Only a Memory
To see France drenched like a drowned wretch is extremely satisfying until I take a good look into his eyes. I've given him incentive to take the children away. While I could potentially overpower him through sheer force, I can't if I'm holding America. I'll have to be more subtle. There isn't time to hesitate. I don't want France to have the first strike, but my brain can't seem to think of a way to water bend with one hand. Water gushes out of the forest and surrounds France's arms forming eight water tendrils ready to strike at a moments notice. I find the spectacle almost comical even if I know full well how effective the technique really is. Still, this style of fighting does not suit France in the slightest, such methods are inelegant and crude and far below Francis usual standards. Having to pull water from so far away must be limiting what he can do, and I know that I'll tire very quickly if I do the same. With this in mind, I take what little water I have in my canteen and prepare to go on the defensive. It's only a fraction of what France has at his disposal, but I only have to outlast him.
"Is that all? Surely, that isn't enough to stop moi," France says, laughing in that obnoxious way of his. I shrug, remaining nonchalant.
"It's all I need," I say.
Francis smirks and strikes with rapid precision. I only manage to block three out of eight blows. We are now equally drenched, and there is a slight pause as the water drips from our clothes into the newly muddy ground.
"Did you expect me to go easy on you?" Francis says, delighted that there wasn't any truth to my earlier boasts. I scowl. There has to be a way to defend myself with more than just my flimsy one handed water bending.
His aggression comes at a price. He needs to refuel quickly before I have a chance to retaliate. With this brief reprieve, I check on America who is still quite dry and blissfully unaware of the danger. I gather as much water as I can from my person and the muddy ground at my feet. Despite my efforts, I don't collect nearly as much as France. He shakes his head as if he expected better and prepares his stance.
"Let me put you out of your misery,"he says, beginning his assault once more. I instinctively protect myself from a frontal assault that risks hurting America. Instead, the water whips my sides, and this time the hits really sting as if his previous blows were only in jest.
Two of the eight water tendrils grab me by the ankles and force me to the ground. Another two restrain my arms, and the remaining four snatch America and Canada away. Drat, that wasn't a development I was expecting. I had assumed Matthew had run away some time after the fight started, and I can't help but feel partially responsible for his capture.
Every second brings me closer to my defeat. I must free my hands if I'm going to have any chance at all, but the thick tendrils hold me in place much more effectively than I would have thought. Several times I've come close to releasing myself only to have the water reform and shackle me again. Fortunately, keeping both the children and I captive prove to be beyond France's capabilities, and I easily break the water apart and set us all free. America falls to the ground and immediately wakes up, startled, as if he has merely been tossed out of bed. Having suffered a similar fate, Canada also doesn't seem to register what happened all that clearly at first. And, it is at this instance that the differences between them becomes clear to me.
Matthew understand almost immediately Francis's intentions and rushes over to his brother, hugging him protectively. America stares at Canada blankly, probably wondering what brought this on. Francis hesitates now that the children are in the way. We lock eyes and reach an agreement. We will settle this fight later. Francis lets what is left of the water seep back into the earth. Satisfied that I won't be struck from behind, I decide to check on the children. Storm clouds gather, and thunder booms ominously. I chalk it to coincidence at first as I am unfamiliar with the weather patterns here, but Canada's glare reminds me of myself at that age. I hesitate, wondering if he could really have such a vitriolic power at his disposal. No, it couldn't be. There are few water benders who could do such a thing. Even so, what he really needs is someone to show him a little respect. I crouch down so we are at eye level.
"Are you two ready to go home?" I don't mind giving them back momentarily. Right now, the most important thing to do is to build trust between us, particularly concerning the children. America watches passively, purposely leaving the decision to Canada.
"We'll walk," Canada says, taking his brother's hand so he can lead him away.
Bullocks, I won't be getting any credit then. I let Canada pass me. There is no reason I can't follow from afar and protect my investment. Francis has other ideas. By now, he realizes he has made a grave miscalculation by revealing his true colors. To Matthew, Francis is no longer simply the man that sometimes gives him sweets. Today, Canada has learned that the sweets come with a price. He blocks Canada's path and offers him his hand, smiling warmly.
"I will take you."
Canada does not smile back and goes around him.
"No thank you," he says curtly. France's smile disappears. His supposedly superior charm has failed him. I'd add to France's misery, but Canada hasn't exactly warmed up to me yet. I'd rather he not see me at my worst. When they are out of sight, Francis speaks up.
