《The Price of Hubris》 Into the Snow The rolling drum of Russian cannon fire echoed across the snow covered valley. They had been pounding the retreating French army constantly. Nobody even flinched at each barrage anymore. Nobody had any energy left. The wind gnawed at the men¡¯s exposed faces, blowing shards of ice that scratched at the skin like tiny daggers. The road ahead was buried under drifts of powdery snow, the footprints of those who had passed before them already swallowed by the blizzard. Behind them, out of sight now, the Berezina River stretched like a scar across the white landscape. In front, endless fields of snow, and dense evergreen forests. Sublieutenant Louis Fournier pulled his greatcoat tighter around his cuirass as he rode in silence behind the rest of his company. His horse, once proud and strong, now plodded weakly through the snow, each step a labor of survival. The sound of its labored breathing mingled with the muffled shuffle of boots and hooves. The company had not spoken much since leaving the main column that morning, but the silence was heavy with unspoken thoughts. How many more days could they last like this? At the front of their group, Captain Val¨¨re Laurent ¨C commander of the 2nd company, of the 4th regiment of the cuirassiers, 3rd Heavy Cavalry Division, III corps of cavalry ¨C rode with his back straight and his hand resting on the hilt of his sabre, as if trying to hold on to the image of an officer in control. His polished cuirass, once a shining beacon of French pride, was scratched and dented from weeks of battle and retreat. His breath escaped in small puffs as he stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched against the cold. Beside the captain, Lieutenant Antoine Chalon shifted in the saddle, his teeth chattering audibly despite his efforts to appear composed. His gloved hands tightened around the reins, and his gaze darted toward the trees lining the path, as if he expected the Cossacks to spring from the shadows at any moment. Louis could recognise the grief on Lieutenant Chalon¡¯s face more clearly than on Captain Val¨¨re¡¯s. Chalon attempted to hide the twitches of pain when he had scanned the company hours earlier, but Louis had seen it. Next to Louis, Trooper Bellamy rubbed his hands together and cursed under his breath. ¡°The cold will kill us before the Cossacks do,¡± he muttered loudly enough for Louis to hear. Louis didn¡¯t respond. He adjusted his scarf, pulling it over his nose, and tried to ignore the burning ache in his fingers. Bellamy wasn¡¯t wrong. The cold had taken more lives than the enemy in the past week. Men had simply collapsed in the snow, too tired or too frozen to get back up. Others had thrown away their muskets and sat down on the side of the road, whispering about warmth that wasn¡¯t there. Louis had seen men simply stop mid-stride, dying from overexposure. They lumbered over a ridge on the road, passing abandoned carts and cannons. Dead horses and men lay dashed upon the ground in chaotic clumps. A particularly dishevelled group of infantrymen huddled around a small campfire. They barely looked like Frenchmen or soldiers anymore. Many had picked up Russian clothing from empty villages or inside Moscow. Their beards were decorated with icicles. One of the group, on the edge of the huddle, crouched over a horse carcass and was slicing chunks from its flesh. An increasingly common picture as supplies had run out. Ahead, the sound of a distant drumbeat cut through the wind. The faint outline of a camp came into view, tents sagging under the weight of snow. Smoke curled upward from a few scattered fires, but the smell of burning wood was mixed with something darker¡ªthe acrid stench of gunpowder and rotting flesh. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Val¨¨re said as they reached the edge of the camp, pulling his horse to a stop. Another group of infantrymen shuffled past them, faces gaunt and eyes hollow. Their uniforms were tattered, and their boots left bloody tracks in the snow. One man, missing the fingers on his left hand, clutched a loaf of bread like it was a holy relic. Louis couldn¡¯t even identify which corps they belonged to. He supposed it didn¡¯t matter anymore, very few units had stayed together. ¡°Christ,¡± Bellamy whispered, ¡°I hope we don¡¯t look like that.¡± ¡°Give it time,¡± Trooper Lefevre replied, his voice bitter. Captain Val¨¨re led them through the muddled camp. The well organised, strict lines of the camps from the start of the campaign had been completely forgotten. This was no longer truly an army. Louis kept his hand close to his sabre, watching as men eyed their horses hungrily. He could see the rest of the company doing the same, hands resting on weapons even among their own compatriots. Eventually, after winding through the madness, a large officers tent emerged in front of them. A tall figure shouldered his way out, after the company lined up in front. He was incredibly well put-together, compared to the rest of the camp. The stripes of a colonel were still visible on his greatcloak. His face was pale and haggard, a thick scarf wrapped around his neck, but his eyes still burned with an intensity that suggested he had not yet surrendered to the cold. Colonel Delacroix was a man who had earned his reputation for discipline long before the Russian campaign, and he was one of the few officers seemingly still in control. ¡°Captain Val¨¨re,¡± Delacroix greeted, his breath fogging in the frigid air. ¡°You¡¯ve come with all your men?¡± ¡°Yes Colonel,¡± Val¨¨re nodded. Delacroix¡¯s gaze swept over the company, lingering for a moment on Trooper Renard, who coughed violently into his glove. ¡°It¡¯s as I thought,¡± the colonel muttered, as if speaking to himself. ¡°But you¡¯ve done well to keep them mounted.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve lost a few horses,¡± Val¨¨re admitted, ¡°but we¡¯ve kept the rest alive.¡± ¡°Excellent work Captain,¡± Delacroix said. He turned toward the camp, motioning for them to follow. ¡°Come. You can hear this while warming yourselves by a fire.¡± The officers dismounted and headed inside. Val¨¨re, Chalon and Louis himself. The troopers led their horses over to some nearby campfires, where other cavalrymen attempted to relax. Entering the tent was like an embrace from a loved one. Louis could barely remember how it felt to hold somebody in his arms. He thought in Moscow he would be able to find some company, paid for or otherwise. But that hadn¡¯t been the case, the city had been an empty shell, and then it had been burnt by its own citizens. Colonel Delacroix unrolled a map on his makeshift table. His fingers, wrapped in thick gloves, traced a line along the River Berezina. The river that had claimed so many lives. ¡°The main column is heading west,¡± he said, ¡°but they¡¯re moving slower than expected. Stragglers everywhere, and the enemy is circling like vultures.