Pierre wasn't currently needed in Jean Morvan's fields, so he had told him to find another occupation while waiting for the time to turn the soil and prepare it for cultivation.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to do in Saint-Pabu. There weren't even woods where one could hunt or gather mushrooms. However, Pierre was sure it was only a matter of time before new wooded areas would appear in the region. The land was covered with fields, and it was impossible to maintain them all without the help of agricultural machinery. At least one field out of two, he estimated, had already been abandoned.

During his walks with Dakota, he had seen many fields turn into agricultural wastelands. Grass had grown peacefully all summer, and surely some trees were discreetly sprouting. It only took a bird to drop a seed or a fruit for a new tree to take root.

This phenomenon was also happening in his garden. While relieving himself at the back of his house, he had noticed several very young trees, mostly oaks, starting to grow. They were still fragile and hadn't yet developed deep roots, but within a few decades, it would be impossible to uproot them without considerable effort.

Most often, Pierre patrolled around the village to keep thieves, especially cattle thieves, at bay. Each cow was precious. More than meat, they provided the small community with good milk.

The taste was strong, nothing like what he had known before. Compared to it, the milk found in cartons or plastic bottles had no flavor. Initially, he had a hard time adjusting. His delicate palate, accustomed to store-bought milk, had been shocked by the true taste of milk. But after so much time in the countryside, he had gotten used to it. He had even started to enjoy it.

Every morning, he went to a farmer to fill his glass bottle.

The main issue was preservation. Without refrigerators, it had to be consumed quickly, within the day. If he had a refrigerator, he could keep it for two or three days. Thus, anything he didn't drink immediately was lost. One bottle was enough to meet his needs.

The sun had not yet risen, and the farmer was already at work. The cows needed to be fed, the floor cleaned, the straw possibly changed, and of course, they had to be milked one by one. He worked with a few adults, one of whom was in charge of greeting customers.

"Ah, good morning, Pierre!" said a red-haired young man, recognizing him. "Here for your milk?"

"That's right," replied Pierre, who had become a regular. "Is there a long wait?"

"Not too much, no. You can wait by the barn. We'll fill your bottle in no time."

"Thanks."

The exchange was brief and similar to all the previous ones. Sometimes, the young man chatted with him, sharing the latest happenings at the farm. Most often, it was nothing extraordinary: a cow falling ill, a birth, a slaughter. Pierre was slightly disappointed that once again, there was nothing new. When a cow died, it was almost immediately cut into small pieces and sold. A few days ago, he had managed to get a rather generous piece, though he wasn't sure exactly which part it was. He had brought it home like a treasure and hurried to cook it on a simple grill for more than fifteen minutes.

Just thinking about it made his mouth water.

I want a steak! I miss Gégé's cooking so much! A rib-eye steak with homemade fries and a good glass of red wine!

While waiting his turn, he reminisced about the best meals he had had. Most often, he ate alone, especially since he had moved to Paris. The only meals he had shared with others were professional ones. They would choose the finest restaurants, starred establishments run by renowned chefs, and wouldn't stop eating until they couldn't take another bite.

Though Pierre had faced very tough financial times, he had also experienced periods of abundance. During those times, they didn't even bother looking at the prices. He would make his choice and then simply pay with his credit card.

It feels like it was an eternity ago. It's not even been a year. It's crazy!

"Pierre? Your milk."

Once his bottle was filled with warm milk, he went home and made himself a hot chocolate. His big yellow and blue box was already there when he had arrived. It had been full then, but now he was scraping the bottom of his bowl. He had rationed himself to make the box last as long as possible, but now it was empty.

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Well, I guess I'm out of chocolate too… That's another thing I'll miss…

Pierre tried to enjoy his hot chocolate and memorize the taste. He knew there was little chance he would savor this delicious smell and pleasant taste again.

Chocolate added itself to the long list of things that were part of his daily life before the blackout that had disappeared. This list grew a little longer each day.

He let out a deep sigh, a mix of satisfaction and sadness, as he set his bowl on the table and then stood up. He grabbed a waterproof coat, a backpack, and left his cold, silent house. For the past few days, the air had become a bit milder, and it had started to rain. Unfortunately for Pierre, he had promised to join Yvon that day to go fishing at sea.