"Are you not going to escort them?"
Clearly, he'd go himself if Canada hadn't just rejected him so handily. I suppose I've waited long enough. There is a chance I'll lose sight of them if I dally any longer.
"Of course, I will. We are not the only ones on the coast, currently. I'd be a fool to leave them unattended for very long. At least, I know you won't be a problem anymore. "
"This only a minor set back for me. They are young and fickle. My sweets and superior charm will win Canada and America over eventually, " he says.
"Of course, I know you don't give up easily, but at least, they're not blind to your ambitions. By the way, how many times have you fought Spain over Italy now?" I say, and he scoffs, crossing his arms defensively.
"Is your camp far?" he asks.
Truthfully, I had wandered far searching for Canada and America's encampment. And yet, I did not think it was something wise to admit. We'd only end up fighting again, and France would gain the upper hand in a prolonged engagement.
"It's not much of a walk," I lie.
France seems to catch the uncertainty in my voice but chooses not to call my bluff.
"I see. Well, you are welcomed to stay the night when you return if you like. I will be serving dinner soon," he says. I have to wonder if he means to trick me, even if the offer sounds genuine enough.
"I'm surprised. I would think you'd like to see me lost in the woods," I say, dropping all pretenses. I am not familiar with the landscape, and my chances of making it back to my encampment before dark are slim.
"No, you're thinking of Scotland, silly Angleterre. He'd be a moody mess for weeks when you'd find your way out of the woods if I remember correctly, " he says smugly, returning to his tent.
His words are true enough, and they bring back unwelcome feelings that I'd rather keep buried. The woods weren't always my safe haven. I leave the clearing and find the children are still fairly close to the encampment. America is oddly sluggish and a far cry from the energetic tike I met a few hours earlier. I can see why they haven't made much progress. Canada is the one keeping him awake and moving. Luckily, they haven't noticed me yet , and I don't think they will so long as I keep to the shadows.
"Come on, we're almost there," Canada says. America nods and yawns.
"Do you think she noticed we left?" he asks. Canada doesn't answer right away.
"I don't think mom is back from hunting yet."
"Good, she's been really paranoid lately," America says.
I accidentally trip over a root and fall forward, making America squeak. I'd laugh if I didn't find the situation so irritating. The path had been fairly easy to cross before now. Canada doesn't seem at all surprised. Perhaps, he expected something like this after my brief confrontation with France.
"I'm starting to get why," Canada says.
"Hello, Mr Roanoke," America says cheerfully.
"Please don't call me that," I say wearily.
"Why are you here?" Canada asks.
"I wanted to make sure you were safe," I say, dusting myself off.
"Or that no one else gets to take us" Canada says. Oh, is that why I've been getting as many dirty looks as France? I'm not leaving anytime soon even if Elizabeth is getting rather frail . . . or at the very least, more self indulgent.
The letters I've received lately have been fairly explicit and must have been dangerous to send. It reeks of desperation. Elizabeth is usually far more cautious. I wonder if her end is closer than I thought if she cares so little for her own safety. Maybe, I should go home. No, I can't let France's mind games get to me. I need to focus on the task at hand.
"Matthew, may I call you Matthew?"
"I guess," he says.
"I only want to extend my friendship to you two and your mother now that we will be living in close quarters. I see no reason why we can't get along. Have I honestly intentionally done any harm to either of you?" I ask.
My sincerity is enough to put Canada at ease. He is still just a child after all, and accidentally waking Alfred from a nap is hardly enough of a reason to hold a grudge.
"Come on, he's not so bad," Alfred says, assuring me that what happened earlier isn't a fluke either. He does on some level consider me trustworthy or at the very least more approachable than France. I'd say some progress has definitely been made since this morning.
"Fine. You can come," Canada says, dragging America forward while I bring up the rear. His brother hasn't quite woken up yet. He yawns often and almost trips and falls in Canada's haste. I'd offer to carry him, but the trip is surprisingly short, and there is no need.
The camp is lackluster with only a tent and a doused fire to show that their mother has been there at all. However, there are a few strewn logs that are perfect to sit on, and this particular clearing has edible berries nearby. Matthew picks some berries from a nearby bush and is kind enough to offer me some. America decides to nap on the soft grass near my feet to take advantage of the shade the old rotten logs offers. As far as encampments go, it is ideal, and I wouldn't mind staying the night if she let me. Still, I'd rather not risk travel in the dark should she cast me out into these unfamiliar woods, no matter how tame they appear to be. Perhaps, it would be better to take up France's offer rather than trust a stranger to be kind. After all, even an enemy can serve as a friend when it is convenient.
