Normandy, Caen.
Dusk was approaching from the west. Just moments before, the sky had been streaked with copper-gold; now, it had turned to a sooty gray.
While the light lasted, the countryside scenery was still pleasant; fields and meadows grew vibrant green with the first floral scents of spring. A tall Nun, carrying a basket of laundry, walked toward a small river nearby.
A boy of about ten walked beside her. He had black hair and wore dark clothes, making him blend easily into the growing dusk. He held a dry stalk of straw, swinging it aimlessly and occasionally poking the Nun's hand with it.
When the Nun grew annoyed, she would rap the boy on the head a few times with her knuckles. She didn't use much force, but it was still enough to make a child's head ache.
An armed soldier followed behind them—or rather, a Knight would be more accurate. He was there to protect them.
