I pad my way barefoot to the old medicine cabin, my list tucked in my jean shorts and my shoulder-bag bouncing with my step. Today I was requested to get herbal tea for the elder travelers who have just recently checked in at the inn. I've only met one of them, tall with broad shoulders, and very strong for his age. He wore a suit, and he told me it was an old military uniform that has been passed down for ages. It was blue with gold buttons and epaulettes, with various medals attached to his chest, and I gawked and asked so many questions, like why he wore such an ancient and valuable thing, and how he preserved it's color and kept it together. His hair was a grayish white, long, and was wrapped in a blue ribbon to his back. He had a steady, blue-eyed gaze, nearly icy and if he chose to, he could terrify any being. The wrinkles on his face were not prominent, only so when he was frowning deeply, and his skin was tanned with the trophy of a long march across miles and miles of land.

His name was Frederick Wilhelm.

I liked the man, more than I would've thought, and so when the inn was asking for someone to do their errand, I volunteered happily, and although surprised, the inn seemed happy as well that I wanted to help them. So I now walk a grassy path towards the cabin in the meadow, by the towering woods, and just past that an even loftier strew of snowy mountains. And most would say that the view was enchanting, peaceful, and magical. I just thought that it was fake looking. Mountains without a single jagged tip on it's sides, every tree in the woods the same exact height, and the flowers in the meadow arranged by color and the amount of petals it carried.

The only thing truly beautiful was the medicine cabin. It was handmade, old and rickety, paint chipping off everywhere. It was imperfect, and that was what made it beautiful in this almost constantly perfect world. It had scars from the past and had it's own bookful of history, and I would usually go there to spend a night away from the people of this village. There was a shed full of books hidden in the back, where I usually read in peace. It was probably used as a library a long time ago, and from the red smudges between the floorboards and behind the wallpaper, I could only assume that the past government army had forced it to shut down, when they still had the authority and will to do so. But the battle turned in the librarian's favor, apparently, as the books remained, dusty and untouched.

They were full of history; the books I mean. Some were so thick that even a silver bullet shot by a sniper could not cut through it's pages. Well, I assume so, as I have yet to see what either a silver bullet or a sniper is. I've only read about them in the fictional books of the shed library, about woman finally being able to fight as snipers on the Soviet fronts. From what I've read, the Soviet Union was essentially Russia. I always shudder at the thought that the nice people of that country used to brutally murder people on the battlefields.

Of course, not in fear or disgust. I shiver in excitement, and I had pride for such people, people who made a difference and actually fought for the right cause instead of pretending that nothing was happening and not getting involved, insteading of going with everything that is happening like a bottle on the tides. A bottle locked with secrets and pleas for rescue. The bottle that I had read in a fantasy-like romance book of a young lady travelling across the ocean to rescue a soldier from an enemy camp. It was definitely like that. We were all bottles rolling in the sea, with barely a sailor that has enough curiousity to pick one of us up and open our contents to the world.

Of course, my wondering thoughts stop once I've reached the front door of the medicine cabin. I go inside and take the checklist out, reading it to myself as I go through the various shelves of dried leaves and flower petals and seeds, taking out only what I need. I take out a paper bag from my messenger sling-over and fill it with the ingredients, then pat it flat, rolled it, and put it back in. I paused to stare at the shelf at the far end of the cabin, contemplating whether or not I had time to push past through the hidden door and sneak a book back home, but I erase the thought, as today is checking day, and my little discovery could cause a lot more havoc than it would any other day.

However, as my feet hit the grass outside the cabin, the thought barrels back, more powerful and tempting than the last, and although I bite my lip to resist my urges, I turn around anyway and push the shelf out of my way.

I returned to the inn, handing the bartender the herbs so he could start making tea for the elders, and as I turn around the leave, I see Frederick walk in, greeting another man across the room with a simple wave and a proud smile. I wave a little as well, in what I suppose is a friendly enough greeting, and make my way towards the door. However, even though my hunched back and hair around my face indicated that I probably didn't want any company, Frederick takes hold of my forearm, and with a radiant smile that broke through my dark façade, he led me to a lively table, with many elderly men and women boasting about their pasts and wishing they had the energy to do those things once more.

I was awkward, sitting their with my hands over my lap, bag tucked in with my arms, head held down. I was trying to be polite and show my respect to them, however even I could tell that I looked like an embarrassed kitten with my ears held down in shame. Frederick patted me on the back hard enough to straighten it back up, and my head went up with it due to the surprise. A woman across from me chuckled, and I noticed that she seemed much more different from the rest of the elders. Elegant, even. I nod my head in greeting, and her smile grew.

