There is a Thaw

The fact of it is, he’s tired. He’s spent the last two years killing and fighting, killing and hiding, killing and watching his comrades die. His sketchbook is water stained and torn through with bullet holes and his charcoal is dust at the bottom of his bag. He fought for what was right and it didn’t make a damned difference and he’s retreated deep into that dark pit that sometimes swallows him, swallows his words and his colors and his interest in waking up in the morning.

Or, in the aftermath of a lonely, difficult mission, Yusuf makes friends with a painter in France.