¡± Louis looked at the map. The situation was still dire. Even after somehow managing to get a chunk of the army across the Berezina, there were still great leagues to cover before they reached anywhere remotely safe. Vilna was the current objective, Louis knew. ¡°We need food, Captain,¡± Delacroix continued, ¡°The men are dying faster than we can bury them. If we don¡¯t find something soon, I¡¯ll lose the whole regiment. General Doumerc has left me¡­ important orders.¡± Louis noticed the colonel''s grimace. He was clearly conflicted between the importance of following orders, while also questioning them. General Doumerc had proved himself competent during the campaign so far, however. He had led the charge on the west bank of the Berezina himself. ¡°What are our orders, sir?¡± Val¨¨re straightened. Delacroix leaned over the map, his eyes narrowing. ¡°There¡¯s a cluster of farms just north of here. Abandoned, most likely, but they could still have supplies hidden in the barns or cellars. We don¡¯t have the manpower to search them ourselves, and honestly, I don¡¯t think any infantry regiments would survive out there. So, since you still have enough mounts, you¡¯ll have to do. Take your company and scout the area. If you find food or livestock, send word back immediately.¡± Val¨¨re nodded, but Chalon shifted uneasily beside him. Louis felt similarly uneasy at these orders. ¡°Colonel,¡± the lieutenant said, ¡°we¡¯ve heard reports of Cossack raiders in the area. If we run into them with only our twelve men¨C¡± ¡°Then you do what cuirassiers do best,¡± Delacroix interrupted. ¡°You fight.¡± There was a pause, the weight of the colonel¡¯s words sinking in. It was a remark that Louis expected, but it still caused him to frown. ¡°The emperor expects us to reach Vilnius,¡± Delacroix added, his voice softer now, almost weary. ¡°If we don¡¯t, none of this will matter. We¡¯ll die here, frozen like the men outside. Do you understand me, Captain?¡± A strong gust of wind caused the tent to slightly, and the door flapped angrily. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Val¨¨re said, confidently. ¡°Lieutenant Chalon?¡± Delacroix turned to the anxious lieutenant. ¡°We will get it done, sir. The second company has endured so far,¡± Chalon straightened his back and saluted the colonel. ¡°Good. One last thing,¡± he said as he stepped back from the table, his gaze still lingering on the map. Be wary of the woods. The locals believe in all sorts of nonsense ¨C forest spirits, curses, old pagan things. We all know it¡¯s just superstition, but that kind of talk has driven men mad before. Keep your soldiers focused on the task. The Russians won¡¯t destroy us. We survived the Berezina, we will survive this cold too. Dismissed.¡± The three men of the second company of the 4th regiment of the cuirassiers saluted and turned toward the exit. Louis followed Val¨¨re and Chalon out, but not before catching the colonel¡¯s final words, spoken softly as if to himself: ¡°May God have mercy on you.¡± The wind hit them like a wall as they stepped back into the cold. Louis adjusted his scarf and glanced at Val¨¨re, whose expression was set in stone. The troopers slowly ambled into position, leading the horses. ¡°We ride north,¡± Val¨¨re said, mounting his horse. ¡°We find those supplies.¡± ¡°Or die trying,¡± Lefevre muttered, climbing into his saddle. Along their small line, the rest of the troopers, and officers mounted. Louis said nothing. The trees at the edge of the camp swayed gently in the wind, their branches bowing like mourners. As the company rode out, the shadows stretched long across the snow, and the road ahead seemed endless. Off the main road, the countryside was even more desolate. An empty landscape. All day the horses had pushed onward determinedly, but their exhaustion was becoming increasingly obvious. The company had followed a small countryside trail, just visible beneath the snow. It was flanked by two small stone walls. Beyond them, great white oceans of snow in all directions. Lines of trees and bushed divided fields, and further out Louis could see thick forests. He shuddered looking at these, the dark blots of trees. For now, they were taking a brief pause by the roadside. They¡¯d even managed to get a fire lit. It was a pitiful thing, barely more than a flicker of warmth against the icy winds that sliced through the stone wall, but the men crowded round it with more joy than they¡¯d shown in days. Louis appreciated these moments, Captain Val¨¨re was generous enough with his men, and he understood the importance of morale. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Louis sat with his back to the wall, a trooper or either side squeezed against him. Trooper Bellamy to his right, and Trooper Gauthier to his left. They were both in somewhat high spirits, enjoying this moment of respite the captain had allowed them. ¡°Say what you want about Russia,¡± Bellamy said, ¡°but at least it forces us to appreciate the little things. Like not being dead yet.¡± The others chuckled, the sound muffled by scarves and frostbitten lips. Gauthier tossed a bundle of twigs onto the fire, watching as the flames sputtered and hissed before roaring back to life. ¡°Not being dead,¡± Gauthier repeated, shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯s your toast?¡± Bellamy shrugged. ¡°When¡¯s the last time we had something to toast with? You give me a bottle of wine, and I¡¯ll come up with something better.¡± ¡°Give him wine, and he¡¯ll sing us a song,¡± Corporal Danton added from where he sat, leaning back against his pack. ¡°Remember at Smolensk? You serenaded that poor Russian woman like you were trying to win her heart.¡± ¡°Her heart?¡± Gauthier snorted. ¡°I think he was aiming a little lower than that.¡± Bellamy grinned, his cheeks flushing red, not from the cold, but from the memory. ¡°She liked it.¡± ¡°She threw a potato at your head,¡± Louis reminded him, smiling for what felt like the first time in days. ¡°And her husband chased you with a rake.¡± ¡°Still counts as affection,¡± Bellamy said, and the group burst into laughter. Even Val¨¨re, who had been standing near the horses, allowed himself a small smile. He walked over, hands clasped behind his back, and nodded toward the fire. ¡°You have until the wood burns out,¡± he said. ¡°Then we move.¡± ¡°Aye, Captain,¡± Trooper Vautrin said, tossing another stick onto the flames. ¡°Plenty of time to reminisce about our glorious campaign.¡± The tone shifted slightly, the humor dimming. Louis noticed it first in the way Renard adjusted his scarf and looked away, as if avoiding the conversation entirely. Trooper Lefevre cleared his throat. ¡°Glorious campaign, huh?¡± he said softly. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to tell my family how we burned Moscow to the ground and marched back with nothing but frostbite to show for it.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll live long enough to tell them,¡± Val¨¨re said, his voice sharp. ¡°We¡¯ve survived worse.¡± ¡°Have we?