The young woman slept soundly, but woke up earlier than she usually did in preparation for her hike.
She grinned at how lucky she was. France's ship had anchored in a different bay this time and he was in the perfect position to see where she would see him off.
She filled a small bag with food and a larger canteen with water, both of which France had given her. He had given her many small trinkets that would certainly be useful in time or just for simple amusment. She really did find it amazing that the world's people were able to create such wonderful things. A spyglass, books, thermometers, the piano – an instrument that makes the most wonderful music - or so France told her. How she wished she could carry a piano around with her. Just how big were they?
Satisfied that her inventory was complete, she set off into the wilderness. The sun was only just beginning to rise and the trees were illuminated with a ghostly, misty half-light that the young woman simply adored. It showed how pristine and untouched her backyard really was, all hers. For now anyway.
She grimaced as the prospect of people actually coming to stay here. She half-hoped that they wouldn't stay for too long. Even thought she longed for the presence of others, she really wouldn't appreciate her beaches, jungle, hills, individuality to be taken.
Oh well… She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. She pressed on through the bushes, across the grabbing vines and the occasional cavern until the ground started to rise gently underneath her feet.
« Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques
Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous ? »
The young woman sang softly to herself as she made her way up the gradually steepening slope. Those were the correct words, France had told her. But why Jacques? Why was he so important as to make an appearance in a song?
She sighed. It kind of reminded her of herself. She certainly didn't feel important. But here she was, on her lonely little island, being admired by France and possibly the Empire England himself. Being a country was substantially harder than merely being placed into a song, though. Lucky Jacques…
She paused to wipe a hand over her slightly sweaty brow. She hadn't taken this hike in a long time – not since she was a little kid. She remembered exploring the island and discovering the strange slope, filled with childish determination to reach the top without stopping.
When she reached the top as a child she remembered being absolutely blown away by the scene that awaited her at the top. The slope created a small ninety degree cliff (France had taught her about degrees) which she scrambled over with some difficulty due to her height. Every piece of foliage cleared to unveil the most spectacular view. She had seen a small bay to her right and kilometers and kilometers of dense green. It was certainly the first time that she had ever experienced just how vast her home really was.
The young woman snorted and shook her head, knowing that her island wasn't really that big in comparison to the world and its co – cont – continents, but it had definitely seemed so to her innocent eyes.
Oh, to be young again…
She gave a cry of recognition as she spied the vertical slope, ascending to the summit. She stopped and reached into her bag to pull out something else France had given her: two equal lengths of red ribbon – 'for her hair' he had said. 'I bet they'll suit you.'
Hmmm… Now what was she supposed to do with these, exactly?
She contemplated for a minute and then divided her hair into two sections – for the two ribbons, she reasoned. She spent a couple of minutes making sure that the length and the amount of hair on each side was even. Then she clumsily tied the first one into a bow, followed by the next lock of hair. She straightened and pulled, twisted and tugged. Huh… This was more difficult than she had thought.
I guess this will have to do for now.
She gave the ribbons one last prod and proceeded to climb up the slope with a lot less difficulty this time, she noticed.
Again she was awed by how her island and its surroundings complimented themselves. The way the sea sparkled with the fresh rays from the sun (which was now high in the sky) and in turn, these sparkles bounced off of the waves and onto the minuscule grains of sand. The sparkle fire continued to move its way up to the palm leaves and the giant coconuts - into the fur, hair and feathers of all the diverse wildlife – an ongoing chain of beauty.
And it was all hers.
The young woman – for the first time – realized just how lucky she was. To be a part of this unending chain of life. To have France. To be assigned this role. Despite its difficulties, it meant that she was her country and no one else could change that. Well, when she actually became a country that is.
With a start, she remembered that she had told France to look out for her.
She turned towards the bay and was rewarded with the sight of France's ship preparing to set sail into the unknown.
Oh! And there was France – up in the crow's nest – looking up at her through a spyglass.
No fair…
She grinned and waved and he repeated her action, setting the spyglass down and grasping two sections of his hair in his hands, before giving her what appeared to be a thumbs-up.
Oh good, he approved. She laughed at how much of a girl he looked like with his hair parted like that.
They stayed like that for a while, just looking at each other until one of the French sailors barked up an angry statement to France who spared him half a glance. He looked back up and blew a kiss in her direction. She couldn't tell, but she could imagine him winking as well. She shook her head and waved enthusiastically straining to get one last look at his face before he climbed down the rigging and onto the deck, all but disappearing amidst the roiling crowd of hurrying sailors.
She watched them work in tandem for a while longer. Then she sat down and brought the food and water from out of her bag. Time for a little picnic. And what better place to have one than on top of her own little world?
I I I
The young woman watched France's ship shrink into the distance and continued to keep watch on the horizon well into the night. And then she realized that she wouldn't be able to make the climb down the mountain at this time of day.
Great. Oh well. She could sleep here. Besides it being uncomfortable and rocky and in the open and, well, a mountain top…it was a fine place to sleep for just one night.
She grinned half-heartedly and rolled her picnic bag into a makeshift pillow. This would do. She closed her eyes and drifted into slumber.
