Private Durandal
"La Haye Sainte? I'm part of a squadron...?" Regan moved slowly to sit up, looking around carefully. She could feel a dull ache in her head, but it wasn't bad. She could deal with it. There was a militia uniform and lancer armor, and her father's mortar lance. What was all that doing there...?
She took a soft, sharp breath before quickly scanning near her bed. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for, and she reached her hand to touch her sword. She let out a soft breath of relief when she felt it in her hand, "here it is..."
She watched curiously as Skye spoke to the other private under the sheets. Brenna. The one was shy around people. She jolted slightly in her bed when Skye assumed she wasn't into women, turning a bit red as she rose to get dressed. She kept her back turned as she dressed, checking herself for other injuries as she went. Just her head, it seemed. And her shoulder. The private looked at Skye as she asked her another question, nodding, "I can walk. And I'm feeling alright. Just a... slight headache."
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As the Sergeant called them to the APC, Durandal put on her armor, grabbed her lance, and climbed aboard. She'd found dogtags and a journal among her things, and she had tucked them carefully away. When did she get out here with the militia...?