasn't stupid. He recognized the enormity of the mistake he'd made and cursed himself mentally for being so foolish and brash. He decided to take a step back to regroup and think of a new tactic before he said anything else that they could refute while they were together. He still knew the Alabama 43rdwasn't deployed this far north - he knew Calvin was lying about that, but in light of what just happened he had to figure out how to best use that information. He'd ruined his other contradictions, he couldn't ruin this one.

"Ah, that's right Mr. Riley, you told me that yesterday. Must have slipped my mind," he said, angry at himself that he'd given Calvin the chance to answer for Flynn. "Well, I'll go rouse the doctor to check on your leg, John Flynn."

His boots fell loudly on the wooden floor as he got up from the chaise and walked to the staircase. His footsteps reverberated throughout the house as he walked up the stairs towards the doctor's bedroom.

"You don't have to do this, Flynn. You don't have to lie for me. You've got a lot to lose," Calvin whispered as he turned to Flynn, grabbing the edge of the cot.

"I'm not helping these sons of bitches any more! I'm not going to make the same mistake again!" Flynn replied, whispering forcefully.

He put his hand on Calvin's, and they peered into each others eyes. Calvin let go of the cot's metal frame and held Flynn's hand in turn. No words were spoken, but they both felt it, the spark of desire that could grow into a roaring fire if they let it. If they wanted it. And in that moment each thought they recognized that spark in the other's eye.

They let go as they heard Will Thayer's bootsteps upstairs making their way towards the staircase. He descended rapidly.

"Calvin, John Flynn, take care," he said, pausing at the base of the staircase to tip his hat to them before he turned to leave the house.

Dr. Russell appeared at the top of the stairs as Will was leaving. He used the railing as he descended and his pace was slower than Will's, but he still made his way down remarkably fast for someone his age.

"You've woken up! Good, good!"

• -

Casualties from the battle raging 20 miles to the east at Gettysburg began arriving in Chambersburg before noon. Their injuries were horrific beyond description. Wagon after wagon rolled into town, each laden with a dozen or more men, most of whom were missing arms or legs that had been freshly sawed off by field surgeons closer to the battle.

Despite their condition these were the lucky ones - they had all been shot in their limbs. Soldiers who took a Minié ball to the torso or head had no chance of survival. For every wounded man who made it to Chambersburg or any of the dozen other makeshift field hospitals surrounding Gettysburg, eight more were dead. And of those wounded, half would be dead from infections within two weeks.

Flynn watched as more and more mutilated men were brought into the doctor's drawing room and filled the empty cots around him. Some were screaming in pain, others were unconscious. Dr. Russell was frantically attending to the wounded as well as he could, but it was clear that he was beyond overwhelmed.

Calvin stayed by Flynn's side. He knew he had to run, that every minute he spent here as an impostor was an enormous risk. But he couldn't pull himself away.

Dr. Russell approached them as casualties from Gettysburg continued to pour in.

"Flynn, I apologize but..." he said uncomfortably, "well, there are a lot of young men here who are wounded badly. Awfully badly. I'm trying to focus on saving lives first."

He looked down on his feet.

"What I'm trying to say is, space is at a premium now for the worst of them, the most badly wounded. You seem to be doing better this morning. Stabilized."

Flynn nodded. He knew what the doctor was trying to ask him to do.

"Time to get up then," Flynn said as he started to pull the blanket off himself. "One thing though. I seem to be... under-dressed?"

"Ah!" the doctor said as he realized what Flynn meant. "I'm sorry! I'd forgotten, I had to take them off to treat your wound. They should be..."

He saw the pants Flynn had been wearing yesterday balled up at the foot of the cot. They were soaked with blood.

"Ah, you can't wear these. I'll get rid of them and find you another pair, wait one moment," the doctor said as he picked up the blood-stained trousers and started for the door.

He was almost out of the room when a memory flashed into Flynn's head.

"Wait!!" Flynn yelled desperately as the doctor had one foot out of the room.

Dr. Russell stopped and turned back to Flynn.

"Wait. Please, check the pockets? There's something important in there. I hope."

Dr. Russell checked one pocket. Empty. He checked the other. There was a letter, the corner of which had been stained with Flynn's blood.

"Please, send that through the Confederate post. It's already stamped. It's very important."

The doctor looked at the letter. It was addressed to someone in Tennessee, someone named Penelope.

"A sweetheart?" The doctor asked.

"Yes. But not mine."

The doctor understood and gave Flynn a nod.

"I'll make sure it gets out. Personally," he said as he gingerly tucked it into the interior breast pocket of his coat. "But first we have to find you some pants!"

