Ladislas hasn't spoken a word since news of the ceasefire reached their sanctuary.
Ladislas: ...
He's been kneeling at the altar for days, having eaten next to nothing. Always thin, he now looks more like a jagged stone obelisk than a man.
Female Gargoyle: What am I to do, my sweetie? He will not so much as touch the biscuits I baked for him. Never have I seen him in such a state.
The woman clasps her hands to her chest, worried but helpless.
Sentinel: Ladislas.
She gently calls out to him.
Ladislas: ...
Sentinel: The war has ended not as he foretold.
Sentinel: It may take some time ere he is able to free himself of his guilt.
Female Gargoyle: Dear Ladislas, sigh keep thy heart in the Lord, for He shall forgive us, no matter how great our missteps.
The good and pious woman stops herself from saying more. There's no line of reasoning sufficient to break him from his watch.
Female Gargoyle: Marie, I beg thee do something. One way or another, we all must return to Rouen in the coming days.
She leaves without another word.
Sentinel comes to Ladislas's side but has no desire to interrupt his silent prayers. Her focus instead is on the statue of the crying girl.
Sentinel: Ladislas, you foretold that Agnès would return to herself come the end of the war.
She pulls out a handkerchief to softly clean the stone's unmoving face.
Sentinel: Yet she remains unchanged. Is there truly no way to revive our dear friend? Our family?
Ladislas: ...
Once again, she receives only a humbling, guilt-ridden silence.
Marsha: Marie?
She turns to the voice, finding it belongs to the woman that has become a regular visitor to their sanctuary. As usual, she brought food—this time some salami and dried cheese.
After handing off the supplies, Marsha marches straight toward her.
Sentinel: What news from the front?
Marsha: Some troops have already withdrawn. The rest will follow suit once the armistice is officially signed.
Marsha: Ladislas ... He still won't eat?
Sentinel: Just leave him be.
She doesn't let Marsha dwell on the matter, returning to her work dusting the statue.
Marsha: If you don't mind me asking, is this statue real?
Sentinel: What do you mean?
Marsha: I-I'm not sure how to put this into words properly. It's just that I've never seen her move.
Sentinel: Ah, now your words are clear.
She gathers her handkerchief and takes a deep breath, the cold, wet morning mist filling her lungs.
Sentinel: This is Agnès, a distant cousin of mine. We share a great-grandmother.
She places her hand on Agnès's stone knee.
Sentinel: We took residence together until 1914—both at our clan estate in the suburbs of Rouen and in my rented apartment in Paris.
Sentinel: When the war broke out, I departed to join the army. Upon returning during my first leave, I found her in the cellar—it came to pass that, in my absence, she had turned herself to stone.
Marsha: She can stay in this form as she pleases?
Sentinel: Only so long as her heart yet beats. Were she to turn to stone from within, she would be unable to restore her body to flesh.
Sentinel: But Ladislas informed me of another possibility.
Sentinel: He said Agnès's petrification was an extraordinary act of self-sacrifice.
Sentinel: And that this sacrifice was also a prophecy: Gargoyles were not to coexist with this war.
Sentinel: He said that a miracle would occur—that Agnès would be freed from her petrification. I thought it might have been true.
She glances toward Ladislas, still kneeling.
Sentinel: But I suppose it was not. Agnès has shown no signs of recovery.
Marsha: There must be another way.
The Gargoyle shakes her head, disheartened.
Sentinel: If only there were—if only I knew of one. But there is very little I know of our bloodline.
Sentinel: While the young of my kin generally receive a traditional education from within the clan, my grandmother supported my decision to attend a secular school in my youth.
Sentinel: I resided in a small rented apartment in Paris for some time, hoping to enroll at l'ENSAD—that was, until the war broke out.
Sentinel forces herself to look into Marsha's eyes.
Sentinel: This war ... Well, you've seen the face of it. It takes but one shot to end a life, and this war has hurt millions. Friends, family, loved ones ... I have lost far too many.
Marsha: Marie ...
Sentinel: Forget it. Tell me, have you yet time today?
Marsha: What do you want to do?
Sentinel: Take a stroll. I have spent far too much time in the monastery.
After a long journey, they return to the field once soaked in blood.
Sentinel: A pilot?
Their earlier conversation still lingers.
Marsha: Yes, that's what I wanted to be.
Sentinel: Why?
Marsha: Many knights joined the air force at the time. They believed the sky to be the only battlefield that still maintained at least some semblance of knightly chivalry.
Marsha: It had more than the ground, at least, crawling through mud and digging trenches.
Sentinel: I loathe airplanes. They're exceedingly difficult to withstand from the ground, and the engine noise.
She swallows the complaints, not wanting to sound bitter.
Marsha extends her arm over to her friend's back.
Marsha: Relax, you don't need to fight them anymore. In fact, I'd wager you'll come to like traveling by plane in time.
Sentinel: ...
She turns to the sea of grass rippling in the wind.
Sentinel: The corpses that lay yonder—did you see them earlier?
Marsha: No. Perhaps Charon had already buried them.
Sentinel: Hah, most likely. He is an interesting fellow, if not strange.
Marsha: And kind, too. Without him, you and I would certainly have fought again at the graveyard.
Sentinel: ...
Marsha: Oh, that reminds me!
Suddenly, she bends down, rummaging in the roadside dirt.
Sentinel: What?
Marsha: You threw a smoke grenade at me!
Sentinel: Hey!
Marsha: Hahaha!
They laugh as they race down the dirt road, feeling more like children than soldiers for the moment, however brief.
They come to a halt before the windmill, its colossal gears interlocking and turning, like the breath of a slumbering ancient giant.
The slow creaking of the windmill becomes the only sound.
Sentinel: Marsha.
Marsha: Hm?
Sentinel: Are you leaving?
Marsha: No. I have plenty of free time today.
Sentinel: Not now, after the armistice. I know well that the Foundation has tasked you with keeping a watchful eye on me.
Marsha: It's not exactly like that.
Sentinel: All is well. You may stay, so long as you do not lie.
Sentinel: I shall even aid you should you require it. But do not attempt to persuade me to join the Foundation. I cannot abandon my family.
Marsha: I know that. I'll be leaving after the armistice is officially signed.
Sentinel: sigh
Sentinel: ...?
Sentinel: It comes from the windmill.
Marsha: Sounds like a horse to me.
Sentinel: A horse?
They cautiously approach the windmill's entrance.
Sentinel moves ahead of Marsha, turning her body sideways, and hardens into stone to give a weighty push on the door.
War Horse: Neigh!
Marsha: Wow, what a beauty!
Sentinel: A horse indeed. What brings it here?