They had gone a few times, and the experience hadn't been as bad as expected. Pierre had only been seasick the first two times and hadn't hurt himself. Yvon couldn't say the same. He had hurt his hands, and the sea salt hadn't helped.

Outside, it was raining, but it wasn't a downpour. The rain was fine, like suspended dust. It formed a gray screen in front of him, making it hard to see very far. He secretly hoped the weather would be too bad to go out to sea. He was afraid of getting lost once the coast was out of sight.

But Yvon's temperament wouldn't allow it. He had discovered that the man was as stubborn as a mule. According to his own words, which he seemed very proud of, all Bretons were like that.

His boat hadn't changed, except that it smelled of fish. There wasn't much space, and it was even less when the net was loaded.

Yvon helped his friend aboard while chatting about various topics. The conversation flowed with strange fluidity, and before he knew it, they were talking about the mayor, Gwen Le Gall.

"Actually, Gwen and I have gotten together. You're one of the first to know."

"Oh?" Pierre responded after a very brief silence.

Yvon was staring at him intensely, expecting a strong reaction. When it didn't come, his face filled with disappointment.

"What, that's it?! That's your reaction?! I tell you we got together!"

"Uh, congratulations, Yvon."

I thought they were already a couple. Why did they only make it official now? They're always together or almost.

Everyone in Saint-Pabu knew that Gwen Le Gall called on Yvon whenever an important decision had to be made. That hadn't changed after the blackout, quite the opposite. He was a trusted advisor and a good listener. According to what Yvon told him every time they saw each other, Madam Le Gall had been under intense, almost overwhelming pressure since they had been forced to become self-sufficient in all areas.

The villagers relied on her to ensure they lacked nothing. She knew that if she misjudged the needs and shortages, she would quickly find herself in a complicated, even dangerous situation. The worst would be poor management of food or hygiene, leading to a shortage or famine, terrifying words reminiscent of the Middle Ages, or an epidemic in the second case.

That these two became a couple seemed quite logical to him, which exasperated Yvon a bit.

At that moment, he was so easy to read. He felt like he was the only one caught by surprise when Gwen Le Gall had suddenly kissed him in her office at the town hall two days earlier.

He had never considered the politician as a potential partner. He thought their relationship was more like a genuine friendship bound by mutual trust. He had supported her all this time and even before, having helped her campaign many years ago. He had also assisted in the construction of her program.

The fisherman sighed deeply and focused on his tasks.

"Was it really that obvious?" asked Yvon, unfurling the small sail that billowed as the east wind caught it.

"Pretty much, yes," Pierre admitted, mimicking his friend. "Actually, I'm surprised it's only official now. Hey, don't look so glum. I had the advantage of being able to step back."

"Yeah…"

The burly man, who always took great care of his small ponytail, grumbled into his beard and headed towards the helm, turning it to steer the small boat.

Very slowly, the repurposed pleasure boat, now equipped with a mast, advanced on the Aber Benoît until it passed the last houses of Saint-Pabu. In front of them stretched the ocean, as gray as steel.

The good news was that it had stopped raining, and a very pale winter sun appeared between the clouds. Pierre and Yvon lowered their hoods.

Hmm, we're not the only ones out at sea.

Indeed, a few other boats floated and moved ahead of them, avoiding the numerous rocks in the area. Some even seemed to have already started fishing.

Yvon had told him that since the blackout, the fish had had time to reproduce and grow. Because they multiplied faster than they were fished, these waters were becoming increasingly rich in fish, which was wonderful news.

Before, they would have had to go to the English Channel, known for being much richer than other areas. They would have had to compete for the best spots with other nations, particularly the British, who didn't like seeing so many foreigners in their waters.

I'm sure it will only take a few years for the oceans to be teeming with fish like before.

As they passed one of these boats, which Pierre recognized as being from Saint-Pabu, Yvon greeted the crew.

"Hey! Already at work, I see?"

"Got to be! You won't catch more fish than me by leaving now. Come on, guys, let's pull up the net! Let's show this old man the lead we've got on him!"

Pierre watched with a mix of curiosity and amusement as the fishermen hauled in their nets by hand and pole. But the more they pulled, the more disappointment showed on their faces.

"Wow, impressive, Phil. Very impressive. Don't change a thing."

In their nets, there were a few fish, true, but mostly seaweed torn from the seabed by the currents and a significant amount of plastic.

Looks like there's still more plastic than fish in our oceans…