A Forest On Fire

The Moon and The Pebble

If Claudia was not three years older than Louis, one would think that they were twins. Both had the pale skin of their mother; both had the black hair of their father, but neither of them had inherited his pride nor his scorn for those unlike himself. Alike they might have been in their appearance, but they were as different as a lowly rock at the bottom of a stream which gives way to the pull of the water and the gleaming moon that takes ahold of the tide and which gives way to nothing but the pull of the earth. Claudia was the moon, and Louis was the pebble. Claudia was the immovable boulder; Louis was the grain of sand. But as many times as Claudia proved herself to be what she is and as many times as Louis had failed to prove himself as something other than what he was, the boulder was cast away and the grain of sand was worshipped. That is, they favored Louis despite his timidity and frailness.

Claudia was the one who took care of Louis; Claudia was the one who took care of herself. When one is favored by the people who happened to be their parents, this only means that you were tolerated. Since Claudia was not the favorite, she was dependent on only herself; Louis was dependent upon her. Both of the children were born during the war; both were accustomed to their situation. Claudia's character bloomed in the independence; Louis' character wound like a spool of thread in the isolation. His character was wound, but this only meant that it would one day spring out again and shutter into movement like the cogs of a clock.

Neither of them were very beautiful children. Both were emaciated from hunger, both had grey skin from illness, and both had glassy eyes from tears. While neither of them were fleshly beautiful, they were wondrous in their own ways. Claudia was exquisite because of her tenacity and gallantry; Louis was marvelous because of his sequestered potential that was eclipsed by his demure nature, but, as buried as it was, Claudia saw it and loved him for it. As his senior sister and as his guardian and protector, it was her duty to love him, just as it was his to love her for caring, and loved her he did.

"Haurs" was the nickname Claudia had affectionately reserved for Louis and was a name she used so much when speaking with him that it had nearly replaced his proper one. "Chisé" was the name Louis had reserved for Claudia, which was a sort of joke to mock what she called him. Since that day, that is what they have been called: the haurs and the chisé, the mouse and the cat, and what a perfect duo were they! They hardly visited their own house, instead preferring to roam the streets like the seeds of a dandelion being swept away by the spring zephyrs. Many of those who saw the couple perusing the roads of Bopaume thought that they were orphans, for none of them had ever seen an adult accompaniment. Nevertheless, no onlookers bothered to speak or to consider them past the fact that they were called the haurs and the chisé. To the strangers, they had no other name and no other existence than to be the haurs and the chisé.

But now they would no longer be considered as less than, and no longer would they be seen in Bopaume to scavenge for whatever food they could scrape from the streets. They had joined Lydia for something better, whatever that might be, for Lydia had allowed them to tag along with her and Maribelle as she slowly pushed herself toward Elliot. Even if she was miles away, even if she was on the opposite side of the border, even if she knew that there would be no way the guards would allow her through the gates in her peculiar state, Lydia would find a way to the Governor.

        Now, the present time shall be stated.

Claudia walked next to Lydia; her eyes were trained forward, fists clenched, teeth gritted. She tried not to look at Lydia. Louis walked behind Lydia; his eyes were wide, staring, timidly stumbling over his feet. He grabbed Claudia's wrist; she loosened her tense hand and wrapped it around his own. Lydia abruptly stopped. She stooped and set Maribelle down on her feet. The woman recoiled at the sight of her savior. "What the hell happened to you?" She asked more out of disgust than out of concern. Lydia tried to answer but could only hiss and gurgle, like something being deflated or like someone drowning. She looked to the side of the narrow road, out into the forest. Then, she mutely pointed to the ground and held up her palm as if she were commanding a dog.