Kennet put his journal on Hook’s empty bedroll. As apology and peace offering, and also because Kennet had a sudden and dire need for a second pair of eyes on his account, to make sure he remembered it all correctly. Because he didn’t want to talk about it, but he wanted someone to know.

He took off his boots, crawled into his bag, spread his greatcoat for a second blanket and fell immediately to sleep. When he woke up, Hook was back. He sat on his bedroll, reading the journal with his flashlight tucked between shoulder and cheek.

Kennet watched him read, trying to judge by Hook’s expression where he was in the narrative. The way he rolled his lips in, or pushed them out. A sudden, sharp breath through his nose. A long sighing exhale. Minute nods of his head. Every now and then a soft “Huh.”

At last, Hook closed the journal. He ran a palm in a circle on the cover and sat still a long time before he glanced over at Kennet.

“Hey.”

“Morning.”

Hook smiled. “It’s almost six at night.”

“Is the war over?”

“Not yet, my friend. Not yet.” He handed the notebook back to Kennet. “You did good.”

“Did I get it all?”

“Yeah. It was good. I mean, you wrote it good. Your folks won’t be embarrassed reading it. Except for the sexy parts.”

Kennet threw a handful of straw at him. “Want to grab a smoke?”

They went into the chilly barnyard and coaxed one of the dead campfires back to life.

“So who is Astrid exactly?” Hook asked.

“Someone I loved. Still love.”

“Is that her picture tucked in the pages?”

“Mm.”

“She’s married?”

“Yes.”

“Well, fuck me.”

“No thank you.”

Then they lit up and squatted by the flames, turning themselves like spit roasts to stay warm. One side. Posterior. Front. Other side.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Hook said, as if choosing his words carefully. “What happened at Chenogne, I mean. And I respect that. But if you ever do want to talk. About any of it. You got me.”

“I know. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m going to write about it anymore.”

“No?”

“I don’t know. All that misery was just one week. We’re barely in it. If I keep writing it all down, I think I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

“You tell a good story. You pinned down some things I was thinking and feeling, but shit, I couldn’t put it into words. Not like that.”

“Mm.”

Hook’s elbow jostled Kennet’s arm, just the tiniest bit. “You do what you have to, Fish.”

Kennet smiled. “Whatever gets you through.”

Hook blew a few rings. He’d finally mastered the trick and was now working on his nonchalance while doing it. “Mind if I say something else about your journal?”

Kennet’s privacy bristled a little. “What?”