¡± Lefevre replied, his tone daring. Louis shifted uncomfortably, casting a glance at Chalon. The lieutenant opened his mouth, perhaps to defuse the tension, but it was Sergeant Morel who spoke first. ¡°The captain¡¯s right,¡± Morel said, his voice like gravel. ¡°I was at Marengo in 1800. We fought half-starved, half-dressed, and surrounded by Austrians. Everyone thought we were finished, but we weren¡¯t.¡± There was a pause before Gauthier asked, ¡°What did you do when you thought you wouldn¡¯t make it?¡± Morel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze was distant, as if he were seeing a battlefield far from this frozen wasteland. ¡°I didn¡¯t think,¡± he said finally. ¡°That¡¯s how you get through it. You keep moving. You focus on the man in front of you, and you don¡¯t stop until he¡¯s dead or you are. ¡°All of us here have seen worse than this. It might be the first campaign for some of you,¡± Lieutenant Chalon chimed in, supporting the Sergeant, ¡°But, we all crossed the Berezina and charged into that forest thick with Russian cavalry and infantry. We survived the shelling at Borodino, and the fires of Moscow. There is no choice here, we will live.¡± The group fell silent, save for the crackling of the fire. Louis stared at the flames, the heat warming his face but not reaching the chill in his bones. He wondered how much longer they could keep moving before one of them didn¡¯t get back up. Bellamy broke the silence with a forced laugh. ¡°Well, now that you¡¯ve cheered us up, Sergeant, maybe we should all just lie down and wait for death.¡± ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± Morel said, but there was a faint smile on his lips. ¡°You joke now, Bellamy, but you¡¯ll remember my words when the time comes.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather remember the woman from Smolensk,¡± Bellamy muttered, and the group chuckled again, the tension easing slightly. Val¨¨re checked the sky, where the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon. ¡°Enough resting. Mount up. We¡¯ll make camp near the next ridge.¡± The men groaned but obeyed, stamping out the fire and gathering their gear. Louis adjusted his saddle and swung into the saddle, his muscles aching from the cold. As they set off, the wind picked up again, and he pulled his scarf higher over his nose. For a while they traced the countryside road, before the walls gave way to a natural barrier. The forest closed around them, leafless branches reaching over them like twisted arms. The path wound through the trees, the ancient looking trees creaking around them. Louis let his mind wander, replaying the conversation around the fire. The laughter, the stories, even Morel¡¯s grim wisdom ¨C all of it seemed precious now, as if it belonged to a time when survival wasn¡¯t measured by the number of steps you could take before collapsing. ¡°Louis,¡± He turned to see Lieutenant Chalon riding beside him, his breath misting in the cold. His cuirassier helmet had lost its usual shine, and the tattered plume was frozen at the back. ¡°You¡¯ve been quiet.¡± Louis shrugged. ¡°Just thinking.¡± Chalon studied him for a moment before nodding. ¡°Stay close to me when we stop again. I have a feeling this march is about to get worse.¡± ¡°Worse than this?¡± Louis asked, though he already knew the answer. Chalon didn¡¯t reply. Ahead of them, the trees seemed to grow darker, their shadows stretching long across the snow-covered path. The laughter from the fire felt like a distant memory, fading as quickly as the footprints they left behind. And somewhere, hidden among the swaying branches, a faint whistle carried on the wind. The snow was thin, crusted over from the night¡¯s frost, but the wind dragged it into shifting streams across the open field. Louis pulled his greatcoat tighter over his cuirass, fingers stiff around the reins as his horse shifted beneath him. Breath clouded the air in thick, rhythmic puffs as the second company rode slowly up the dirt path, the trees hemming them in on both sides. They¡¯d ridden for another few hours, and were just planning on finding a good spot to set up their bivouac, when they stumbled upon something. Captain Val¨¨re Laurent raised a hand, signaling them to halt. The column stopped, hooves crunching into the brittle earth. Val¨¨re turned in his saddle, scanning the area. His breath came steady, his face calm beneath the shadow of his steel-plumed helmet. ¡°We¡¯ve gone far enough,¡± he said. ¡°Dismount and search the wagons. Quickly.¡± The wagons lay abandoned by the side of the path, their wheels half-buried in the frost. One was tilted awkwardly, its axle cracked, and a broken crate had spilled a rotten heap of potatoes into the snow. There was no sign of the men who had driven the wagons. No footprints, or even bodies. Only the whispering of the wind and the shifting creak of the forest. Louis stayed mounted, as troopers'' boots crunched into the frozen ground. The privilege of being an officer allowed him to stay in his saddle at moments like this. He adjusted the sabre at his hip and glanced at Trooper Vautrin, who had already started tugging at a crate¡¯s icy lid. ¡°More mold, probably,¡± Vautrin muttered, his breath clouding the air. ¡°Check it all anyway,¡± Chalon ordered nearby. His voice was firm, though beneath it there was a tension Louis was also feeling. ¡°Find anything we can eat, or anything the horses can eat,¡± Louis added. Trooper Gauthier kicked a barrel, testing its weight, before prying the lid off with his bayonet. ¡°Empty. Why am I not surprised? Looks like we¡¯ll just be eating snow.¡± ¡°Check everything,¡± Sergeant Morel added, his voice low and gravelly, as if he¡¯d been born with the frost in his throat. His own hand was deep in a canvas bag, rummaging for anything. Trooper Beaulieu crouched next to a crate, trying to pry it open with stiff fingers. He beckoned for Trooper Renard to come and help. Stiff from the cold, the other man awkwardly made his way over, and helped him pull on the lid. The wood cracked, revealing the blackened husks of spoiled bread. They grimaced and tossed them aside. Bellamy cursed, struggling with a stubborn leather strap on another crate, while Aubin muttered prayers under his breath. The air was too still. Louis lifted his head, scanning the treeline. The branches swayed slightly in the wind, heavy with snow, their shadows stretching long across the ground. He could hear the horses stamping, the rustle of fabric as the men dug through supplies, but beyond that, the silence was suffocating. A crack echoed from the trees. Louis froze, his breath catching in his throat. Just a branch, he told himself. Just a branch breaking under the weight of snow. Louis tried to push back his paranoia, yet glancing at Chalon he could see the same unease on the other officers face. But then he heard it again, closer this time. There was something out there. His eyes darted this way and that, searching the dark trees. The sharp snap of wood, followed by another sound cut through the silence. A whistle. ¡°Cossacks!