"Boys, are you here? Or did you wander off again?" she calls out, still obscured by the trees and bushes surrounding us. The sounds of a carcass being dragged across the forest floor let me know more or less where she is.
Canada rapidly stuffs the remaining berries into his mouth and tries to push me aside, back into the safety of the woods. I see no reason to run yet and his light shoves are easy enough to ignore. Luckily, America doesn't show any signs of waking soon, or I'd have another pair of grubby hands pawing at me to go away.
"You can't stay. She'll get mad," Canada begs, still futilely pushing against me with his meager strength, or perhaps, he is holding back. His brother has already proven how deceptively strong he is, and considering the random thunderstorm a few minutes ago, his strengths might simply lie elsewhere.
"They're safe. I hope you don't mind me dropping in," I answer. Canada emits a frustrated whine and mumbles a heart breaking little no. I pat his back reassuringly. He isn't receptive, and simply sits by his brother, pouting.
The trees shake, looking almost afraid as they tremble. The earth cracks and several trees are rooted from the ground as the woman rides in, a dead deer carcass slung across her back. She is panting heavily as she flattens the ground below her feet and makes her way to me.
"Why are you here?" she asks, distrustful but patient. America is sound asleep, and Canada is unharmed if distraught. For now, she will give me a chance to explain myself.
"I found them in France's camp. I thought you'd like them returned," I answer honestly. This catches her off guard, and she turns to Canada who at some point had decided his best option was to hide behind the log unaware how easy he'd be to spot from her vantage point.
"Is this true or is there more to it than that?" she asks. Canada mumbles something. She sighs and puts the deer carcass down before reaching to pick him up. When she does, he shuts his eyes tight and clings to her, unwilling to answer.
"You went to ask him for more sweets didn't you?"
Realizing he has been caught, he nods and starts to sob uncontrollably.
"Why are you crying? I'm not scolding you," she says.
At this point, I'm feeling quite out of place. I've never been around children much, particularly crying children. There isn't anything more I can do here. It might be time for me to slip away, but I am not so lucky as she notices my hasty exit.
"Hold on, I still don't understand. Why would you return them? I thought the point of your game was for one of you to take the children, " the woman says, puzzled.
"It's a rather short sighted game. I'd rather have your trust,"I say, and my word are true enough although I'm aware that she won't realize why that is until much later in the game. She smiles and puts Matthew down He is still staring at her as if he's never seen her smile. I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.
"For now, you have my trust, just make sure you don't do anything to lose it. Stay or go, I will not stop you either way," she says, checking on America. He is still sound asleep on the grass. Satisfied, she sits down to skin the deer she acquired.
Canada points to one of the unoccupied logs, clearly expecting me to stay with them tonight. The sun is setting, and my only other option is taking up France's offer from before. I don't see why not.
"Where would I sleep?" I ask. There is only one tent which is problematic and potentially uncomfortable for both of us. The woman doesn't turn but answers nonchalantly.
"On the ground."
"Would we be sharing the tent?" I ask instead. She has to give me a straight answer eventually. This seems to finally give her pause although she still refuses to look at me for whatever reason. The woman briefly glances at the children, and I'm quick to elaborate.
"To keep warm and such," I say.
"I will not refuse you shelter if you need it," she says, but the idea still doesn't sit particularly well with me. We haven't known each other long. She may not express it, but I feel she must has similar doubts. There is still time to return to France's camp instead, and it's tempting to seek shelter from the person I am more familiar with.
"I think it'd be best if I left. We'll talk some other time," I say.
"If that is what you wish," the woman says. Her tone hasn't changed in anyway, and I've no idea if I've offended her or not. Canada, on the other hand, waves goodbye, slightly disappointed. I know I've missed my chance to get closer to the children. One missed opportunity doesn't matter much in the long run I suppose. My goal isn't to integrate myself into their lives but to accustom them to mine.
The trip back to France's camp is short but agonizing, almost like waiting for a doctor to put leeches on your body. You know that it will hurt but at the same time, your other options aren't much better so you let the blasted things suck on you a while. Francis is already serving food to his men. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees me, but he offers me a smile soon after. The sentiment rings false, but I am only here because it is convenient so I let it go.
"Welcome, would you like some turtle soup?"
