England opened his eyes to see the plain white ceiling of his small room. He turned onto his side, curling up into a ball to provide the warmth that his thin blanket was unable to provide.

However, no matter how much he willed his eyes to close, the sun shining through his window was sending him the message that no, he couldn't sleep anymore. Sighing, the small nation sat up and yawned, brushing the shaggy blonde locks out of his hair, sliding out of the cot he was sleeping in.

England opened his green eyes and he scanned the bedroom, looking for a certain something- He found the silver hair brush laying on the small wooden chest along with his black cape.

He picked up the brush and ran it through his hair, attempting to brush it into neatness, however, like any other day, it remained as untidy as ever. Scowling, he placed the brush back down onto the wooden chest and pulled on his cape, exiting his small room and outside.

Outside, the grass was green, and the sun was shining down, however the trees were leafless and a chilly breeze was in the air. It was autumn, and already the cold was taking over.

England sat down in the grass and stared at the various creatures; Birds fluttering around, a butterfly resting on a nearby bush, and the occasional scampering squirrel.

Suddenly, a familiar, heavily accented voice called,

"Are you daydreaming again, Arthur?"

England scowled and turned to see a slightly older French nation walking over to him, his shoulder-length hair moving gently with the direction of the wind.

"No, I'm not," England shot back, "And it's 'England' to you!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever!" France smirked and waved his hand in a careless way, "I just want to know why you spend so much time staring off into space when you could be doing something else! Something like, I don't know, brushing your hair?"

"Jerk!" England scowled. France laughed and turned away, chuckling to himself. England gave a small pout and said,

"Besides, it's your fault I daydream!"

"Excuse moi?" France asked curiously, turning to face the English nation, "What did you say?"

"I said it was your fault! You were the one that always told me those bloody stories about stupid fairies and whatnot!" England pouted, crossing his arms. France laughed and said,

"I remember back then you enjoyed them. You actually used to be CUTE. But times change."

"Take that back!" England huffed. "Take that back right now!"

"Hahaha! No way!" France chuckled, and raced away, laughing loudly. Annoyed, England scowled and stood up, intending to walk into the forest like he always did when upset.

On entering the forest, he began whistling quietly, to see if the birds would hear the tune and relay it, but none did. After a few minutes he stopped whispering, and sighed.

That's when he heard it; A small cough to the left of him. England's head jerked that direction, his eyebrows raised as his eyes searched the area for the cause of the noise. Another cough was heard, followed by the sound of rustling bushes.

England stepped closer to the bushes curiously, and parted the branches, peering over them to see nothing but a few footprints in the moist dirt.

Frowning at this discovery, England jumped over the small bushes and followed the trail of large footprints, which led him all the way to a small clearing.

There, in the middle of the clearing, was a small tree stump, and sitting there, on the tree stump, was a thick black book, it's pages looking yellowed.

He crept closer to it and saw that the title was in some sort of ancient runes, but it seemed interesting, however. He then noticed a note sticking out of the front page, and pulled it out slowly.

It was a letter, written in English, and addressed to him. Curious, he opened the letter and read the short sentences:

TO BROTHER.

THIS WAS ONCE MINE. TAKE CARE OF IT.

-S

Frowning at the hastily scrawled words, England turned the parchment over, expecting to see more writing on the back, but wasn't surprised to see none.

He had no idea where that book came from, but he was going to keep it.