in the side yard of a small clapboard church– a rare

th the metallic smell of blood and the str

y wounded, such an impossible number, that they spilled out of

t, Timothy had picked a pretty good spot, a li

sn't tempted to lay down his surgical equipments an

lor of tattered uniform they had on. Even though

ng awakened him in the early hours of the morning. Something far m

d the entir church yard from right to left. Aside from the occasional shivering o

was as still as a graveyard. Well, almost. Just as he ran his eyes

nted to properly check the area which he had

tomach, made up partly of confusion and partly of fear. After carefully rubbing both e

en he

eature made of moonlight. With her pale gown, sewn of some sort of shimmering fabric and her e

lucinating, Timothy rubbed his eyes once

sly been assisting him with the treatment of injured soldiers of both sides, since the terrible battle earlie

ered for all possible explanations to describe t

mfort to those who were closest to death. Of course, this were all stories of the sickened, injury

pected. Instead, she knelt beside a sorely wounded soldier and drew him tenderly against her bosom, her glori

wardly to his feet. "You there," he said in

e silvery wash of the moon. The boy laid motionless in her arms, his head

n from that distance, that the

the woman. She laid the young man on the grass with infinite gentleness

d clasped her hands together, high above her head. For some sec

o was now close but still some yards out, one

losing his mind after spending so much time, operatin