In an attempt to keep a low profile while so close to enemy lines, our regiment is spending the night in an abandoned farmhouse. It is from here that I write.
My regiment has been deployed to the front lines, and I can not help but feel that it was somehow my fault. It seems so strange, I am certain that De Guiche gave the order out of spite for my marriage to Roxane, and yet it was his letter that made it abundantly clear that that had been in accordance with both his will, and the will of the Cardinal. It would break my heart to think that Roxane could be hiding something from me, and yet I must have faith that whatever she did, she did for the right reasons. What am I saying? Now is not the time to ponder such things, not when my thoughts are twisted by exhaustion, not when my mind feels as empty as my stomach. I grow so weary from this eternal march. Every day is more hellish than the last, and every day it seems as if I am being stretched to some previously unimaginable limit of human endurance.
To my great annoyance, Cyrano seems barely affected by the great many hardships we have faced, at least not in spirit, for he is noticeably thinner and paler, much like the rest of us. Yet he still carries on writing the letters to Roxane. I have stopped keeping track of each and every one as I once did, back when this game of ours had been more amusing. For now I must rest, and pray that when I finally make my way home, by some miracle, I will no longer owe the success of my love to a man who is superior in seemingly every respect.
Each of us is supposed to have extensively studied this map to prepare for the coming siege at Arras.
No comments:
Post a Comment