• -

Sgt. Will Thayer returned to Dr. Russell's house a few hours after he'd left that morning to find a wholly changed and surreal scene. The previously calm drawing room was now filled with dozens of wounded soldiers, maybe 50, disfigured in every imaginable way. They'd run out of cots long ago and many were laying on the floor.

Will brought his hand to his nose in a vain effort to allay the putrid odor. He went to where Flynn had been before, but in his place was a young weasel man that looked near death.

"Damn it!" Will exclaimed.

"You lookin' for that little deer boy and his big ol' wolf buddy?"

Will looked down at the coyote who asked him the question. His arm was wrapped more carefully than many of the others. Will remembered that he'd been there earlier, one of the few other wounded in the room before the torrent of casualties from Gettysburg began pouring in.

"Yes! Did you see where they went?"

"Why's you lookin' for 'em, sarge? For their loyalties? I got me a tit-bit I overheard when they was yappin' back an' fore while ago. Reckon that's what you're lookin' for. Right or no?"

Will Thayer licked his lips at the prospect. He knelt down on his knees beside the coyote laying on the cot.

"What do you mean? What did you hear?"

"Didn't hear too much startin' 'counta they was speakin' real hushed-like, an' I was sleepin' some too. But then the littlun' was saying nastiful curses at the Confederacy, to start. Then he says to the big boy, he says you'll be hanged if'n you're caught. Caught for what, I'm thinkin'. Caught for what? Thinkin' hard."

The coyote paused for no discernible reason.

"Well? What was he afraid of being caught for? Did you hear?"

"Naw, not direct. But then I seen somethin' what answered it for me. Big boy stands up, I seen it clear as moonshine right on his hip."

"What was it? What did you see?"

"Take you a gander at that wolf's belt buckle, next you lay eyes, sarge. Ain't no 'C' there, it's a letter 'U'. Plain as day, I seen it say _'US'_and not _'CS'_on that belt buckle. He's a Federal."

"Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

"That I am."

This was it, Will thought. This was it! This was the solid evidence he needed.

"Will you swear what you've told me to be true before the Major and the General if you have to? Upon pain of death, will you testify?"

"I will testify," the bandaged coyote man answered. "Against a Yankee I will testify."

• -

"I don't understand. Can't you just go home? If it's just down the road, like you said."

Flynn and Calvin had spent half an hour on Dr. Russell's porch, which wrapped around the entirety of the first floor of his plantation-style home. But the wounded just kept coming, an endless trail of wagons coming from Gettysburg. They'd tried to say goodbye to the doctor as they left, but he was too busy to notice. The last they saw of Dr. Russell he was frantically disinfecting, cauterizing, bandaging. Doing everything he could.

"It's not that simple," Calvin said, answering Flynn's question. "I'm a deserter now. They'll come looking for me, both government agents and the bounty hunters. They always do. I've heard the stories. And that's the first place they'll look. There's no room anywhere at my Uncle's to keep someone hidden, not for a minute or a year. They would find me. Besides, I couldn't put that kind of a burden on Lizzie or my Uncle. It wouldn't be fair to them to drag them into this, bring it into their lives. If I went home and those agents found me they'd hang me for desertion, they'd throw my uncle in prison for aiding a fugitive, and Lizzie would be all alone. I can't bring that into their home. The less they know, the better."

Calvin had found a crutch for Flynn to use, shipped along with other medical supplies in the wagons that flowed into town. It was too painful for Flynn to put any weight on his left leg, but when he gritted his teeth and tried he could feel that it was stable. With the crutch he was able to move around a bit, though much slower than he would normally be able to walk.

The overflow of wounded had reached the grassy commons in the town's center. On it, a hundred or more small tents had been set up, and some soldiers were busy working to put up more. The tents were the same type of two-person dog tent that Flynn and Edward had spent the night before last in. They were intended for the more healthy of the wounded to use. Flynn and Calvin found an empty one, and Calvin gathered a blanket from one of the wagons while Flynn laid down on the cool grass underneath the canvas canopy.

He almost fell asleep before Calvin got back, but he opened his eyes and leaned up when Calvin returned.

"Here," Calvin said, handing the blanket to Flynn.

"Thanks," Flynn said. He didn't need it now, but they both knew he might be here for a while. Flynn tucked it underneath his head like a pillow. He allowed the length of it to stretch to the other side of the tent so that Calvin could lay his head down on it too. He did, and for a moment they lay in the tent in silence.

"So where will you go?" Flynn finally said to Calvin.

Calvin sighed, placing one hand under his head.

