More furry confusion. You think I'm done? I'm just getting warm. Also developing anti-artblock tools for myself and this here is part of it : instead of warm ups, constantly keeping warm by having constantly a few pieces to work on so I always have one piece's fun part to fall back on for when I get stuck on the tedious moments of another. I think this is my N°1 cause for artblock. Potentially, this technique could solve it forever, but it's too early to tell

https://youtu.be/1dYlwp9CxlU

Battle of Ochleprop 1802

It's the end of the bloody first day of a battle that's only getting started ; both armies have had to fall back, each refusing to concede what has been so far a very indecisive fight for a key position, many braves have died, and the troops are showing signs of discouragement and unrest. Barely contained by the aide introducing him, an angry cuirassier barges into the battalion commander's tent with an officer of hussars; one quick and annoyed glance the commander throws them from above his maps of the battlefield prompts both soldiers to freeze, and salute.

"Aye, sir" the cuirassier shouts. The commander signals for him to speak; he doesn't have all night.
"Sir, this... (he gestures towards the other soldier) ...this hussar thought good to order my unit around!"
The commander turns to the hussar.
« Is that true ? »
« Aye sir ! » is the high-pitched, confident response. The commander turns back to the cuirassier.
"Where are your officers?"
"Sir, they bravely fought to the death this morning, we took heavy los..."
« Where is the problem then ? » he interrupts, then gestures to his secretary behind him : « Take note, the 12th Cuirassiers is depleted and currently leaderless, joined to the 17th Hussars and under the command and responsibility of this regiment's captain until further notice. Captain, lead these men accordingly, with honor... »
« Aye sir ! » the hussar responds proudly, puffing his chest.
« …and with tact, » the commander adds in a whisper ; a whistled, quick « Aye sir » follows, mixed with an audible wheezing from the cuirassier.
« Fall out ! » the commander says considerably louder, causing both soldiers to stiffen their pose and salute, then both exit the tent. He sighs, exhausted, going back to his maps ; he never thought of invoking the divine when it came to tactics or logistics, even the weather or the mistakes of the enemy, but at this moment he thanks God for the authority he holds over men of such disparate races, all brought together from all corners of the empire to be brutally mixed into the great meat grinder of war. The pride and rivalry of the different corps were already difficult to handle at times, it was tenfold the trouble when foxes started shouting orders at horses, and so on. Foxes in particular, my god... they're hard enough to handle when they serve in the infantry, but theses could be written on what riding on horsebacks does to their brains.

The cuirassier has not walked three steps outside the tent, before a brawl almost starts again, and he has to invoke all the discipline, all the respect he has for the chain of command, maybe even the fear of being court-martialed, in order not to jump on the fox's back and tear his whiskers off. This... hussar... he's almost sure... has just clicked his tongue at him !