"My name is Maria. But, if you wish, you could call me by the nickname everyone's given me. Duchess."

"Was that a joke or are you being mocked?"

Maria frowned as Frederick patted me on the back once more, hardy guffaw echoing on the walls.

"Boy, you know how to talk! First chance to talk with the others and that's the first thing that escapes that mouth of yours? Now, is that very polite?"

Honestly, I didn't understand why what I had said was so bad. Maybe it was an inside joke? Either way, it made me feel ashamed, so I was back to hunched shoulders and hanging head.

"Oh, dear, ignore Frederick. He can be such an idiot when the times calls for it." Maria pointedly glared at Frederick, her blue eyes seemingly dark with silent rage, and Frederick actually faltered, which surprised me. He didn't seem like the kind to falter by something as ridiculous as a glare.

"He hates woman," Maria continued. "He was joking about politeness. He was actually hoping you would probably say something more rude and awful."

Straightening my back once more, I quickly sent a surprised glance in Frederick's direction, before deciding it would be best not to linger on such a topic much longer. Especially when I caught sight of Frederick's strained grin.

"Earlier..."

I struggled to find something to say, and since I had already started, I let my mouth run off.

"You were all talking about your travels, correct?"

I had hoped my change in topic wouldn't have been too obvious, but sadly, I caught a few questioning eyebrows. I don't talk with many people often, so I shouldn't have expected as much. However, Maria seemed nice enough to go along with it.

"Well, we were talking about our times on the snow."

I gave her a questioning and curious glance, intrigued by what she had said. If it was true, that meant that she had climbed the mountains. There are no other places with snow, even if they had such in the past.

"Don't get the wrong idea," she said in amusement. "We climbed no mountains. Those are simply brutal. We crossed snowy plains and swirling blizzards, much more than brutal. They were unreasonably torturous."

"Death lurking in the reflection of ice..." Frederick had joined in, a sort of misty coat swirling around his irises. "You could see yourself on that ice, no matter the amount of snow, and it was sickening. Red crusted eyes, blue and black lips, red nose and ears, tears streaking down your face and freezing at the tip of your chin. Yes, it was more than brutal, and much more than torturous."

I stared, awestricken by his words, and my lips mouthed breathlessly and unconsciously.

"Does a place like that really exist?"

It took me a second to process what I had actually said, and I had not a second to move afterwards as Frederick was looking at me darkly, a strange, expecting smile gracing his features.

"Boy, don't let that adventurous attitude get you into too much trouble."

Then I realize that not only had I asked such a question, but I asked in way that was purely out of my strong curiosity. A way that showed how I wanted to be there, experiencing such challenges, facing the hardships. I didn't want a peaceful life.

I excuse myself from the table as politely as I could muster, pacing out of the inn, and as soon as my heel hit the cobblestone pavement outside, I dashed towards the opposite side of town, heading to the nearly barren fields, where nothing grew other than miles and miles of grass. I ran into the middle of the field, and stretched my limbs, falling into the cushion of green grass blades, and I stared up into the sky, looked at the old, mysterious, crystal pillars, and wondered.

Every time I realize something about myself, I run away into the field and wonder. Because here, no one can stop me, interrupt me, scold me, or anything of the sorts. My thoughts were free, and I basked in such a privilege. So I wondered. Where was my life heading now? What have I done? Will I regret what I will do?

I stayed like that for an hour. Or maybe two, but who counted? It didn't matter much. Either way, I sat up, covered in brown and green, body too relaxed and sluggish, hair mussed, and I was half-asleep. Despite all this, I force myself onto my feet, wobbling right to left and left to right, rolling my sleeping wrists. I then pad my way back, with nothing on my mind. That is, until I make it to my house. A notice was on it.

I had missed checking day. And now I was to report to the town council at 9:00. I reach for my bag to check the time, and that's when I realize that it's gone.

I left it at the inn.

Just my luck.

I turn around, feeling my muscles clench in stress once more, no longer relaxed, yet still sluggish all the same. I sigh, and with a hunched stance, tread my way towards the inn. Frederick might have found it.

Or maybe the checkers found it.

Oh lord, I hope they didn't.

This story was actually going to be an original story, so I'm sorry if the characters are a little different than what you possibly expected them to be. Modifying their personalities would overall effect the story, so I kept with what I had. Also, no, I do not have fictionpress. I didn't want to bother making an account. Besides, I was too lazy to think of the characters' design. I like the Hetalia designs anyways.