I I I
She walks quickly down a well-trodden path, different from what she is used to in her jungle home. The path (road?) twists and turns without any discernable pattern and strange things flit in and out of her dream-sight. Things that seem familiar – did France describe these? A large, black shiny structure with legs and white…(keys?) Could this be a piano?
Strange structures made of wood and brick. Each has doors and windows. Nameless shadows roam inside the walls.
Two ships circling each other with…(cannons?) One of the flags belongs to France. The other to England. No – don't shoot!
The resulting 'bang' fades into someone playing 'Frère Jacques' on the piano, but she doesn't know who. He has dark brown hair, a blue coat and glasses. He looks up and smiles before a man with red eyes and white hair appears from nowhere and clubs him on the head with a musket, laughing.
The young woman shrieked softly in her sleep.
She is back on the path, running now, from all the unknown. She sees France fighting with someone – what large eyebrows – she feels as if she should know this man. They have abandoned their guns and have taken to wrestling each other. It would have been comical if she weren't so frightened. The bodies strewn everywhere don't help either.
She dashes to them, but they disappear before she can reach them.
She sees the Eyebrow Man standing with a boy her age. They seem so far away from each other even though they're standing a mere two feet away. The Eyebrow Man smiles a strained smile and reaches out, but can't seem to find any hold. "I was looking forward to one of your embraces, America…"
The path now stretches straight before her feet, as if leading to her destiny. What will this path bring to her isolated island?
She spies a familiar shadow among the strange. It's France. She walks over to him, calling out.
France? What's going on here? But he turns around and all she can do is leap back in fear. He is smiling the most nefarious smile and his eyes shine with incredible…(lust?) She backs away as he approaches, reaching out to her – and this time, she doesn't reach back.
He drops the bottle of wine he is holding and when it falls, it and her dreamscape smash into little tiny pieces, accompanied by France's 'Oh hon hon hon hon…"
The young woman woke up with a scream, loud and raw this time. She looked down at her hands to see that they were shaking and rightly so because – what was that?
Her chest rose and fell harshly and her heart beat in an incessant rhythm of fear because she never remembered her dreams and who were those people and what were those things and why were they in her dream – why, why, why?
She gripped a sparse tuft of grass with her right hand, thinking of Dream France and the way he had looked at her like she was a hunk of Roquefort cheese and how she hated that because he was supposed to be her friend, right?
After a while the young lady's breathing calmed and her heart stopped threatening to break out of her chest. She let out a long breath and shuddered, collecting her things for the trip back down the mountain. The sun had first broken through the horizon about an hour ago, she reasoned. The chirping birds were enough to tell her that much.
She kept her mind as blank as possible, so as to not lose her concentration on the difficult climb down. She felt she was doing a pretty good job, actually. No thoughts, no voices, no strange hallucinations…
It wasn't until she had walked all the way to the beach that she had to stifle a sob. Wait. There really wasn't any point of crying when there was no one there to comfort her. Honestly. She wasn't a little girl anymore. No crying. It was just a dream.
She scrambled on top of the Thinking Rock and thought. How could she have seen what she had seen? She didn't know what those four people - whom she didn't even know the names of - looked like. How could her brain conjure those images? Was it because she was a country? (A future country, whatever.) Did she just know?
She sighed laid her forehead on her drawn-up knees. Why was everything so confusing?
That piano had made a lovely sound, though…
The blackness of that beautiful instrument somehow reminded her of the not-so-beautiful blackness of Eyebrow Man's eyebrows. Who was he?
She struggled to remember, eyes clenched in frustration until – oh! France had mentioned that England had really large eyebrows, and yes…they were really big. Huh… Okay then. Wow. Were eyebrows that large even physically possible?
She tried to remember his face from her dream. He had seemed so unsure, so puzzled in the presence of that other boy…man – America. Was this really the powerful and dangerous ruler of so much of the world? Had France been exaggerating? But no… He had seemed so sure about his description.
The young woman thought about all the anxiety, uncertainty, violence and apprehension surrounding those nations and grit her teeth, an exclamation of disgust tearing through her vocal cords.
What was happening to the world?
AN - well I'm back! Sorry for the lateness. Busy life is busy. :) BUT LOLOLOL THE RIBBONZ! I haven't forgotten those.
No translations this time!
Footnotes: The first spyglass was "invented" (many different opinions there :P) by German lensmaker, Hans Lippershey in 1608.
The first thermoscope (like a thermometer - it shows temperature, but without a scale) was built in the 17th century by Galileo Galilei.
The first piano was built sometime between 1698 and 1700 by Bartolomeo Christofori of Italy.
We'll soon find out just how much Empire England didn't admire Seychelles for who she was.
The mountain Seychelles climbed is called Morne Blanc, on the west coast. It has a height of 700 m (2340 feet).
Remember, the time-frame is during the War of the Austrian Succession. Prussia kind of hated Austria.
Okay! So we've had short appearances from a few different Nations and hopefully we'll see more of England soon-ish. What will Seychelles do now? :P Thanks for the support!