(Im not dead. Life just got in the way of writing)
2nd, May
Somewhere in rural France
Louis trudged ever foreword, pushing through the dense thicket towards the sound of running water. The pale mix of moon and star light, cast a light almost blue, unearthly glow over the trees, and mass of spring vegetation hampering his quest for water. There had not been much food or drink since he had abandoned the fight army. The few towns he had passed had been unwelcoming. Some seeing him as a traitor to the Nation, others seeing him as a threat to their new local "commune", and yet more now simply afraid to welcome outsiders in this time of war, and civil strife. He found himself unable to blame them. Any of them. He felt the pain of turning his back on France, as well as the well placed fear the "Communards" must feel a the site of him, and those who chose to black the world out behind their town walls. They were the ones he felt most akin to.
At last, with his trousers dirty and torn from the thorns and twigs of shrubs, he found the babbling stream he had so desperately been searching for. It was small, hardly anything that would have warranted attention any other day. But here and now it was a source of most amazing comfort. He feel to his knees beside it, cupping his hands bringing the water to his now unkempt face. It was cold, and rejuvenating. He felt his spirts rise with each successive gulp. At times he would spit out mud, or small twigs. But that was nothing to denture him. A warm spring wind gently blew through the small wood, carrying with it the unmistakable smell of freshly cooked food as he quenched his thirst. His nose strained to fill with as much of the smell as he could, as his stomach roared to life. With one need dealt with, another now demanded the same.
He pushed once more through the bushes and trees, keeping low he found himself looking out towards a small medieval looking town upon a hilltop. It's was surrounded by farm land, and had no walls that Louis could yet see. His stomach called out once more. Loud enough to cause him to duck lower into the bushes to avoid being seen by anyone who may be close. He scanned the town again. The evening was calm, still with the occasional slow calm breeze rolling down the hill towards him. He watched yet still, seeing surprisingly little movement in the village. A single light made it's way up and down the central street slowly and unevenly. The town watch, likely an elderly official or injured former solder unfit for war. One home close to him stood out. It was not a farm house, but sat a little to the side of the larger properties. Farmers were likely to have weapons, meant to defend their flock and grain from animals who would venture for an easy meal. The shot from them would kill a man as quickly as they would a fox. If you were lucky. This other home, looked to have no need for such things.
Slowly he made his way, following the far ends of the farmlands. Careful not to rattle anything stones, or upset the wooden fences in a way that would get the attention of some trigger happy farmhand. His stomach roared again, bringing him to a stop, as the threw himself to the earth. He glanced towards the nearest homes. Most had candles or lanterns burning, casting a dim golden light from their windows. He could now here conversation over supper, if only just making out the words. Talk of course of the war, both of the wars. Praise to the Lord God that their small village had so far been spared the horrors besieging the remainder of the country. Louis whispered a quick prayer that it would remain so, for the town. He rose once more to his feet following a small back road towards his target.
He could hear voices inside. Two women, and two men, from the sounds of things a family, gathered talking about the news and of rumors that had reached them. The village had taken to sharing their goods and services as well as could be done. And the family seems happy, believing they had dodged yet another catastrophe which had befallen France. It was well known of course even here how the food shortages had ravaged Paris. It was a worth while thing to give thanks for having escaped. He slowly neared the house keeping to the darkness as he formulated his plan. He would wait until the family slept soundly, likely on the second floor of their home, and make his way into the pantry, causing as little sound as he could. He would only take things that would not be missed, or would be easy to replace. He had no desire to leave them without. But perhaps a change of clothing as well... He may find a more welcoming world out of uniform. He would have to return one day, confess his actions and offer to pay for what he... he....
Louis felt faint. His stomach turned, not so much roaring as it had before but... bubbling? Suddenly his forehead grew hot as sweat streaked down his face. His whole gut cramped, shooting pain though his body. He bit hard onto his arm to prevent himself from screaming. But again, and again the waves of pain hit, as his skin grew clammy and damp. He feel to his knees as his guts cramped again, his fingers digging into the earth. His entire chest wrenched as he spewed the contents of his stomach onto the grass. "Oh God." He thought to himself as again his stomach purged itself. He felt weak, falling to his side as he felt the wrenching yet again, this time a little lower. "Please no." He thought, but there was no helping it. Light fell over his eyes as the door to the home flung open. He could hear frantic voices, someone shouting something, but was unable to make out the words. Maybe just maybe he could...
When Louis awoke the sun was shining bright through a nearby window. He was washed and in clean clothes, with a dried rag over his forehead. He glanced around, it took far more effort to move his eyes than he would have expected. He tried as he may to sit up, but even lifting his head was out of the question. He turned though, slowly, with an amazing force of will. An older woman, perhaps in her fifties sat next to him, rosery in hand as she read the bible. He wanted to ask who she was, what had happened, where was he? But all he could make out was a soft whisper of "Water."
The woman jumped, nearly dropping her bible. "Husband! Husband! Our guest is awake!" She called out as she fetched a small cup, and filled it with warm water. She slowly lifted Louis' head helping him to drink. "There, there now. Slowly, slowly, it's ok." The water was like mana from heaven to his weakened body, the only way he managed to not drink like a fish was the pure effort of it all. The woman let his head rest as he sighed deeply. A man entered the room, he looked to be a few years older than the woman next to him. "Good morning. I am glad to see you made it. Gave us a scare their friend. I see you have met my wonderful wife Adélaïde, and I am Docteur Duchamp. I have waited four days to say this. But I am most pleased to meet you. Bienvenue à Vézelay."