Part III: Salut

The following morning, Fleance was sent out to seek a job. A strangely guilty looking Ben supplied the boy with a knapsack full of anything one could need for a day – a lunch, his own penknife, a hand drawn map of the small city. As Fleance walked out the door, he glanced back at his friend and waved cheerfully, never guessing this would be the last time he would see him.

The young boy stood tall, attempting to radiate with confidence in his every stride. He never touched the map as he worked his way through the quiet streets, wishing more to seem as though he belonged somewhere than know where he was going. Upon nearing the main square, the traffic thickened with more people scurrying about, rushing to do chores and buy goods. He stepped out into the large, open area just as he heard the clamor.

"Out, out, out! Shoo!" A man was shouting from the doorway of his shop, his arms flailing wildly in the air. The man's face was beet red as he glared at a group of children about Fleance's age running across the square, giggling and laughing the whole way. They were headed straight for Fleance.

One of them, the smallest, leanest one, was laughing so hard that he lost his footing and tripping, sending him sprawling out onto the pavement a meter away from Fleance while the others shot past, not even bothering to stop and make sure their friend was alright. "Attendez! Wait!" he cried in a high voice, his lower lip trembling as he looked down at his scraped knee. One of his friends laughed, turning around for a moment as he ran to look.

"Get up, Sandy! We're not waiting for you!" The older boy chuckled again, turning and running to catch up with their other friends. Fleance looked down at Sandy, tilting his head curiously. The thin boy sat on his knees, staring after his friends for a moment in disbelief before rising to his feet, wiping off his knees.

"Âne," he muttered under his breath, glaring at his friend's backs while Fleance stood there dumbly. Sensing another person's presence, Sandy turned, startled to see Fleance standing so close by. "Salut."

"Uh, hello," Fleance muttered, embarrassed that he didn't know the native tongue. "I'm Fleance."

"Sandy." The other boy looked Fleance over skeptically, trying to figure out just where he'd come from. Fleance did the same: Sandy had a girlish face with bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks. His hair was covered by an old, ratty hat that matched his clothes quite well. His arms and legs were thin in the starving way, with little muscle. "You're not from here."

Fleance shook his head. "No."

Sandy's eyes flitted nervously from the shop he and his friends had just escaped, to Fleance's face, to the escape route, and then back to Fleance. "Comment tu t'apelles de nouveau?" Fleance stared at him blankly, blinking. Sandy raised a single eyebrow, then recalled the other boy's inability to speak French. "Désolé. Sorry. What's your name, again?"

"Oh. Fleance."

"Well vas-y, come on, Fleance!" Sandy grabbed Fleance's wrist and suddenly yanked him forwards, taking off at a run in the direction his friends had gone. The foreign boy had no choice but to follow, running as fast as he could to keep up with his wiry new friend.