Then I paused, took a deep breath, and tried to gain a full sense of where I was, how the land lay before me, and what I must do. I was in an area where the forest had almost ceased to be, though here and about stood random trees and low stubble. These few trees were not tall and appeared to be windblown into grotesque forms, as if squeezed and shaped by some clumsy hand. As for the land, it was not entirely level but had scattered hills to the southwest, which rose to some height. To the east and north, it was flat and, to my eyes, lifeless. The ground beneath my bare feet was softer than within the forest, damp and almost marshy. My toes could press into it. The air held a damp heaviness, ripe with the smell of sea. How far off the sea was I had no idea, but surely not so very far. Overhead the sky was as gray and cold as dull battle armor, enough to make me shiver. Perhaps it was fear. For I could see the French soldiers with perfect clarity, though they appeared not to have noticed me—not yet—for which I was grateful.