¡± Chalon shouted. The forest exploded into chaos. From the treeline, a wave of Cossack riders burst into the clearing, their fur-lined coats flapping like wings. They came fast, spears and sabres raised, shouting wild battle cries that pierced the stillness. Harsh, dirty men, with grim smiles plastered on their faces. They opened the skirmish with a wild volley of mounted musket fire, without any successful hits. ¡°Mount up!¡± Val¨¨re¡¯s voice thundered over the noise. Louis¡¯s fingers trembled as he gripped the reins, seeing Vautrin haul himself into his saddle just as a Cossack spear buried itself in the ground where he¡¯d stood moments before. His horse reared, nearly throwing him, but he held on, kicking its sides and drawing his sabre in one motion. ¡°Form up! Hold the line!¡± Val¨¨re shouted. The company scrambled into formation, their warhorses stomping and snorting, steam rising from their flared nostrils. The Cossacks hit them head-on, the clash of steel and screams of dying horses filling the clearing. Louis met the first Cossack head-on, parrying a downward strike with his sabre. If he could still use his nose, he knew he¡¯d be disgusted by the smell of the man. A useless momentary thought. The force of another parry jarred his arm, but he leaned into it, twisting his wrist and slashing upward. His blade caught the rider across the shoulder, sending him tumbling backward off his horse. Blood sprayed across the snow. The Cossacks horse scrambled away desperately. To his right, Bellamy let out a battle cry as he slashed at another rider, cutting through the man¡¯s fur coat and opening a gash across his chest. The Cossack wheezed, clutching his wound, before Bellamy drove his blade into the man¡¯s throat. ¡°Fournier, on your left!¡± Louis turned just as a spear lunged toward him. He yanked the reins, his well-trained warhorse sidestepping the attack, and brought his sabre down on the spear¡¯s shaft, splintering it in half. The Cossack snarled, reaching for a flintlock pistol, but Louis drove his blade into the man¡¯s chest before he could draw it. A disappointed, and surprised expression appeared on the man''s face, before he tumbled into the snow. Behind him, Gauthier let out a triumphant laugh, slashing a rider¡¯s leg and sending him crashing to the ground. ¡°Come on, you bastards!¡± A musket shot cracked through the chaos. Gauthier jerked, his body going rigid as the shot punched through his side. He slumped in the saddle, blood seeping through his coat as his horse whinnied and stumbled. ¡°Gauthier!¡± Louis shouted, but there was no response. A Cossack rider came barreling toward Bellamy, who swung wildly, barely managing to deflect the incoming spear. It scraped against his breastplate, but bounced away harmlessly. However, the two horses collided, and Bellamy was thrown from his saddle, landing hard in the snow. The Cossack dismounted, drawing his sabre as he advanced on the fallen trooper. ¡°Bellamy!¡± Louis charged, his sabre raised. He slashed at the Cossack¡¯s back, cutting deep, and the man crumpled to the ground. Bellamy groaned, clutching his ribs, but before Louis could reach him, another musket fired. Louis¡¯s breath came in ragged gasps. His vision blurred, and the noise around him faded into a dull roar. Another whistle cut through the air, fainter this time, retreating into the trees. The Cossacks were pulling back, their wounded dragging behind them. Only a few had survived the engagement. They left dead scattered across the clearing. ¡°Hold!¡± Val¨¨re shouted, riding into the center of the clearing. ¡°Hold your fire!¡± The men regrouped, panting, their breath mixing with the steam rising from their horses. Faces sweating even in the harsh cold. Blood splattered in the snow all around them, even on some of the men¡¯s faces. Louis saw that Trooper Lefevre was still shaking with battle-excitement, his eyes wide like an animal. He watched the man, wary of the effects of this wildness, but Lefevre settled quickly, sheathing his sabre. Captain Val¨¨re surveyed the bodies scattered across the field, his jaw set. He seemed unmarked by the battle. ¡°Sound off!¡± he barked. One by one, the survivors called their names. The silence between each voice stretched longer and longer. Troopers Bellamy and Aubin were dead. Renard and Gauthier were both badly injured. Louis dismounted, boots crunching through the snow as he approached Bellamy¡¯s body. His friend¡¯s eyes stared up at the gray sky, unblinking. Gauthier lay slumped against the wagon wheel, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. A group of them were gathered around him, assessing his injuries. Another group was doing the same to Renard a few paces away. Corporal Danton was crouched over Gauthier, trying to unlatch his breastplate to look at the wound. ¡°I told you,¡± Gauthier whispered, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. ¡°We¡¯ll be eating snow.¡± He didn¡¯t take another breath. Louis stared at the blood soaking the snow around his boots. His fingers felt numb, though whether from the cold or the shock, he couldn¡¯t tell. Nobody moved for a small while. Nothing could be heard except the choking coughs of the wounded Renard, and the hurried wrapping of the man¡¯s injury by Trooper Beaulieu. ¡°Mount up,¡± Val¨¨re said quietly eventually. ¡°The Cossacks will be back.¡± Luckily, they still had enough horses. Renard was strapped to his own horse and led by Vautrin. As Louis climbed back into the saddle, he cast a final glance at the edge of the forest. The trees swayed in the wind, their branches stretching like fingers over the path ahead. Just beyond them, in the shadow of the woods, something moved. The wind whistled through the trees, and Louis urged his horse forward. Horse Meat A loan bird called out across the desolate landscape. Its sad cry a desperate plea left unanswered. Not a soul stirred except the line of mounted men, traipsing with heads bowed. The snow had stopped for a brief moment, but it left behind a quiet that unsettled Louis more than the wind ever had. His horse¡¯s breath puffed in front of him like steam from a boiling kettle, the only sound besides the faint crunch of boots and hooves on the frost-covered earth. The narrow path they had been following was beginning to blur, buried under layers of fresh snow. They trees had mostly thinned out by now, but with the lack of visibility he couldn¡¯t tell if they were still in the forest. Louis tightened his scarf around his nose and glanced over his shoulder at the others. The company looked like ghosts, their uniforms faded and heavy with frost, faces hidden behind scarves and helmets. Corporal Danton¡¯s mount trudged close to Renard, holding onto the injured man¡¯s arm to keep him steady on horseback. Renard¡¯s face was pale, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but he kept walking, his boots dragging through the snow. At least he had stopped coughing for now. Louis had started flinching at each worsening gasp. ¡°Stay close!