Canada POV
Canada sighed as he shivered, walking through the snowy trees, and he quickly wiped his eyes. "I-I wish I hadn't gotten l-lost…" He looked at Kuma, picking him up and zipping him into his military coat, glancing around helplessly. "F-France was right…I should have never left…I-I'm just a dumb kid." Kuma looked at him, head and eyes barely visible. "Who are you?" Kuma asked, tilting his head. Canada nearly burst into tears, looking to the side. "I'm New Fran- I mean….eh….I'm C-Canada." He replied sadly. Canada ran a hand through his messy hair, face smeared with grime and dried blood from his most recent rebellion, and stumbled, untangling his fingers from his curl, blushing lightly. He trudged on, trying to locate himself.
He had left France- ran from him to the east for quite awhile, narrowly dodging Germany, and started running north. What was northeast of France? He paused, thinking, a hand pressed against the gash in his side, made from France's own silver sword. Northeast of France? He paled, eyes widening. "R-Russia…I'm in Russia." He whispered, voice cracking as a wave of fear rolled through him. What had America warned him about Russia? Canada tried to remember his brother's words, having difficulty with his pounding headache, a gift that came with war. Remember bro, Russia's bad news. He's just a mean ol' commie. Is that what America said? Canada thought so. He ran again, his arms hugging Kuma to his chest, vision blurred without his glasses, which had been left in France, shattered on the ground. He ran faster than ever, vision blurring further with exertion. He was in no shape to defend himself against North Italy much less Russia. He knew it was very dangerous for him to be in Russia without France's supervision, looking identical to America, other than his eyes. Canada learned that America and Russia were not good friends very quick. He kept running, hand pressing tighter one of his many wounds, slowing down, dizzy with blood loss.