In the Forests of New France
The road to Montreal stretches out before you. And there, all the promise of greater opportunity that a settlement of its size could bring. It is a pathetic place compared to the great cities of Europe, Mother told you since your earliest childhood. More often she would speak to Etienne of it, though... He was always the favored child, the boy born too early and too weak, however healthy he may have become. Mother still feared for him too much, you always thought.
Stroking the little mare's neck, you urge her into a trot, gritting your teeth against her jarring gait. It will be a long ride, you think, dealing with the little farm horse. Etienne would have had you walk, no doubt, but you had no desire to undertake that expedition. Montreal is far enough without walking.
As you ride, you begin to consider the possibilities that might await you in that promised city. You've been warned that it will not meet your expectations, but you don't believe you really have expectations. Of course it won't be like Mother's descriptions of Europe, but you wonder sometimes how much truth is in those, even. It always seemed to you unlikely that she had actually visited all those places she had claimed.
You are nearing the home of one of the few true friends you've ever had. Jacques is only a few months older than you, rough-mannered and exuberant, and brilliant woodsman but not quite the company one keeps in civilized life. Still, you've a bond of loyalty that goes far deeper than most would imagine, and you've considered joining the seasonal voyageurs you might find along the St. Laurence. If he's willing, Jacques would be a good companion for such a trip...
Stroking the little mare's neck, you urge her into a trot, gritting your teeth against her jarring gait. It will be a long ride, you think, dealing with the little farm horse. Etienne would have had you walk, no doubt, but you had no desire to undertake that expedition. Montreal is far enough without walking.
As you ride, you begin to consider the possibilities that might await you in that promised city. You've been warned that it will not meet your expectations, but you don't believe you really have expectations. Of course it won't be like Mother's descriptions of Europe, but you wonder sometimes how much truth is in those, even. It always seemed to you unlikely that she had actually visited all those places she had claimed.
You are nearing the home of one of the few true friends you've ever had. Jacques is only a few months older than you, rough-mannered and exuberant, and brilliant woodsman but not quite the company one keeps in civilized life. Still, you've a bond of loyalty that goes far deeper than most would imagine, and you've considered joining the seasonal voyageurs you might find along the St. Laurence. If he's willing, Jacques would be a good companion for such a trip...