"I don't know. West. And I'll just keep going until I feel like it's safe to stop, I guess, or until I'm somewhere where no one is looking for me or knows I have a bounty. I don't know if a place like that exists but I don't have a better plan."

Flynn felt a strange mix of emotions. Calvin had made his own choices, but he couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for the situation he was in. Why did he shoot at Calvin first? Fear, panic, weakness... the same as usual, he thought. And even after that he saved me - I'd have lost my left leg without him, at the very least. Maybe my life. But then again he _had_almost stabbed me with that bayonet, and he _did_knock me senseless with his rifle. What about that? What about that other thing, that moment in the doctor's house, when we closed our eyes? Did we almost kiss? I've never kissed anyone, I don't know what it's like - did I imagine that? It felt like we were about to kiss, like we would have. What else could that have been? Is Calvin... is he the same way that I am?

"When... are you going," Flynn asked.

"Soon. I should have left already, but... soon."

"Calvin..."

He turned over to Flynn, who was already looking at him.

"They're going to want to send me back to fight when I'm better."

Calvin didn't respond, letting Flynn's comment sit.

"I won't do it," Flynn continued. "Not again. I've made up my mind. I'm never wearing the gray again as long as I live."

They looked into each others eyes, each thinking their own thoughts on the implications this might have, could have for them both.

"You'd be a fugitive too if you did that. You'd never be able to go home."

"Home..." Flynn said, shaking his head. "What home? Edward is dead and my father wishes I was. There's nothing there for me any more. I don't have anything to go back to, not even a roof to sleep under. I don't have a home."

Calvin thought a moment about Flynn's words - and what he'd said earlier - before speaking again.

"Flynn? I'm not trying to pry, and don't answer if you don't want to but... you said your father hates you. Earlier you said it's because of 'the way you are.'"

Flynn watched as Calvin propped himself up on his elbow.

"What way are you, Flynn?"

Flynn felt caught again. Trapped. In his emotional outburst earlier he'd let slip that his father knew he was gay, and Calvin had picked up on it. But Flynn couldn't tell him or anyone else. It was a dangerous secret. But what about what he'd felt earlier with Calvin? Did he know? Was he accusing, or was he asking? He could feel the blood rushing into his face, feel himself blushing underneath his fur. He couldn't just tell Calvin, that was far too risky, but he didn't want to deny it to him either. Just in case.

"Calvin I..." Flynn started, searching for words. "I can't, I - just... don't leave without saying goodbye first. Please."

Calvin reached out his hand to Flynn's, holding it gently without saying a word. Flynn felt the same electric tingles he'd felt earlier when he thought they'd almost kissed. He gingerly closed his hand around Calvin's in return, letting his fingers entwine with Calvin's.

That was the moment they knew. They both knew.

• -

Calvin awoke to darkness and the sound of a bugle. He was still holding Flynn's hand. They must have dozed off at some point in the afternoon; not surprising, considering how weak Flynn was with his injury and how Calvin had only gotten two hours of sleep the night before.

It sounded like chaos outside the tent.

Calvin leaned up and looked out of the tent to see men and horses running panicked in the night. Some men were grabbing what supplies they could, some were loading wounded soldiers back onto wagons. In the general panic Calvin could see that they were all running in the same direction, towards the same road leading out of town. The one that headed south.

Calvin realized that the Confederates were fleeing the city. They'd been defeated at Gettysburg and were abandoning Chambersburg, retreating back to Virginia to escape before the United States Army caught up with them.

It was time to run.

Calvin looked back at Flynn, who was still asleep. He thought about waking him to tell him goodbye, but decided instead to first gather supplies for his escape and either find his horse or steal one before returning to the tent for a final farewell.

Calvin went back in the direction of Dr. Russell's house, away from the flow of Confederates fleeing the city. He intended to take some food from the doctor's pantry - he had said take whatever you need, after all. But as he approached the house he saw there was an abandoned wagon pulled off the road. In it were dozens of bags, most of which were marked with the word "RATIONS."

Calvin hopped up onto the back of the wagon and began rifling through bags. He opened a few and saw that they were all filled with either hardtack or dried meat. He needed to carry enough to last him for a few days at least, maybe a week if he could. The burlap sacks were too large, but he found several smaller, empty sacks labeled "BANDAGES" in the bed of the wagon. He began filling one of them with hardtack and dried meat.

"Might have known I'd find you like this," a voice said to him, yelling over the din and chaos of the fleeing troops on the road several dozen yards away. "You're a thief, too. I might have known."

Calvin looked up to see Sgt. Will Thayer. He had his hand on the revolver still holstered on his hip.