I nod gruffly and accept the meal. There are more spices in the soup than I am used to, and I reach for my canteen of water often. France notices.
"Can you not handle any sort of flavor, Arthur? Why wash such tasty food out of your system so quickly?" he asks. I roll my eyes.
"It's just a bit spicy. That's all."
Getting the idea that I don't particular dislike the meal, Francis drops the subject and finishes serving the men. Supper is otherwise uneventful, and I say little, hoping that we can tolerate each other for what remains of the day. Francis doesn't seem to mind my sudden muteness. They are talking of things that don't really concern me, fur trading in the north and the possibility of making more settlements there mostly. For now, I'm sticking to the coast.
The time eventually comes when there is scarcely any sunlight left for us to tell each other apart. Francis takes one last sip of wine and signals for me to follow him into his tent. I raise an eyebrow. He can't be serious. Perhaps, I should have risked a night with the savage.
"Would you rather spend the night with one of them? I have no spare tents," Francis says. I look at my prospects, some seem a little too eager to help, and my nerves get the best of me. I follow Francis inside. Thankfully, the sleeping arrangements are reasonable, and we are as far apart as humanly possible when we lay down to rest.
"Sweet dreams Angeterre," France says.
"My dreams are rarely sweet," I mutter.
"That is understandable. There are often times when even I am up at night reliving a memory, wishing I could have done something different. Are you the same?"
"Not really," I say, disliking the direction the conversation is going. France had been ready to call it a night before I said anything.
"So, there is nothing you regret?" he asks.
I sigh because that is not the case at all. Lately, there is much I have reconsidered. This place feels like a good place to start over, and yet, it is only temporary. I'll have to comeback home someday, but I'm afraid of what I'm might find when I get there.
"Yes but there is no use dwelling on the past. It can't be changed," I say.
"Ah, I suppose that is one way to look at it. For me, the past brings me a sense of peace. What has come before has allowed what is to be, and in the end, I can erase none of it without eliminating the good," France says.
What a sentimental old fool, I hope there doesn't come a day where I am the same.
"Would you still send that foolish farm girl into battle, already knowing the outcome?" I ask. My question hits a sore spot, but the flash of anger leaves and is replaced with something I can't quite identify, a passion I cannot fathom.
"Sacrifice is not worthless to me. Why would I rob her of her purpose and glory? She was meant to be my savior, no one else could have taken her place," he says firmly. I scoff, her tortured image ingrained into my cynical mind.
"She did not die a glorious death. The girl was shamed and broken by the time she was burned," I say, knowing full well it could cost me my shelter for the night.
Surprisingly, he says nothing. His silence is effective. The conversation is abruptly ended, and I am left with odd thoughts as I drift to sleep.
"You've done well so far, but they are right. Eventually, you'll have to marry. By staying single, you leave me vulnerable to attack." I feel like I've said that before. It is by no means the only thing that strikes me as familiar. Elizabeth is still young and vibrant.
"By staying single, I'm giving you options," she says, showing little to no concern over the matter. It used to anger me but I've come to realize that I was the one being a bit hasty.
"Perhaps, you're right, but how long do you expect to stall?" I ask. The words come out automatically because I am a prisoner to my own memory. No chance to do anything different.
"Relax Arthur, does our current peace not please you?"
"Yes but your safety concerns me. Today, they love you, but tomorrow, they might turn on you, particularly when there is another heir with a legitimate claim."
"I'm well aware. They did used to call me mama's little whore," she says, slightly bothered now. I've put her in a bad mood. It won't matter in a few minutes.
"And, now, you are their savior. Cheer up, I only want you taken care of," I say just as a man comes out of the bushes in front of us. This person is not one of the slow moving listless upperclass. His stride is quick and purposeful. Fire bursts from his fist before I can even uncork my flask and retaliate. Elizabeth succinctly blocks his attack and cripples him.
"I can take care of myself," she says, strangely calm despite the sudden danger.
The assassin tries to strike again, but I am prepared this time. My water whip easily penetrates his defenses, knocking him over. I should be relieved, but there is something deeply wrong with this man. He stands up again, walking toward me like a living corpse. His entire body seems to be half numb. Despite this, he attempts to maintain his speed and unleash a flash a fire at my face that will blind me and make me an easy target. I dodge but experience no heat from the blast. The man looks at his fist dumbly, no fire has come out. I can't help but be equally stupefied.
"I see," I say, not completely believing what I just witnessed.
"Can you please take care of that for me?" she asks me. I'd normally would without a second thought, but I have so many questions.
