Mr Collins didn't like me in his classes, and I didn't like being in his classes. But I found a solution that made both of us happy.

When it came time for lessons, I'd run out into the forest behind England's house, and hide. No one ever came looking for me.

England and France thought that I was with Mr Collins, Mr Collins, America and Canada didn't care where I was, and Newfoundland, India and West Indies were stuck in lessons.

There was a tree far out in the middle of the forest, a huge, sprawling oak. It was easy to climb, but I was the only one who ever did so. No one else particularly liked climbing trees.

It's branches were sturdy, and close together, so that it was easy to climb up. Around halfway up, the main trunk had been cut off at some point, and the branches stopped growing out, and started growing upwards.

They formed a circle around the cut edge, almost like a crown. The branches had tangled together over time, forming a natural wall between the outside and the centre.

There were only a few small holes, but I was skinny enough to wriggle through them to the centre, where there was an empty platform where the trunk had been cut. It wasn't particularly wide, but there was enough room for me to sit comfortably.

There, I was safe from the rest of the world. There, no one could find me. America couldn't play his cruel pranks on me; Mr Collins couldn't give me the look that made me feel like I was less than dirt on the bottom of his shoe, and England couldn't make me obey his stupid rules.

I'd sit in the tree, and pretend that I was back home. I'd sing songs in Father's language, and tell the birds and squirrels the stories of the Dreamtime.

But I could never remember everything. No matter how much I try, I can never remember all the stories that Father used to tell me.

Once lessons were over, my brothers and sister would run out to the forest, and join me. They were too big to fit through the holes, but they would coax me out, and we'd run wild, pretending to be fairies and nature spirits.

We each had our own special place in the forest.

West Indies' was a little brook that laughed and giggled merrily, just like him. There was an old footbridge there, half-rotted from time and neglect. It arched up and over the ditch the brook lived in, and West Indies would hide under it like the trolls in fairytales.

He said that it reminded him of his home. I don't see how. He lived in a warm, wet place, like Aotearoa's mother's land. England's nothing like that. England's wet alright, but it's not warm by any means.

Newfoundland's was a long abandoned badger's den. She'd scraped out the tunnels, making them large enough to fit her. They wound around under the ground like a maze, that only she knew how to navigate.

I don't know what was in the centre of the maze, as I never went in. There was an unspoken rule - you never go in someone else's special place. Even if there hadn't been that rule, I wouldn't have gone in. I hate being underground.

India's wasn't hidden like ours'. His was in a small clearing. It was a garden, where he grew strange smelling herbs from his homeland.

They never grew big and strong, and they always died during winter, but he never gave up. He just shrugged and said, "Fiftieth - or fifty-first, or fifty-second - time's the charm."

I would've given up after the third time, but he just kept replanting them.

—-

Author's Note: I'm sorry I missed my last two updates, bit my mum grounded me, and I couldn't get on any devices. But, I'm going to post all of the missed chapters today, sort of like an early Christmas present.

Lots of Love, Lady of Goblins