Sweden dropped his bow in surprise when he saw him.
A small boy, gap-toothed and barefoot, staring back at him in curiosity.
He wore nothing, save for roughly sewn-together skins and an expression of sheer amazement at the sight of another being.
When Sweden asked the boy, "who are you?" he shied away and dove into the bushes, trembling fiercely and crying out in a language Sweden did not know. He crept closer, trying to get a better look at the pretty boy with the barbarian tongue.
He stopped only when the stabbing pain overtook him, blossoming from his shoulder. Blood seeped through his tunic, staining the ashen cloth crimson. Berwald looked towards the heathen boy, who glared at him with eyes of purple fire.
I am… Suomi, came the ragged reply. Suomi quickly drew back his spear and dug its bloodied tip into the ground. You are on my land. Please… leave. His glare never wavered until Sweden turned away, baffled and bleeding, and limped off in search of his comrades.
As Denmark and Norway patched his wound in the safety of their camp, Sweden turned his gaze to the sky.
Suomi. A beautiful name for a beautiful land, he thought, heart racing.
Norway tightened the bandage around his shoulder one last time and sighed. "It's dangerous here," he said, his voice heavy with defeat. He sported his own wounds, no doubt from the people of this Suomi, who obviously did not take too kindly to strangers with swords.
Denmark nodded in agreement. "We'll sail back tomorrow mornin'. What say you, Sweden?"
Sweden's pensive silence was all the answer he'd needed, and trepidation rose in Denmark's chest.
Suomi had clearly left his mark on Sweden, in more ways than one.
AN: Mmm baby I'm getting my mojo back. Have a drabble, because the motivation that was supposed to go to my Medieval Lit project went into this instead.