"Of course, but how did you-"
"Pay attention next time, if you really want to know" she says, snapping at me.
Elizabeth's expression makes it quite clear that no answers will be forthcoming so I drop the subject and take the opportunity to finish him off while he is disoriented and confused. I don't bother water bending and simply knock him unconscious with my fist. Elizabeth laughs, not used to seeing something as quaint as punching someone in the face. I take a closer look at him. He seems to be one of Spain's if I go by the dark hair and fair complexion. The boy is a little on the young side, but his discretion cannot go unpunished. I have no qualms sending him to the dungeon.
"I'm going to need a minute" I say, excusing myself. She just stands there, smirking as I drag the man away. This is just another failed assassination attempt to her. When I return, Elizabeth is staring off into the distance. There is a calculating look on her face that I've become intimately familiar with.
"I see you've been keeping busy," I say sarcastically.
"Yes, but I have to wonder if you're done nagging me yet."
"Come now, Elizabeth, there has to be someone who strikes your fancy."
"You skipped my meeting with parliament last week didn't you? "
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Because if you had gone, you'd known already."
"So, you have made a decision,"I say and I can't help but feel oblivious in retrospect.
"In a way," she says, purposely vague. For someone that always claims to be innocent and pure, she's always taken pleasure in teasing me.
"Who is it?"
Elizabeth smiles but says nothing verbally. Instead, she comes toward me and pecks me on the cheek. I'm wide awake after that. The memories linger and leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Why must I think of the beginning when we are close to the end? Francis is awake as well. I imagine that I must look as distraught as he does right now.
"Were your dreams sweet tonight?"
"Yes," I admit finally. The sadness comes from another source entirely.
"Mine were not," he says.
"Would you like to talk about it?" I offer. I do owe him a favor for putting up with me tonight.
"No, she will not haunt me further. Return to sleep if you can and pray that I can do the same," Francis says.
The connection is easy to make, and my mind takes me away from my pleasant remembrances to a much darker place. This time to witness the end instead of the beginning.
"You have come to collect me," the girl says.
"Oh, is that so? Did the voices tell you that?" I'm mildly surprised. I did not believe her to be gifted supernaturally, but then again, I was and still am unlikely to believe anything coming from France's mouth.
"I hear many things. They said you will not be the one to take me so I am not worried," she says.
The nerve of this Joan to think she has a sliver of hope left. No matter, this is a simple errand, and I won't have to bare her company for very long. Soon, she will be the bishop's problem.
" While you are chained, the power you posses matters little. Metal is no friend to earth benders. The very thing that protects you, also hurts you. I don't think for a second that you'll best me" I say, confident that there won't be any complications. So what if she has almost escaped before, a rat will crawl into any hole it sees.
Even so, her stare is deep and penetrating, and for a brief second, I am hesitant to open her cell. She's waiting for something. I turn the key slowly trying to predict her next move before she makes it, but she remains perfectly still.
"England," she says once I open the lock.
"Yes?" The girl is small and pale although she has not yet succumb to hunger and hopelessness. I shouldn't be so nervous.
"I'd rather die than go with you."
All at once, things go terribly wrong. She snaps her chains as if they were annoying bits of string and rips the very fabric of her prison and hurls the bricks at me. My surprise is paralyzing and the first few bricks make contact. Two of these blows are inconsequential and result in a few dents in my armor. She is tactful though and the third smacks me right in the face. The pain prevents me from thinking rationally, and my first instinct is to strike back. After a few clear misses, I collect what is left of my water supply and heal myself before there is any permanent damage.
Predicting this, Joan runs past me and heads upstairs. What an idiot, there is no way to go but up, and I'll eventually back her into a corner. With this in mind, I take my time going up. She didn't even bother laying any sort of trap, but perhaps, she was expecting me to come after her sooner and didn't think that far ahead. On my way up, I pass some fallen guards. They're unconscious but alive, and for that, I respect her a little more. She could have easily beaten them to a bloody pulp and been on her merry way. Pity, she'll be dead soon. The woman clearly had potential.
When I reach the top, Joan is standing on the very edge of the castle wall, looking down. Despite knowing her probable future, I can't help but be concerned. Seeing someone die is never pleasant, you simply get used to it after a while. Considering how long I took to get up here, Joan must not be entirely sure she wants to jump. I don't want to hasten her demise in such a sinful manner.
"For God's sake, don't jump."
