So it was, that after the unpleasantness had subsided, that the original plan could proceed. The small band of foreign agents would troupe through the woods, dark, imposing, and utterly alien to German patrols. The group would trudge through mud and over roots, until at last they found a disused and partially destroyed barnyard just as the sun began to poke its way up across the countryside. With the abandoned farmlands illuminated by rosy-fingered dawn, the group could settle down and catch some rest. Food had been left by the resisistance fighters- basic yet hearty fair, although the acorn-made black bread was definitely an acquired taste.

A day later, with the sun rising anew so as to avoid Germans prowling about looking for those out and about past curfew, and the party would set out again, towards Liliane's promised Orléans restaurant. The medicine would be left at a dead-drop location, and then the pair would proceed, into town. Certainly odd looks were sent their way- healthy, burly men like Taras were a rarity nowadays, but they would be unmolested as they arrived in Orléans' most fancy resistance cafe- la Route de Miel. 

A mention of a 'Monsieur Lavande' would earn the group a magnificent seat and complimentary coffee, piping hot. The bakeries had just opened and so bread- fresh, wheat, bread, was avaliable; a truly wonderful spread considering the time. Despite it still being early in the morning, a pair of performers would emerge onto the stage, a tall, slender man with a pair of dark sunglasses, and next to him a beautiful looking blonde woman wearing an airy dress designed for show, more than practicality. 

The man would start up a jaunty tune on the piano, the woman would dance, and for a moment the horrors of what they had experienced shortly after landing faded away.