Phillipe Gaston pulled himself to his feet. Something popped ominously in this back and he winced. The horse stood quietly, watching him. For once Phillipe was mute, his inner monologue silenced by the pain. He blinked back unshed tears and reached for the horse's mane.
"Can't stop now, Phillipe. If they catch you they'll beat you or string you up. Or...or worse."
The mare stood quietly and Phillipe hopped on a log and gingerly climbed back on her. Once he was settled in, he cautiously asked her to step forward; she complied and they moved ahead at a walk, which he hoped would outpace anybody following them, but he had his concerns. "Subterfuge, old girl. I think that's our only hope. Confuse them and don't let them know which direction we have gone in."
Phillipe turned her into a number of confusing twists before they truly headed off. He made sure to obscure their trail further by doubling over a water crossing several times.
A little pin prick of guilt nagged at the back of his mind. God had given him a second chance, had pulled him from the very depths of Aquila, and here he had descended back into thievery the moment he left the captain's side… maybe he should never have left. He figured his part in the drama was done--that if he stayed, he would only be in the way as he always had been. But what if he was wrong ? Was he meant to stay there? Was Navarre a guide meant to keep him on the path of righteousness?
Could an ex-Thief ever truly be redeemed? Maybe there was something wrong with him? Maybe it wasn't merely circumstance that drove him to be the way he was? The thought was uncomfortable. He had long ago accepted himself as flawed, as a creature that God had crafted with foibles and imperfections that were baked into his character…and yet now he wondered. He wondered what was him at his core and what was merely what he'd been forced to do. To live.
He did not feel well, in fact the pain bloomed from his shoulder around to his sternum and he sucked in a ragged breath. His instinct had always been to skirt clear of towns, keep his head down--hunt on his own, steal on the outskirts, but now, now he felt a pull toward other humans. Something was wrong. "Oh Daisy. I'm going to die alone out here." The world swam dangerously before Phillipe blacked out over the huge grey neck.
Pain pulled the young thief out of his stupor. He registered that he was lying on the ground and as he opened his eyes, he saw a set of large hooves and a nose snuffled his hair. He didn't understand why, but the idea that the horse had not abandoned him made a lump form in his throat and tears prick at his eyes. He'd never been bothered by being alone before-- he had, in fact, always been alone. But now that he'd had a taste of companionship, he felt the absence of it so keenly that it at times made him want to cry. He reached up and pet the horse's velvet nose before she started to forage the ground next to his head for edible plants. His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten. Hadn't had the taste for hawk, his favorite dinner, ever since Isabeau.
He'd supped on a rabbit a day or so ago. Some bread he'd swiped and Daisy's grain.
"Daisy, I do not feel well. In fact, I feel like I may slip into the otherworld. I haven't had time to steal a coin for the boatman." He wasn't even quite sure where he'd even heard snatches of Greek mythology, but it floated around in his brain like all the other snatches of things that he'd heard once upon a time in a song or a tale.
He used to touch the books he came across in shop windows or churches with reverence, wondering how amazing it would be to be able to read them. He wondered what stories they contained. But access to that knowledge had been blocked for him. No one taught poor orphaned boys to read.
No, they were for toil.
He sat up dully. His head hurt. In fact it hurt too much for him to keep up his running monologue.
He blinked back tears. "Daisy, something is wrong with me. I burn and I ache."
The horse stopped her grazing to listen and then resumed cropping the grass.
Phillipe tried to climb to his feet and could not keep his balance. He landed on his side on the wet leaves. "Lord," he whispered. "Perhaps I've done my part in things and this is the end. But I sincerely hope you change your mind."
He laid his cheek against the sodden ground and prayed.
Sometime later Phillipe realized that Daisy had wandered off. "Horses," he said under his breath. "Never could trust them. No. Just like human beings. Never there when you need them. Always find the grass is greener without you."
It took a herculean effort to pull himself to his feet. When he was vertical, he set off after the obvious tracks his horse had left. At first he was concerned that she was heading back to the barn that he stole her from, but then as he started following slowly, he realized that was not the case. She seemed to be heading south. He walked until he couldn't anymore and sat to shelter against a tree. The cold damp had gotten into his bones.
A voice cut through the silence. He heard it as if through a tunnel at first, then slowly, more clear. "Hello?"
A woman's tone.
Did he dare answer?
He almost didn't, and then his better sense took over, and he realized that sitting here alone in the woods, he would surely perish. So he took a chance.
"Hello." He called back.
"Phillipe?"
He froze. Had he heard his name? Was this an angel come to collect his spirit?
He licked his lips.
"Who wants to know?"
The form stepped into the clearing and pulled her hood back. Her blonde hair framed her head like a halo.
"Milady!" He squeaked.
She rushed to him and knelt down, put her hand on his cheek. Her blue eyes were kind. "There you are, Little Mouse. When we heard from one of the guards that a horse went missing from the farm down the road, I knew it had to be you. was lodging near here and all of the sudden a big grey mare came plodding into the inn with a bridle and no rider."
He tried to give her a smile but instead his face crumpled.
"Oh, Phillipe, what's wrong?" Isabeau pulled him to her shoulder and mortified Phillipe began to cry.