"If I jump, it will be for my sake alone," she answers, turning around.
"Are you really so desperate?"
"I have not known you to be kind, and those that have been kind have been equally treacherous. This is the only one path remaining," she says.
Her resolve is astonishing. I'm not sure I've ever had as much faith as she seems to have.
"Why die if there is still a chance of living?"
She smiles, a secret smile. There is something I'm not getting.
"Who ever said that I planned to die today?"
She jumps, and at first, Joan glides through the air like she was born to fly. Brick by brick, she dances to safety, using the stones to slow her descent, but her triumph is short lived. Her concentration breaks as more knights become aware of her escape and throw their weapons at her. She knocks the weapons away, but the cost is steep. Joan plummets to the ground where the stones she wretched from the castle prove to be a disadvantage more than anything else. She is left bruised and bloodied on the ground.
This time, I run out the tower, a little afraid to bring a dead body to the priest, only to find a circle of knights inspecting her. There are exclaims of surprise. I come closer and see that she is still breathing. I sigh in relief. Amazing, it's simply amazing she survived. So amazing, that I'm having second thoughts about handing her over to be condemned. Maybe, she was meant for something more.
"Bring her inside," I say when the inspection runs too long. She's better off resting on a bed than having these uneducated brutes handle her.
Once inside, reality sets in, and the Duke of Burgundy and his entourage take over. The women in particular seem distraught to see Joan beat up by her own folly. She is quickly ushered out of my sight, and I'm left to deal with the Duke of Burgundy myself.
"Sorry, you had to see that. We often let her walk a top the tower. She must have gone mad to think she could fly away," Phillip says. I nod, reminding myself I am here on business. Whether Joan deserves redemption or not is not my decision to make, the priest are more than capable of making a judgement that leaves me out of the equation.
"It appears she will be far more difficult to transport than I realized. I can see why they sent me. I'd no idea she was a cut above the dirt pushers," I say conversationally. The man looks confused. Hmm, so, her abilities are not well known even in these parts.
"This may seem a tad unconventional but I'm going to need a lot of rope, and possibly, some type of potion or herb to keep her quiet if you have any."
"Yes of course, if you think that will keep her from hurting herself, we'll be glad to order a potion from the apothecary that will keep her complacent if you wish," Phillip says, seeming to truly mean well. Alas, in the end, I know that he sold her down the river for a few gold coins.
"Thank you for your kindness," I say, sincerely hoping treachery would not soon follow suit. I do not see Joan until the next morning.
"You were wrong. I will be the one to take you after all," I say. She laughs, a quiet little laugh. Joan is perfectly fine despite a few visible cuts and bruises. This gives me a peculiar sense of relief. She has a chance however slight of exiting this life with some dignity intact.
"No, I wasn't. I simply misunderstood what they wanted to tell me."
"And, what would that be?"
"They want me to be brave, and to do that, I must stand judgement, no matter the outcome. I will not be taken but escorted," she says.
To be honest, I find her conclusion to be a bit naive, but if it gives her comfort, I see no reason to take this small mercy away from her. At least this way, she is more likely to cooperate with me than not.
"Very well, if that is how you choose to look at it, I'll not fault you," I say.
"May I ask you one favor?"
"Go ahead," I say, wondering if she could really ask something of me that I can actually give her.
"Stay with me until the end. I'd like at least one face that doesn't want me dead at my trial," she says.
"I suppose I can do that," I say finally, wishing I hadn't agreed to the favor, not when I already know the outcome.
"Thank you for your kindness. Now if you excuse me, I must ask forgiveness to God for my actions just now and thank the angels for sparing me this day," she says, leaving me alone with an ever growing sense of dread. I'd rather wish I hadn't known her at all. I care far more than I should whether she lives or not.
This time, when I open my eyes, the sun is out, and I have no choice but to get out of bed. I am grateful. I don't think I can't handle another bout into the past. France, for one reason or another, is still in the tent with me.
"Tell me, did you dream of years gone by last night? " he asks.
"Yes," I say, seeing no use in lying this time. We both had disconcerting dreams last night. I do not think it was a coincidence.
"And, do you wish you could have changed the outcome?" France asks again. I have to wonder what he means by all of this. The past still cannot be changed. No matter what I might regret or even miss.
"Yes, sometimes I wish I could."
"Then, maybe, we might yet still see eye to eye someday," he says, leaving me alone to think for a while. When I leave, I return to town and have a drink with Roger. I don't want to regret, missing anything this time around.