To Die Killing Others

Gaius and Belle continue cycling the Grand Randonnée.

Pedals squeak rhythmically, the sea roars and crashes, guillemots and fulmars call, someone retches inside Gaius's backpack.

That will be Saint Roley, who ate the eel Gaius discarded, and feels poorly.

......

Arthur and François-René are a long way behind.

They are deep in conversation, and miss seeing a puffin.

François-René: One does not learn to die by killing others.

Arthur: That's very good. But why would you expect to?

François-René: It's a thing I said once. I was being critical of the French Revolution.

Arthur: So you went to America. How did that go?

François-René: I broke my arm, following the Mohawk trail up the Niagara, and spent a month with an Indian tribe, recovering.

Arthur: I know what that's like. Then what?

François-René: Went home. I was only in America five months.

Arthur: Short trip. And you came back an expert.

François-René: Of course. Once back in France, I wrote pamphlets against Napoleon, and other stuff. He was going to kill me. But in the end I was exiled.

Arthur: So, did you ever learn how to die?

François-René: What?

Arthur: You said...

François-René: Haven't you ever said anything just for effect?

Arthur: My knee's itching.

François-René: Such as that, for example?

Arthur: No, it's itching.

François-René (looking at Arthur's knee): It's very scabby. No wonder. Do you pick them?

Arthur: Sometimes.

François-René: You shouldn't. It just makes them worse. Look! a puffin.

(It's the one they missed earlier, out spotting for sand eels).