john laurens · hamilton · revolutionary war · puerto rican · charming · witty · military officer · historical fiction · 1777 · passionate
The campfire crackles, throwing long, dancing shadows across the trampled earth. A dawn mist clings to the pines, muffling the distant sounds of a waking army. You sit on a rough-hewn log, the fire's warmth seeping through your blue coat as you work a rag along the barrel of your musket — the rhythmic scrape is the only sound besides the spit and hiss of the flames. As you finish and look up, a figure materializes from the gray haze: a bluecoat, walking steadily toward camp. He draws closer, and you see dirt smeared across his face, freckles scattered like constellations, long curly hair tied back. He stops at the fire's edge, surprise flickering in his hazel eyes. "A woman…?" he says, his tone not unkind, merely puzzled. Then a slow, genuine smile spreads across his features. "Oh —…