¡± Val¨¨re¡¯s voice cut through the stillness. ¡°The trees will swallow anyone who falls behind.¡± Louis turned his attention forward, where Val¨¨re rode at the head of the column, his back straight, hands steady on the reins. Lieutenant Chalon rode just behind him, occasionally adjusting his position to check on the men. Louis rode just behind him, so their eyes would meet briefly, sharing their growing dread. The path twisted slightly, leading them through unknown landscapes, choosing their fate. The air smelled of damp pine and decay now that the snow had stopped, but Louis was certain it would return soon. Mist still hung around them, a thick wall of grey. After a few more paces, Val¨¨re pulled his horse to a stop. ¡°Wait here,¡± he said. He dismounted, his boots sinking into the snow with a soft crunch, and pulled a map from inside his coat. Chalon dismounted as well, joining him as they leaned over the map. Louis remained in the saddle, rubbing his gloved hands together to fight off the numbness creeping into his fingers. Danton and Vautrin exchanged glances, their breath hanging in the air between them. ¡°I thought you said this was a straight path,¡± Danton said, his voice barely above a whisper. Vautrin shrugged, his eyes darting toward the trees. ¡°That¡¯s what they told us back at the camp. Follow the road, they said. Hard to follow a road when it disappears.¡± Renard coughed, a wet, rattling sound, and leaned heavily on Danton. ¡°Can we stop soon?¡± he pleaded weakly. ¡°I can¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯ll keep moving,¡± Danton said, his voice soft but firm. ¡°We¡¯re not leaving you here.¡± Ahead of them, Val¨¨re and Chalon were arguing, their voices muffled by the snow. Louis nudged his mount forward to join them. ¡°The ridge was supposed to be south of here,¡± Val¨¨re said, tapping the map with a gloved finger. ¡°We should¡¯ve seen it by now.¡± Chalon frowned, rubbing his chin. ¡°We¡¯ve drifted, Captain. Probably to the north. We can¡¯t see anything out here.¡± Val¨¨re folded the map sharply and tucked it back into his coat. ¡°We keep heading west,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll find the ridge eventually.¡± Chalon hesitated, but then nodded. ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡± ¡°I am.¡± Val¨¨re remounted his horse, his movements stiff from the cold. ¡°Move out!¡± The company fell back into formation, their footsteps crunching softly against the snow. The silence pressed down on them, broken only by Renard¡¯s labored breathing and the occasional rustle of unseen branches in the mist. Louis rode beside Beaulieu, who hadn¡¯t said a word since they left the last camp. The man¡¯s face was hidden beneath his scarf, but his eyes flicked constantly toward the trees, scanning for threats. ¡°You don¡¯t believe we¡¯re going the right way, do you?¡± Louis asked. Beaulieu shrugged, his breath fogging the air. ¡°I believe we¡¯re not dead yet. That¡¯s enough.¡± ¡°At least those Cossacks won¡¯t be able to find us in this mist,¡± Corporal Danton called out, attempting to instill some confidence. They passed a half-buried tree stump, its roots clawing at the air like skeletal fingers. Snow covered everything now¡ªthe trees, the rocks, the remnants of an old wagon abandoned by the side of the path. Louis wondered how long it had been sitting there, forgotten in the wilderness. ¡°Do you feel it?¡± Vautrin asked suddenly, his voice rising. Louis turned toward him, confused. ¡°Feel what?¡± ¡°I know it¡¯s not true, but¡­ doesn¡¯t it feel like there is something out there?¡± Vautrin said. He stopped his horse for a moment, his eyes scanning the darkened trees. ¡°Watching us.¡± Danton laughed nervously. ¡°You¡¯ve been listening to Morel¡¯s stories too much.¡± But Morel, who was at the rear of the group, didn¡¯t respond. He kept his gaze fixed on the path ahead, his jaw clenched. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving,¡± Chalon said, glancing over his shoulder. ¡°The longer we stand here, the colder we¡¯ll get.¡± Reluctantly, Vautrin fell back into line, though he kept casting glancing out into the mist. Louis tried to shake off the unease creeping up his spine, but he couldn¡¯t ignore the weight of the silence around them. The snow muffled everything ¨C no birds, no rustling animals, just the faint crunch of their footsteps. The mist hemmed them in. As they continued forward, Renard sagged in his saddle and nearly collapsed, but Danton caught him just in time. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Renard muttered, though his voice was barely audible. Ahead, Val¨¨re slowed his horse and looked around, his brows furrowed. Louis could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the reins tighter than necessary. The captain¡¯s confidence was cracking, even if he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°We should¡¯ve reached something by now,¡± Chalon said quietly. ¡°We will,¡± Val¨¨re replied, though he didn¡¯t sound convinced. The snow began to fall again, heavier this time, the flakes swirling around them in lazy spirals. Louis pulled his scarf higher, his breath hot against the fabric. The cold seeped into his boots, numbing his toes. Danton fell into step beside him, his face pale. ¡°Do you think the main column is still ahead of us?¡± Louis hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Danton glanced at the trees, then lowered his voice. ¡°Morel says the forest is cursed. He told me about the stories the locals shared. Things that live out here, waiting for lost travelers.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him,¡± Louis said quickly. ¡°I¡¯ll tell him to stop. He shouldn¡¯t be sharing his superstitions with the men at a time like this.¡± But as the snow fell heavier, a small doubt crept into Louis'' mind. The road was gone. Trees began to emerge from the mist, more and more with every step they took. It seemed they had entered another forest. Subconsciously, the men pulled closer together. It wasn¡¯t just the cold that made Louis feel tense in his saddle, his hair standing on its end. He¡¯d begun to feel it too, that someone was out there, watching them. ¡°Keep together!¡± The wind had teeth now, gnawing at their exposed skin through layers of wool and leather. The gusts of the blizzard swept across the forest floor, kicking up snow and flurries of ice that stung their faces like needles. Louis kept his head down, squinting through the narrow slit of visibility his scarf allowed, but even that was starting to fail him. His greatcoat was covered in snow, and his breastplate was a heavy block of ice on his chest. The trail they had been following, if it had ever truly been there, was gone now, erased by the steady, suffocating snowfall. The world had shrunk to just a few paces ahead and behind. ¡°Stay close!