Feuilly

Even the excuse of coming out of a very strange week of not being himself isn't enough to keep Feuilly from work--but he finds that in that week, barely remembered, he finished up his translation of the Pasteur volume, and made a great deal of progress reading it over! Or at least he thinks that's what he's done. The notebook with the translation is full of marks in green pencil, in his handwriting, making corrections that he certainly agrees with.

So for the morning he carries on correcting his work, now with a dog lying on his feet in a way that will be welcome in winter weather; and when his two hours are up he makes his way to the stables with an odd feeling of having gotten ahead of himself somehow.

It turns out that you can't actually just lie around in the grass forever; for one thing, bugs start biting you, and other residents come strolling by or want to visit the stable, and the day wears on. So Feuilly had gone to his work--belatedly--and Harry had gone about whatever Harry does--presumably horse things? Knight things?

And Feuilly had set himself to start his painting and his translation work an hour earlier the next morning. He'd fit more hours into the day if he could, but until Joly or Combeferre discovers something along those lines, he'll just sleep less! It's a workable plan!

So Feuilly has circles under his eyes as well as bruises under his shirt when he wanders to the stable in the late afternoon. With his practice sword! With his practice sword held rather awkwardly, because he's not sure if he and Percy actually have a...scheduled...arrangement to meet...? But, you know, he's just. Wandering over to the stables. With a sword.

Like you do.

Well, also a basket of food. He'd been hungry after their training session.