Germany had almost completely forgotten how much he hated forests.

Not because he disliked nature or animals (though he had a healthy hatred for the bugs that seemed keen to make his trek as miserable as possible), but the forest was practically designed to make hunting downright impossible for him. Every time he had been forced into the forest to track down another country in the past he almost always managed to get ambushed. Germany was the sort that stuck out easily among the trees and bushes: it was hard for a nation as tall and imposing as him to stay hidden, and thus he rarely managed to achieve the element of surprise when he was in the woods.

And in the case of Israel he had a distinct feeling that he was going to need that element of surprise. Running at him guns ablaze would likely end badly if Israel was even half the fighter that he must have been. Germany was strong, but not nearly as strong as the Roman Empire, and if the Jewish nation had managed to give him a beating then Germany would have to play this smart. A shot to the head would do it, but he had to make sure he could get close enough to fire and hit his target. He certainly didn't want to miss and then have to deal with an alert and aggressive Israel.

So he continued to slowly sulk through the woods, stopping only when fatigue forced him to and keeping his gun at the ready at all times. He didn't dare sleep through the night since he certainly didn't want to risk being ambushed, but he took a few brief naps under bushes, scratching at the multiple bug-bites he had accumulated and praying that this damned mission would be over soon.

At last, after walking for what must have been three days at minimum, he arrived at the Owl Rock.

Well, I guess I can see why it was named that, he thought, glancing cautiously up at the stone. The Rock looked so much like an owl that Germany had to wonder if a sculptor of some sort had chosen to practice on it. Its giant stone eyes seemed to glare down at him and he had to repress a shudder. Creepy. He almost felt as though the landmark was sentient, sentient enough to see and dislike him, but he quickly brushed that thought away. He had bigger things to worry about than a sinister-looking rock in the middle of the woods.

Germany scanned the area with his cold blue eyes, but he didn't see a sign of human or nation activity. He glanced at the base of the Owl Rock and cocked his gun when he realized that the ancient nation must have been camped right behind the stone.

Slowly, he inched his way towards the rock, pressing his back against the Owl's stomach and listening carefully. Tuning out the twitters of birds and the chirps of crickets, he could hear a very soft breathing coming from the other side of the rock. Not a snore, but clearly a series of sleepy inhales and exhales. Israel was definitely behind the rock and he was definitely asleep.

Now's my chance, thought Germany. He made sure his weapon was ready, inhaled, and jumped around the rock, raising his gun and aiming at Israel's head. He paused just long enough to look at the ancient nation and take in his appearance.

Israel was lying on his side, curled up in a little ball.

Israel had raven-black hair.

Israel was a twelve-year-old boy.

Germany was so surprised that he froze, and his temporary paralysis gave Israel just enough time to wake up, roll out of the gun's range, grab the German's arm with one hand and sock him in the jaw with the other.

Germany's world instantly became black.

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