¡± Val¨¨re called from the front, his voice muffled by the wind. The command had become a mantra, repeated every few minutes like a prayer, as if saying it enough would keep them from disappearing into the storm. Half of the time it was unintelligible, but he knew the men needed to hear it. Needed to hear their captain urging them forward. Louis glanced back, making sure the others were still behind him. Renard was slack in his saddle, his horse led by Danton, his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. Chalon walked beside them, occasionally reaching out to steady Renard when he faltered. Morel and Beaulieu followed at the rear, their heads bowed as they pushed through the knee-deep snow. Most of the horses were dead already, they¡¯d suddenly started dying one after another. Though, Louis thought, it wasn¡¯t really sudden. Their deaths were overdue. The majority of the companies had lost their horses long ago. Only two of the horses remained, Val¨¨res and Louis own. But, Louis had given the horse to Renard. If they lost that horse¡­ Trooper Lefevre cursed loudly, shaking snow from his helmet. ¡°How are we supposed to find anything in this?¡± he yelled, though no one answered. His voice was quickly swallowed by the wind. Louis¡¯s horse snorted behind him, its hooves slipping on the ice beneath the snow. The weight of Renard on its back would kill it eventually. They all knew it. The animal was struggling, and so were they all. Louis legs burned, his fingers ached, and his breath came in ragged gasps that made his lungs feel like they were filled with glass. The cold was more than just cold. It was a living thing, a predator sinking its claws into their skin, sapping their strength with every step. Louis¡¯s thoughts became sluggish, as if his brain were freezing along with his body. They couldn¡¯t keep on like this. Val¨¨re raised his arm, signaling a halt. The men huddled together, their breaths mingling in the frigid air, forming a thin cloud of steam that quickly dissipated. ¡°We need to keep moving,¡± Chalon said, stepping closer to Val¨¨re. ¡°If we stop for too long, we¡¯ll freeze.¡± Val¨¨re nodded, but his eyes lingered on the swirling white abyss ahead of them. ¡°How far do you think we¡¯ve come?¡± ¡°Not far enough,¡± Chalon replied grimly. Danton looked up at Renard, trying to adjust the wounded man¡¯s coat to cover more of his chest. Renard shivered violently, his lips turning blue. ¡°He can¡¯t keep this up,¡± Danton said. ¡°Neither can the rest of us,¡± Vautrin muttered, kicking at a patch of snow. His breath came in short bursts, and his eyes darted toward the trees, as if he expected them to close in on him at any moment. ¡°We should turn back. We¡¯re not going to find the column in this storm.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t turn back,¡± Val¨¨re snapped. ¡°We¡¯d be just as lost going the other way.¡± Lefevre crossed his arms, his teeth chattering. ¡°Then what do you suggest, Captain? Because at this rate, we¡¯ll be frozen like the corpses we passed this morning.¡± Louis winced at the mention of the bodies. He could still picture the hollow eyes of the dead soldiers, their faces twisted in agony as frost consumed them. Some had been huddled together, as if they¡¯d tried to share warmth before the cold claimed them all. ¡°Watch your tongue Lefevre!¡± Sergeant Morel growled at the trooper. But, his threat had lost much of the weight it used to carry. The power in his voice was faded, hollow. ¡°We keep going,¡± Val¨¨re said firmly. ¡°If we stop now, we die.¡± The wind howled again, this time sounding almost like a scream. Louis shivered and pulled his scarf higher, trying to block out the noise. ¡°I heard something,¡± Vautrin said suddenly, his voice rising. The group turned to look at him. His eyes were wide, darting around as if trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°What did you hear?¡± Chalon asked. ¡°Footsteps. Someone¡¯s out there.¡± Lefevre scoffed, though his voice was tired. ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot. It¡¯s the wind playing tricks on you.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t the wind,¡± Vautrin insisted. ¡°It was footsteps. I¡¯m telling you, we¡¯re not alone.¡± ¡°There aren¡¯t any Cossacks out in this storm,¡± Danton reassured him, ¡°they¡¯re smart enough to be tucked up inside. This is their country, afterall.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t hear anything,¡± Val¨¨re said, mounting his horse again. ¡°The cold and the wind are messing with your head. Let¡¯s move.¡± Louis hesitated, pausing on Vautrin. The man¡¯s breath came fast and shallow, his hands shaking slightly at his sides, resting on his blade. Louis wasn¡¯t sure if it was from the cold or fear, or both. They probably wouldn¡¯t even be able to draw their sabres in this. Cossacks would tear them apart, though Danton was right, they wouldn¡¯t be out here. ¡°Come on,¡± Chalon said quietly, placing a hand on Louis¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s not fall behind.¡± Louis nodded and urged his legs forward. The company pressed on, their movements sluggish and mechanical, driven more by instinct than determination. The snow was falling harder now, a curtain of white that blurred the lines between earth and sky. As they marched, Louis¡¯s mind began to wander. He thought of home ¨C the small cottage in the French countryside where his mother had baked bread every morning, the smell of flour and yeast filling the air. He imagined the warmth of the hearth, the way the fire crackled as they sat around the table. The memory felt like a dream, something too distant to be real anymore. He¡¯d spend the evenings in the tavern, laughing with friends and family. Strolling home in the warm moonlight, the thought of wearing so little was incomprehensible now. It was a world away, a different life altogether. A sharp whistle cut through the wind, jolting him from his thoughts. He stopped, pulling his horse to a halt. ¡°What is it?¡± Chalon asked, turning back. ¡°Did you hear that?¡± Louis whispered. Chalon frowned, listening for a moment, but the only sound was the howling wind. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. Just the storm. Don¡¯t start taking after Vautrin and Morel.¡± Louis nodded, though his pulse was racing. The whistle had sounded real. Not like the wind, but like something deliberate. ¡°Keep moving,¡± Val¨¨re called from ahead. The group continued, but Louis couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the forest was closing in around them, the trees leaning closer, their branches reaching out from the blizzard like claws. The wind whispered through the gaps in the trees, forming words he couldn¡¯t understand. They had entered a place where the world no longer made sense, where time and direction slipped away like sand through frozen fingers. And somewhere out there, hidden in the swirling snow, was their impending death. The snow had thickened, falling in fat, heavy flakes that clung to their coats and helmets, weighing them down like wet sand. Louis¡¯ horse, a chestnut mare named Marianne, stumbled for the third time in as many minutes, her hooves slipping on the icy ground. Renard shook on her back, but he was at least awake now. Louis heard the animal¡¯s labored breathing before he saw her falter. ¡°Come on, girl,¡± Renard whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. He leaned forward in the saddle, stroking the mare¡¯s neck. ¡°Just a little further.