CHAPTER TWO: Ascending

Rouen

I knew not how long it had been since I had left Ireland. The trip had been a long one, for that I was certain, and very rough at that also. Stowing-away on the right ships was a very hard task to accomplish, and I found myself on many different countries but Germany. I decided to stop at a place known as Rouen, and I would continue my journey to Germany on foot. It seemed to be the only way.

As I was quietly sidling my way through the alleyways of Rouen, a sudden and sharp pain erupted in my stomach. My legs unexpectedly buckled and I lost all feeling in them, causing me to collapse. I grew weary and dizzy, and for some reason I could not make the sense out of things. After a few oblivious minutes I realized my fate; the last time I had eaten something was too long ago in my memory to recall. I had to eat something quick, or this fatigue would never cease. However when I tried to stand, my whole body ached and had spasms. Conducting a theft of a piece of bread in this condition would be futile.

I pulled my knees up to my chest as I had in the barley fields, and began to sob. No tears fell from my eyes as my body was genuinely dehydrated and famished, so I knew this was the end for me. Back at the farm I had eaten scarcely, but no pain from hunger like this had ever swept over me before. How much I longed for barley oats…

Someone must have been present, for I heard shuffling. I didn't acknowledge it – doing the simplest thing caused horrible pain to blossom in my body. I shut my eyes to try and sleep, but then I heard another object hit the ground. The smell of warm bread filled my nostrils, which only made me weep.

"And now I am hallucinating?" I murmured hopelessly.

"Non, vous n'êtes pas hallucinant," came a reply from a boy's voice. Ignoring the pain, I sat up immediately. Even though I did not understand French, I was aware of the base of words and sure enough, right there before my eyes were two hot cross buns. Not hesitating for a mere moment, I grasped the food in my palm and took a vigorous bite out of it. The soft, flavor exploding grain on my dry tongue made tears pour out of my eyes.

"It…tastes so good…!" I wept through a full mouth. After swallowing, I looked up to thank the boy who had been so generous to me; yet he was blanketed by the shadows, and I could only make out vague features of him.

"Thank you," I breathed, "a century's time thank you. No one has ever been this generous to me." Though I knew he probably did not understand English, I spoke anyway – I just had to someway express my thanks to him. The boy surprised me by his reply;

"So you're from Ireland."

I blinked. "Yes…how could you tell?"

"By your accent," he snorted. "And why English instead of Gaeilge?"

"My father thought it was wise to teach us the Great Empire's language…since it is used by so many."

"The 'Great Empire'?" I was astounded he had never heard of the Great Empire.

"Uhm… Br-Britain…?" I felt unmoral for addressing it as such, but the boy was from Rouen so of course he would speak ill of it.

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "Of course. Sorry…" He only muttered those words.

I swallowed as the conversation was getting a little bit awkward. "Ah, um… do you have a name?" I tried to move a bit closer so I could try to see the details in his face, but something bizarre-shaped and fur-lined got into my way.

"Yes, of course I have a name." With what he said I scrunched my nose; he was beginning to remind me of Catriona. "I-It's Auguste."

I took another bite of my bread, chewing slowly and thinking of his name. Auguste… I seemed to be fond of it. Shaking my head, I said in return;

"Auguste… Hm. I'm Marienbard."

Auguste leaned in, out of the shadows, to where he was only a few inches away from my face. I saw his head was that of a mighty wolf, and I couldn't utter out the fear that had swept over me. When he didn't dig his yellow canines into my pale skin, I relaxed a fraction of an inch.

"Marian the Bard?" he exclaimed in a rather excited voice. "You're a poet? Why're you dressed in rags, then?"

I swallowed hard. "N-no… it is just… M-Marienbard…" I exhaled very deeply. "An-and you are a werewolf…?" My voice cracked at the end of the word.

Auguste chuckled. "No. It's just a mask," and he backed away from me. "My father was a valiant poacher," Auguste explained.

"Was he arrested?" I said through a mouthful of bread. "You know, for his crimes?"

Auguste sighed. "Unfortunately. Actually, he was even charged with the death penalty. I wear this in honor of him."

I bowed my head respectively. "I see. I too have had my father taken away from me unfairly."

Auguste came from the side of the alley and sat by my side, wrapping an arm around me. "In that case, we orphans must stick together."

I kept my gaze fixed on the bread that was in my hands, and smiled. "No – he isn't dead. He was sent to the Germany cavalry without say."

"I heard about that!" Auguste exclaimed, and I looked at him in surprise.

"You know Feidhelm O'Flaherty?"

"No, no," He laughed at my bewildered expression. "I meant about the mercenaries. Apparently they're forcing just about everyone who can wield a weapon to join."

At his words I involuntarily placed my hand on my scythe that sat behind me. Auguste didn't seem to notice – or that's what I thought, for all I could see of his face was a menacing wolf-head. He stood, and held his hand out to me. "Finish your bread, 'cause I want to show you how I live in Rouen."

I smiled and finished my bread in a few quick bites, then shoved the other bun down my tunic. Grabbing my scythe in the other hand, I took Auguste's and we made our way down the alley.