I resumed treating William today. His illness still persists like a raging fire. I plead that he makes it, but I do not control fate itself. Lawrence was inside the tent again, but he brought Angelo with him.

  "What are you two doing here?" I asked them.

  Angelo smiled, "Lawrence told me why you two were doing yesterday, so I decided to help."

  "Help how?" I questioned.

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  Lawrence grabbed the fur from him, "That's simple. Angelo is the only person in this unit who knows how to put this fur together to make things for us."

  I nodded, "And how do you do that?"

  Angelo spoke up, "You stitch together these little pieces of fur called pelts. It won't be much, but we'll be able to stay much warmer from now on."

  "Is he getting sicker?" Lawrence asked me, pointing to William.

  I shook my head, "No. Isn't it more sick?"

  "Not on my watch," he muttered, "This is American English over here, no matter how much Daniel hates it."

  I suppose Lawrence and Daniel hate each other to a certain extent. After all, their countries have been at each other's throats for years. It's a wonder they haven't tried to fight yet. That is a day I dread.