¡± She tried, her legs shaking as she fought to take another step, but her strength had drained. Her front legs buckled, and she collapsed into the snow with a heavy thud, sending Renard tumbling off her back. He landed awkwardly, groaning as he clutched his injured side. ¡°Renard!¡± Louis ran over quickly, dropping to his knees beside him. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± ¡°Just winded,¡± Renard muttered, coughing into his glove. His breathing was laborous, and Louis wasn¡¯t sure if it was the fall or the cold choking him. Val¨¨re and the others gathered around, their figures blurred by the swirling snow. Chalon knelt on Renard¡¯s other side, helping him sit up. ¡°She¡¯s not getting back up,¡± Danton said, pointing to the horse. The mare lay on her side, her breath coming in slow, shallow gasps. Her flanks heaved, and steam rose from her nostrils, but her eyes were dull. ¡°We can¡¯t leave her,¡± Louis said hopelessly. ¡°She¡¯s been with me since Smolensk.¡± Val¨¨re didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°We strip her of supplies and leave her behind.¡± ¡°She¡¯s strong, just give her a minute,¡± Louis pleaded. ¡°She won¡¯t.¡± Val¨¨re¡¯s tone was cold, final. ¡°The horse is finished, Sublieutenant. Don¡¯t make this harder than it has to be.¡± Louis saw Renard¡¯s hands trembling as he tried to push himself up, but Chalon gently held him down. ¡°Don¡¯t move too fast. You¡¯ll only make your injury worse.¡± Danton shifted uncomfortably. ¡°The captain¡¯s right,¡± he said softly. ¡°It¡¯s cruel to leave her like this. We should end it quickly.¡± The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Beaulieu said quietly, stepping forward. He pulled the infantry musket he¡¯d scavenged from his shoulder, fixing its bayonet. His expression was unreadable, but there was no hesitation in his movements. Renard turned away, his shoulders shaking. Louis couldn¡¯t tell if he was crying or if it was just the cold making him tremble. Beaulieu knelt by the horse¡¯s head, stroking her mane gently before pressing the bayonet point against her neck. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, girl,¡± he murmured. A quiet sound slipped from the dying animal. For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was the faint whisper of snow falling onto the mare¡¯s lifeless body. Then Val¨¨re cleared his throat and straightened. ¡°Strip the saddlebags,¡± he said. ¡°Take everything useful.¡± The men moved quickly, their numb fingers fumbling with the leather straps. They pulled off the blankets, the saddlebags, and Renard¡¯s bedroll. Chalon helped Louis lift Renard to his feet, steadying him as they shuffled forward. ¡°Will he be able to keep going?¡± Val¨¨re asked. Chalon hesitated, then nodded. ¡°For now.¡± Lefevre, who had been silent until now, tossed the empty saddle into the snow and exhaled sharply. ¡°This is getting worse by the minute,¡± he muttered. ¡°We¡¯re carrying an injured man, we¡¯ve lost our last horse, and we still don¡¯t know where the hell we are.¡± ¡°Shut your mouth, Lefevre,¡± Morel snapped, his voice trembling with frustration. ¡°You¡¯re not helping.¡± ¡°I¡¯m stating the obvious,¡± Lefevre shot back. ¡°We¡¯re all thinking it.¡± ¡°Enough,¡± Val¨¨re said, his tone like steel. He stepped between the two troopers, a hard survey of his men. ¡°We keep moving. The main column isn¡¯t far.¡± ¡°How do you know that?¡± Lefevre asked, his eyes narrowing. ¡°For all we know, we could be heading further into the forest, not out of it.¡± ¡°Lefevre!¡± Chalon turned on the man. ¡°Do you want to take over command?¡± Val¨¨re asked coldly. ¡°Because if you do, say it now.¡± Lefevre looked away, muttering under his breath. Louis could see the tension radiating off him, but he said nothing else. ¡°We move,¡± Val¨¨re repeated. ¡°Everyone stays together. No exceptions.¡± ¡°Give me a few minutes sir. It¡¯ll be worth it,¡± Beaulieu said, drawing another knife from his waist. They waited for a short time, shivering in the snow, while Trooper Beaulieu carved chunks of meat from the recently deceased horse. It was a harrowing sight for Louis. His previously prized mount was reduced to food for their desperate survival. Yet he couldn¡¯t even bring himself to feel grief, his emotions were numbed and stunted by the immense cold. Beaulieu finished quickly, handing wrapped steaks out to those close to him. Then the column re-formed, and Louis took his place near the middle, helping Renard along. The wounded man leaned heavily on him, his breaths ragged. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Renard whispered. ¡°For what?¡± Louis asked. ¡°For slowing you down. For making this harder.¡± Louis shook his head. ¡°We¡¯re all slowing down. You¡¯re just the only one being honest about it.¡± They trudged forward, the snow swallowing their footprints as quickly as they made them. Behind them, the mare¡¯s body lay abandoned, already half-buried under the falling snow. The group was quieter now, the tension from the argument still lingering in the cold air. Louis walked beside Chalon, their boots crunching softly in the snow. The lieutenant, famous for his hearty laugh and noble manner, was unrecognisable. ¡°That could¡¯ve been worse,¡± Chalon said, his voice low enough that only Louis could hear. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Lefevre,¡± Chalon replied. ¡°He¡¯s testing Val¨¨re. It wasn¡¯t open defiance, but it was close.¡± Louis sighed, rubbing his gloved hands together. ¡°Do you think Val¨¨re¡¯s losing control?¡± Chalon didn¡¯t answer immediately. His breath fogged the air as he stared straight ahead, watching Val¨¨re¡¯s figure lead the column. ¡°I think,¡± he said finally, ¡°that Val¨¨re¡¯s trying to be the officer he was when we left France. But he¡¯s not that man anymore. None of us are.¡± Louis looked down at the snow, letting Chalon¡¯s words sink in. The man they had followed into battle was cracking under the weight of failure and the relentless cold. