The farmer’s son stumbled toward the house, dragging a heavy bucket with him from pumping water for the last couple of minutes.

He was hard to see, as night had fallen and his outline could really only be made out by the light of an oil lamp. His house was situated in a small clearing upon a hill, probably one of the nicer houses left in the area as the soldiers and battalions had passed through them. The tee out front was dead, branches bearing no leaves and many broken sticks littered the base of the trunk where a small cross sat in the dirt. It was a sad sight, no matter the time of day. Still, the boy moved past it with a small grumble, pausing only to adjust his grip before continuing up toward the house.

Suzanne watched him curiously from where she was crouched behind a tree across from the small stable that she was eyeing.

It had been a couple of days of moving from place to place, sleeping in the woods and on the sides of roads. All she knew was that she was hungry, exhausted, and no matter where she went it just seemed to bring her closer and closer to the distant sound of battlefields. Most people she came across bore the effects of the war on their faces–she wasn’t the only one hungry, lost and exhausted.

She had seen a few people on the road, including soldiers who rode in the back of trucks. The young men and boys; faces were clean, bright, and their uniforms looked like they hadn’t touched dirt just yet. They would sometimes cheer and call out as they rode past. Trucks of soldiers coming from the other direction looked…different. She couldn’t get the dirty faces and blank stares out of her mind–all from still-living men. Hunched over, staring off into the bush or at nothing in particular, some sporting injuries and had their faces bandaged up. They were usually silent.

She saw more grim and fallen expressions from people than she did the cheering and smiles as the months went on.

If anything, she felt more inclined to trust a dirty, sullen and bruised face than someone who had no idea what was happening.

As the front door to the main house shut, she finally came out of her hiding spot to make her way across the field toward the stable. It wasn’t ideal, but all she knew was that it was warm and she could hide herself easily enough if she needed to.

Sneaking onto another person’s land–her father would be gutted. If there was one thing he detested above all else, it was a thief. Suzanne wondered what he’d make of her now, but she knew it was a useless thought. She did what she did; some of her didn’t regret it, yet she knew it was reckless and tragic.

Joseph Arno didn’t deserve to die, she knew that. He was just a kid who helped around his father’s clinic. She could recall his curious glances from around the door of the room in the back, where his father kept inventory and did his bookkeeping. He had been really good with numbers, his father bragged about his schoolwork all the time. Yet, with the war breaking out and Joseph turning eighteen, he spoke more and more about fighting for his homeland. He would have been enlisted eventually, as Suzanne had seen the young boys and men from the village be sent off to fight. Joseph wasn’t the first one to be excited about it, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Then Suzanne stabbed him in the neck in a blind rage. Leon was making poison, the blood her father choked on was on his hands. Yet, she knew Joseph’s was on hers and had no hope of washing that off.

She slipped into the stable unseen, peering out of a gap between some of the wooden walls as she watched for movement inside the main house. A horse snorted behind her, some wood creaked as it settled, but it was otherwise pretty silent. Suzanne let out a small sigh through her nose, moving away from the wall to look around the area. There was only a single horse, which she could only see the outline of in the darkness from the moonlight outside. Quietly, she moved along toward it, wondering if it would be worth stealing when she left. It was better than walking on foot, but she couldn’t even feed herself at the moment, let alone an animal.

After digging around in some boxes and along some shelves she found near a table, Suzanne settled with the fact that she wouldn’t eat again that night. She made her way toward the door of the stable, deciding that would be the best place to rest for the night. If anything happened, she could flee easily enough. Yet, as she approached an empty stall, she heard something nearby thump against a wall.

Immediately, she stopped, taking a glance behind her to see the horse still in the stall a few ones behind her. It had its head down, eating something and generally didn’t seem too concerned about anything. Yet, it was too far away to have been the sound.

She took in a slow breath, ready to turn around when she felt something hard press into her back.

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A man’s voice spoke–yet, she had a hard time making out what he said. It sounded French, yet the accent was horrible and the way her mind raced didn’t help with his understandability. Though, she could understand what his accent was. She had run into enough British soldiers but she had yet to have one press a weapon against her back.

“...I-I can speak English,” she said, the words struggling to come to her–Suzanne knew some English, one of the gifts her mother left before she passed, but clearly she didn’t have many opportunities to use it.

“So you can,” the man replied, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Are you with the farmers?” Suzanne asked, not moving but she did turn her head somewhat to see if she could catch a glance of the man. He was somewhat crouched, but she couldn’t make out much without turning around.

