AllFreeNovel
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I sneak around a few houses before I finally choose one that has a vast yard and a shed in which clothes are hanging.
After studying my surroundings, I jump over the wall and sneak to the shed. I steal two changes of clothes and even find a pair of fur-lined winter boots.
I roll them all into the oversized coat, attach them to my back, and leave the house right as the front door opens.
A small shriek sounds, but I’m already out of there.
I’ll repay you for these one day, lady.
I rush back to where I left Lipovsky.
He’s curled beneath the tree, his face pasty white and his rifle in his hand.
This is bad. He’s at his physical limits at this point.
In no time, I remove my clothes and lay them on the snow, then put on the pants and cardigan I stole, plus the coat.
After I’m done, I lay Lipovsky down. He moans again, the sound weaker and barely audible.
I hesitate, but only for a second before I rip off his shirt, exposing his—or should I sayherpale skin to the cold.
As I suspected, her chest is bound with a bandage, and she has the figure of a woman.
Now, I don’t know why she goes by a male name or why she went through all the trouble to join the military, but I do know it’s important enough that she sacrificed her gender identity for it.
Or maybe she wants to be a he, which does make sense, considering how much she loathes being weak.
At any rate, she’s more comfortable being addressed as a he, but she really needs to be a she right now. The only way these villagers will help is if we approach them as ordinary people.
I remove the bandages, stopping when her breasts bounce free. They’re neither big nor small. They’re just the right size to grab onto while—
Focus.
I put the dress on her, then make a hole where her wound is and soak it with blood. After I’m satisfied with the way it looks, I remove her pants, cover her with the coat, and slip the boots on her feet. They’re a size too big, but they’ll do. Mine will stay since they fit the clothes I got for me.
Once I’m finished, I pause, staring at her. It’s weird that a mere change of clothes can make such a difference in the way she looks.
After I bury our belongings, including her rifle, in the snow, I carry her bridal style and start toward the village.
She’s light, barely noticeable in my arms. Her head leans against my chest and she has a limp, bloodied arm around my neck.
“Lipovsky,” I call in an attempt to keep her conscious.
“Aleksandra…” she whispers, her voice low and brittle.
So that’s her real name.
Aleksandra.
I’ve got to say, I’m disappointed in the lack of effort in picking a male name.
A man who’s pushing a carriage full of vegetables stops upon seeing me, his old face creasing in surprise.
“What is this…what is going on?” He speaks in a very regional dialect that I barely understand.
“My wife…” I soften my voice and inject it with sorrow, acting the part to perfection. “She was shot by a soldier. Please help us.”
10
