For a village surrounded by one of the most glorious countryside you could ever see Belles Collines, to say the least, is a ghastly sight.
Its cobbled streets are filled with green spots where weeds are breaking through. The small and crooked cottages are all in desperate need of all kinds of work. One cottage needs paint, and another's roof is on the brink of collapse. A wall about to fall here and a window smashed to shards here. There isn't a single cottage that doesn't need mending. I don't think they ever will though for the people clearly don't earn enough money to do such tasks.
Wearing their best clothes but even those have holes and are worn out the people run down the streets doing their morning chores.
"Bread! Fresh bread! Come get your fresh bread!" the baker calls out as he hurries down the streets with his cart loaded with loaves of bread still with the steam wafting from them carrying up their aroma.
As the smell of the fresh bread dances under my nose, my stomach releases another growl and this time it is one of them that you can feel as well as hear.
Reaching to my left side pocket I smile as my fingertips brush against the cold coins. "Monsieur!" I yell.
The man jumps with fright but an expression of joy comes across his face as he pushes his cart toward me.
"Bonjour mademoiselle. Would you like to buy some bread, they are fresh out of the oven?" He smiles at me.
My stomach growls again so loud that I know for a fact he heard it too. A small smile pulls at his pale pink lips.
"I think that answers your question," I chuckle, my cheeks burning red with embarrassment, "How much?"
"Two livres."
"That's cheap," I announce as I give him the money, and he hands me one of the fresh loaves which I immediately begin to eat.
I break the warm bread between my fingers and stuff it into my mouth not at all caring how unladylike I must look right now. The baker, however, doesn't seem to care about the pace I am shovelling his bread into my mouth. For that, I am grateful because most French men would turn their noses and turn away in disgust at the sight of a woman acting like me.
"I have to keep my prices reasonable, mademoiselle, or else I wouldn't sell any bread. And the people of this village need to eat. The country has forgotten about us, so we need to look out for each other here."
"I know what you mean, monsieur. My hometown is quite secluded as well. The people there are very much like the people I see here. That's why I am on my way to Paris."
His eyes glitter with excitement a reaction most people have when they hear of Paris. "Going to Paris sounds like a dream come true."
"Maybe you can take my place." I lower my eyes to the floor as a sad smile pulls at my lips.
He frowns at me. "Don't you want to go to Paris, mademoiselle? Why what young woman wouldn't want to go to Paris? It's the city of light, love and full of opportunity. It's a dream come true."
"Not for a young woman whose true calling is out there in the forest hunting."
Ever since I was young my fondest memory was hunting with my father. Our village was surrounded by a thick forest home to an array of many animals and every weekend-if we were lucky enough- he would take me out and teach me to hunt, in addition to fighting, horse riding, sword fighting, shooting, archery other things all socially considered to be for boys.
"You are a huntress!" the baker exclaims, his eyes sparkling with joy as if the title I have given myself was one he was looking for.
The people rushing around us stop as they hear him call me a huntress. Their eyes burn into my soul, not in an angry way but with a look of desperation. It is making me uncomfortable.
"I um... not professionally... obviously what person would make me a young woman a huntress. No, what I meant is that I enjoy hunting with my father."
The few people that were staring at me drop their gazes. Seemingly disappointed by my answer. The baker seems disappointed as well but I can see he is trying not to show it.
"Well anyway, I hope that you find a new life for yourself, mademoiselle. One that you will love every second of."
"Thank you, monsieur. Tell me do you know of any comfortable inns so that I may get some rest? I have been travelling for quite some time and I desperately need to sleep, and poor old Dante here needs to rest as well." I reach out and pat Dante's neck.
"Well, there is only one inn in the village, and lucky for you it does have some stables where your stallion can rest. It is just down this road, turn right continue straight for about six cottages and it will be on your left. It is called Le Fou's."
I smile with relief. "Thank you so much, monsieur, for everything."
"It is my pleasure, mademoiselle. I should get going these loaves won't sell themselves. Goodbye, young lady. I hope your search for life goes well."
Pushing the cart that bounces on the cobbled street and calling out "Fresh bread come get your fresh bread!" he disappeared down the street.
Edging an exhausted Dante forward I follow his directions and soon find myself standing in front of the inn. The sign hanging above the door looks freshly painted, red the colour of roses and blood with snow-white letters in a twisting pattern that read Le Fou's.
A young man nearly twenty takes Dante to an empty stall while I enter the bustling bar slash reception area. A few people are already at the bar drinking coffee and eating a full breakfast of bacon and eggs.
A preppy woman stands behind the bar wiping the counter with a cloth. The sound of the bell ringing above my head when I open the door alerts her to my presence. She looks up at me with a bright smile. I'm probably her first customer in a very long time who isn't local.
"Bonjour, madam. How may I help you?" she asks.
"One room and I'm using a stall in the stable as well."
Nodding, she writes my order into a big book before looking back at me and stating, "Twenty livres please."
"Here you go." I smile as I hand her the money.
She places the money into a tin. "What name must I put the room under?"
"Valerie Bernard."