What is he wearing he thought, robes? Renaud had certainly never seen a man dressed in such a way, but he had heard of those in the east wearing robes. Perhaps this was something similar. Had Renaud been stolen away somehow, across a continent? Cartier's head was spinning. He felt that he could pass out at any second. His insides were suddenly like a pot of water boiling over low heat. It was so odd. There was no pain, not quite, but he was intensely aware that something was happening to his insides. Suddenly, some distant voice from within his head seemed to whisper to him. Indoors, the voice seemed to say, go indoors.
"Du ... Bonjour, je suis un -" Renaud had begun in his native tongue out of habit, ignoring the stranger's comment on his appearance. Then, realizing he had been addressed in another language he understood, he repeated; "Hello, I am - I need to know ... where am I? Is this ... Milan? Piedmont? I need to return to the army." He forced himself to ignore the stranger's odd dress, as well as the unique way he spoke and carried himself. The young officer had never seen anyone like him.
Cartier's voice was shaky as he spoke, his nerves and weakness testing the learned confidence and strength with which he had taught himself to speak. The fluid leaking from the wound in his leg, though colorless, was beginning to soak through the fabric of his uniform pants. He forced himself to ignore a deep instinct in the back of his mind that was telling him the fluid itself seemed to be warming at a slow yet constant rate.
