As Mathias stepped over the threshold of Sweden's door left open, he couldn't help but smile. Taking his axe over his shoulder, he shifted the Norge in his arms to make sure he was comfortable. With one last glare, he slammed the door shut.
Soon, Denmark realized his own foolishness. How had he not clothed Lukas? Lukas was shaking in the cold, the snow turning his skin paler than it already was. Immediately, Mathias stripped himself of his heavy, black overcoat and wrapped Norway in it. His body heat was still in the coat, so it would be even warmer. He made sure to cover Luka's cold, frozen toes. So on he trudged, through the snow.
After an hour or so, Denmark started to worry. Why had he not made it to his house yet? He squinted his eyes against the flurries of snow, trying to see farther. Maybe he was just going the wrong way.
Then he remembered a story America had once told him. A little boy and a little girl wandered out into the woods at night during a light snow. Overnight, the small sprinkle turned into a blizzard. They just walked in circles over and over again until they died of cold and exhaustion.
Denmark's heart seemed to drop down into his stomach. Then he realized that Norway had not moved at all this entire time. Worry upon worry layered each other, resembling the new sheet of snow that was laid to rest on its peers with every moment that passed.