Page 54 of The Unknown Birds

Rook shook his head. “Haven’t you heard? It’s Lance Corporal now,” he said with a smug little grin, showing off the new chevron upon his sleeve. “Surprised you didn’t read about it in The Wipers Times.”

“Well done, you,” she told him, and on second thought added, “Sir.”

He gave her a tiny, embarrassed eye roll and then pulled up a stool to sit, idly scratching Maxie’s head where it rested on his knee. It looked as though someone must have given the dog a bath.

“How are you, really?” he asked.

“Seems I’ll live even if my pride won’t.”

Rook shook his head. “Could’ve been any of us.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No. And that’s why I brought you a present,” he said, tossing a soft parcel in her lap, roughly wrapped with pages from the trench newspaper.

“You’re the one who was promoted. I should’ve gotten you a present.”

“You can owe me one,” he said. “Going to open it?”

Pretending to be nervous about what she might find inside, Ash carefully unfolded the paper. Out into her lap fell five new pairs of socks, knitted in the softest of soft grey wool. They must have cost a fortune.

“Rook… these were meant for you.”

“No one back home is sending me socks.”

“How did you get them then?”

“I knitted them.”

“You never did,” Ash said, glancing at his rifle-calloused hands. “You knit?”

“Keeps the fingers limber.”

“I suppose,” she laughed.

He licked his lips and tilted his head. “Told you I studied the organ before the war. I’d like to get back to it when this all ends.”

“And so you knit.”

“And so I do. Should’ve given them to you for your birthday instead of useless toffee,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

“Rook…” Ash was lost for words.

“This way you’ll remember to change them whenever you see my ugly mug.”

“I’ll change them every day.”

“Twice on Sundays,” he reminded her.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome. Are you bored out of your mind in here?”

“No. I have the book you gave me,” she said. “And…”

“And?”

“I’ve done a little writing of my own,” she admitted.