"You made a big mistake, Calvin, if that's even your real name. You're wearing the right clothes, which I know you stole, but you forgot to change out that belt buckle!"

Calvin looked down to his waist, to his belt buckle. On it _'US'_was stamped clearly. Boldly. How could he not have noticed? How could he have been so stupid?

"I knew it soon as I saw you. Soon as I heard you speak with that accent. You're a goddamn Yankee spy, and that's the proof!"

Calvin's eyes were on Will Thayer's hand, watching as he unclipped the button on his leather holster and began pulling the revolver from it.

"You're under arr--"

Calvin, who had been crouching down on his hind legs, leapt off the wagon down towards Will Thayer. In a flash he tackled him to the ground, easily overpowering the beagle. The gun was knocked from Thayer's hand and tumbled to the ground. Calvin wrapped both his hands around Thayer's neck.

Sgt. Will Thayer now found himself pinned to the ground underneath an immensely powerful gray wolf, strong hands wrapped around his throat, fully capable of choking the life out of him in moments.

Calvin saw the face again, the same expression as the badger and the deer. Fear. Mortal dread.

" I don't! Want to kill! Any more!!" Calvin shrieked at Thayer, lips snarled, sharp canine teeth snapping inches away from the beagle's eyes. " Don't make me!!"

It wasn't a threat. It was a plea.

" Don't you fucking make me!!"

Thayer, petrified with fear, didn't move a muscle when Calvin loosened his grip on his throat. He didn't move when Calvin got off of him, when he grabbed the sack of hardtack and meat, or even when he tucked the revolver into his pants next to that _US_belt buckle and walked away into the night.

Calvin was long gone by the time Sgt. William T. Thayer of Mobile, Alabama managed to gather the courage to pick himself up off the ground. He never saw the gray wolf again.

• -

"Flynn! Flynn! Flynn, wake up!"

Flynn opened his eyes to see a gray wolf silhouetted by the torchlight outside, shaking him awake, staring back at him. When he saw the same face just that morning he'd been terrified, but now...

"Calvin?"

"Flynn! I'm sorry. I have to leave. I have to leave right now."

"Calvin, wa--"

Before Flynn knew what was happening Calvin had leaned forward and pressed his lips to Flynn's. Flynn melted into the kiss immediately, feeling the wolf's tongue on his. He closed his eyes, sliding his own tongue against Calvin's and losing himself in it. It was Flynn's first kiss, his first real kiss with another man. Flynn had never experienced anything like it.

It was over too soon.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Goodbye Flynn."

Flynn watched as Calvin started out of the tent, started to leave into whatever chaos was occurring outside. Flynn saw him stand and turn to leave, put one foot in the stirrup on the horse he'd just stolen.

No, Flynn thought. I can't be scared. I can't be weak now, not again. I can't be passive any more and let things happen to me instead of making things happen for myself. Not now, not any more, not after what happened yesterday and today. Not after that kiss. I can't let this be all there is. I'll never get this moment back. I can't let Calvin leave without me. I can't. I won't.

"No!" Flynn yelled at Calvin. It wasn't a plea. It was a demand. "I'm going with you!"

Calvin turned around, one foot in the stirrup. He looked down into the tent at Flynn, dimly illuminated in the torchlight.

"Flynn, no, you can't even walk, and..."

"No! No you don't, Calvin Riley, no you don't! I'm not going back! I won't fight for them again, I won't be a Confederate soldier again, not never again, I refuse! I won't do it! And you don't get to do what you just did and then just leave me behind! But if you do, I'm still leaving! I'm leaving, Calvin, with you or without you! If I have to hop out of here on one hoof, I'm leaving!"

Flynn was pushing himself up off the ground. His left leg throbbed horribly, sharp jolts of pain blasting through it with every move, but he lifted it up as he put weight on his right hoof, crawled out of the tent and willed himself to stand up on one leg.

Calvin saw Flynn painfully scrambling to crawl out of the tent and stand. He desperately didn't want to hurt Flynn again, and he'd thought the best way to not hurt him was to leave, alone. Deserter, traitor, thief, murderer - he would face whatever perilous journey he was about to embark on by himself. In his mind he was beyond redemption. Dragging someone else into the deep hole of regret and pain he had in his heart would be cruel. But in that moment he realized the cruelest thing he could have done was to leave Flynn behind.

"Okay. Okay! You're right. I'm sorry. Goddamn it I'm sorry Flynn, for everything. Let's go."

• -

Flynn held tightly to Calvin as he sat behind him in the saddle, arms wrapped around the wolf's chest as they rode west out of Chambersburg and into the moonlight.