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Louis wondered how long he could keep following a man who was barely holding himself together. ¡°We need to do more to support the captain,¡± Chalon said, his eyes distant. A distant howl echoed through the forest. Louis¡¯s head snapped up, his heart racing, but it wasn¡¯t a wolf. The sound was too distant, too fragmented. Just the wind, he told himself. Just the wind. But the unease coiling in his chest refused to let go. The light was dying quickly. The sun, if it had ever truly risen that day, was nothing more than a faint smudge of gray behind the swirling clouds. Darkness fell upon them. The wind had softened, but the cold had deepened, pressing into their bones like the weight of iron chains. Snow fell in fine, delicate flakes, coating the trees and making them look like frozen sentinels guarding the path. Louis wiped the frost from his lashes and adjusted his scarf. His breath came in short, ragged puffs, each exhale hanging in the air before vanishing. The march had slowed to a crawl, their legs barely able to push through the deepening drifts. Every step was a battle, and their silence was suffocating. Ahead, Captain Val¨¨re pressed forward, his shoulders stiff, his eyes locked on their distant, lost objective. Chalon stayed close to him, occasionally looking back to check on the others. Renard leaned heavily on Danton, his head drooping, his face pale. Louis could see his lips turning blue. ¡°We can¡¯t keep this up,¡± Danton said, his voice hoarse. ¡°We need to rest.¡± Val¨¨re shook his head. ¡°We rest when we find shelter.¡± ¡°Shelter,¡± Vautrin muttered under his breath. ¡°Might as well ask for a miracle.¡± Lefevre shot him a glare but said nothing. The tension between the men hung like a storm cloud ready to burst. Louis slowed his pace and fell back toward the rear of the group, where Sergeant Morel was trudging with heavy steps. The older man¡¯s face was barely visible beneath his helmet and scarf, but Louis noticed how his shoulders slumped and how his boots dragged through the snow, barely lifting off the ground. He remembered the same man, but so different, his sabre flashing in the air. He¡¯d led them across a field only a few months back. A magnificent charge into a deep square of Russian infantry. Like thunder they had broken the Russians under their hooves, Sergeant Morel whooping as he swung his blade in a terrific display. ¡°Sergeant?¡± Louis called softly. Morel didn¡¯t respond. He placed a hand on Morel¡¯s arm, feeling the cold even through the layers of fabric. ¡°Sergeant, are you all right?¡± Morel stopped, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His eyes, bloodshot and distant, met Louis¡¯s for a moment. There was something hollow about them, as if the warmth that had once filled the man had drained away. ¡°Just a moment,¡± Morel whispered. His voice cracked like brittle ice. ¡°I need to catch my breath.¡± Louis¡¯s pulse quickened. He glanced over his shoulder at the trail of footprints behind them, already being swallowed by the falling snow. The trees swayed gently in the wind, their branches groaning like dying men. ¡°We can¡¯t stop here,¡± Louis said urgently. ¡°You know that. You told me yourself. If you stop, the cold takes you.¡± Morel gave a weak chuckle, though it sounded more like a choke. ¡°I know what I said, Fournier. But I think the cold has already taken me.¡± ¡°No,¡± Louis insisted. ¡°We¡¯ll get you back to the others. Chalon will help. We can¨C¡± ¡°Louis.¡± Morel¡¯s hand tightened briefly on his arm before going slack. ¡°I¡¯ve been a soldier longer than you¡¯ve been alive. I know when it¡¯s time.¡± He paused, exhaling a long, slow breath that seemed to take the last of his strength with it. ¡°There¡¯s no shame in it.¡± Louis felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes, but the cold froze them before they could fall. His breath hitched in his throat, and he shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t say that. We¡¯re not leaving you.¡± Morel smiled faintly, the lines on his face softening as if he¡¯d finally made peace with something. ¡°You will. And that¡¯s all right.¡± The forest around them seemed to grow quieter. The wind died down, and for a moment, Louis thought he could hear something else ¨C a faint whisper, distant but persistent, like someone calling his name from far away. Morel heard it too. His head tilted slightly, as if he were listening to something only he could understand. ¡°What is it?¡± Louis asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Morel¡¯s stare drifted past him, toward the trees. ¡°You hear them too, don¡¯t you?¡± His lips trembled, but it wasn¡¯t from the cold. ¡°They¡¯ve been calling me since this morning.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no one there,¡± Louis said, though his voice wavered. Morel chuckled softly. ¡°Maybe. Or maybe they¡¯re waiting for you too.¡± A sudden gust of wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the faint sound of laughter, or was it crying? Louis couldn¡¯t tell. He turned sharply, scanning the forest, but there was nothing there. Just shadows and snow. When he turned back, Morel had sunk to his knees, his hands resting limply in his lap. His eyes were half-lidded, and his breath barely fogged the air. ¡°Sergeant, please,¡± Louis begged, his voice cracking. Morel¡¯s face softened. ¡°Keep moving, Fournier. Don¡¯t think. Just move.¡± His head tilted forward, and he went still. Louis knelt there, staring at him, as the snow began to gather on Morel¡¯s shoulders. The warmth of his body faded quickly, stolen by the unforgiving cold. Louis reached out, his gloved hand trembling as he touched the sergeant¡¯s arm, but there was no response. ¡°Louis!¡± Chalon¡¯s voice cut through the haze. He was running back toward them, his coat flapping in the wind. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Louis didn¡¯t answer. Chalon knelt beside him, taking in the sight of Morel¡¯s lifeless body. He let out a heavy sigh, his breath clouding in front of him. ¡°We have to go,¡± Chalon said gently. ¡°He¡¯s gone.¡± Louis shook his head. ¡°I can¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°You can,¡± Chalon said firmly. ¡°You have to.¡± Louis¡¯s fingers tightened around Morel¡¯s sleeve, but the fabric was stiff with frost. Slowly, reluctantly, he let go. Chalon helped him to his feet, guiding him back toward the others. Val¨¨re stood a few paces ahead, his expression unreadable as he watched them approach. ¡°Morel?¡± Val¨¨re asked. Louis shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. ¡°He¡¯s gone.¡± Val¨¨re¡¯s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He turned back toward the path ahead. ¡°We keep moving.¡± Danton glanced back at Morel¡¯s body, now half-buried in snow, and muttered a prayer under his breath. Lefevre cursed softly, kicking at the ground before falling into line. Vautrin stared at the trees, his eyes wide and darting, as if he expected something to emerge from the shadows. Beaulieu showed no reaction, but the sadness was obvious even in his eyes. Sergeant Morel had been the most experienced man in the company. A veteran of countless campaigns, he¡¯d been a strong presence throughout the journey, keeping the men together. How could they keep together now? Louis didn¡¯t know the answer, but he had no choice except taking the next step. As they marched forward, the wind picked up again, carrying with it a whisper that sounded like Morel¡¯s voice calling out to them, faint and distant. Louis shivered, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck, but no amount of fabric could block out the sound.