“They’re letting me stay here,” he replied, “For tonight. I don’t believe you got the same invitation, though.”

“Not good hosts. You are sleeping in the stable.”

“You haven’t answered any of my questions,” he replied, digging whatever he was holding into her back a little harder.

“I do not have a home,” Suzanne said, “I have been walking for days. I just want to sleep.”

She knew her English was choppy, hearing her own accent so heavily in her ears almost made her want to cringe. Yet, it seemed that it was fine for now. However, Suzanne could still feel the blunt end of whatever weapon the man had pressed against her back, and she knew better than to let her guard down. As much blood as she had spilled, she wasn’t keen on leaving a trail of bodies after her. It was bad enough that she didn’t know if anybody was following her or not, but she didn’t want to stay too long to find out.

Finally, she felt the man drop the weapon from her back, which had her hesitating for a few moments before she lowered her arms. Guarded, she slowly turned around to face the stranger that she possibly had to share this barn with.

Immediately, her gaze was drawn to the uniform he wore. It was one she had seen many times from the soldiers that would roll through back and forth from the frontlines. Yet, he was far from the typical routes that she knew of and was hiding out in the countryside. Given that he hadn’t even changed out of his uniform just yet, she had to wonder where he came from. Or where he was even going–if she still had her directions right, he was definitely heading away from where she’d expected to see soldiers.

In the darkness, she couldn’t make out too much of him, but his silence and tension weren’t too hard to miss. He also continued to hold the shovel in his hands.

Well, she could appreciate him not hitting her in the back of the head with it.

“...I’m not going to ask any questions,” he said after a few more moments of silence, stepping away and into the darkness of the stable. “I’d appreciate it if you did the same.”

“I can’t ask for a name?” Suzanne asked, following in after him. “It might make it easier to sleep. It, um…shows trust.”

“Danny,” he replied after a short pause, Suzanne hearing him drop something onto the floor near one of the tables.

“Suzanne.”

“Now that we’re all friendly, I’d let to sleep if you don’t mind.”

She didn’t reply, only letting out a half-amused huff through her nose. She watched as he settled down onto the floor; almost into the darkness itself. No wonder she had missed him before. As much as they had agreed about not asking any questions, she couldn’t help the fact that she definitely had some. While she didn’t want to make any assumptions, she knew that a lone soldier out this far was…questionable.

She had never seen one, but it wasn’t hard to miss the disdain when there would be talk of abandonment. Desertion. Not only to your comrades, but your country. The patriotism was strong, she had heard the rallying speeches and seen the posters. She had also seen the haunted eyes in the soldiers with the dirt-stained skin, broken equipment, and asking for food in broken French.

Yet, in the end, she was wanted for murder. If he was lost or there because he left, it was none of her business.

It helped her affirm that she wouldn’t be spending more than a night in their current location, though. Even if she could manage to stay hidden, if the British military or his comrades sought him out, she didn’t particularly want to be around to have anybody see her.

With a sigh, she turned and slid down the stall's outside wall. Sleeping on the dirty floor with the smell of horseshit and hay wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like she had much choice. It definitely could be worse. Still, she struggled to rest, her mind drifting from topic to topic. To her father, Leon, Danny, and back to her sleeplessness again. The minutes seemed to drag, breaking in and out of focus as Suzanne found herself waking up randomly at any noise.

A snore, the horse snorting or moving around, a bird outside. Finally, her eyes opened and she could see daylight peering through the small gaps in the boards in front of her. She shifted, stretching her legs out in front of her with a small, uncomfortable groan.

She glanced over toward the table, now able to see Danny still asleep with his back to her. He had removed his helmet, resting his head on his pack. His uniform was caked in dirt, though even from where she was sitting she could tell that it wasn’t too fresh. Upon standing to her feet, she could see his face and noticed that he was young. Didn’t look all that older than she did at her age of nineteen, yet he was out with the rest of the young men fighting. Or he was.

Dropping that train of thought, she turned to make her way outside. Yet, she found herself pausing as some voices managed to filter in through the open doors. Lowering herself down somewhat, she made her way along the side of a wall until she could peer outside.

She immediately recognized the farmer’s son from before, who was standing dutifully next to his father as the older man talked animatedly to someone in uniform. Suzanne was too far away to really understand what he was rattling off angrily in French, but she couldn’t recognize the uniform of the man he was talking to.

Still, she knew his appearance wasn’t good, especially as the farmer started to gesture frustratedly toward the stable.