Yay for an OC!

Warning: Usual angst and tension, especially between America and Russia.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

The Huntress

"H-hello… I'm looking for my dad…"

Everyone stood there, too shocked to do anymore then stare.

The girl straightened, and asked again, "D-does anybody know my dad? His name is—"

Alfred pushed his way through the other nations toward her. "Moriah!"

"Dad?" the girl smiled and ran toward Alfred, throwing her arms around his waist. "Dad… I-I can't believe I found you…"

"Moriah," Alfred hugged her tightly to him. "I've been feeling your presence for hours, but I couldn't think of anything to get your attention…"

"Well," said Moriah, pulling herself away from Alfred and looking at him lovingly. "I knew it had to be you. Who else would be stupid enough to light off a flare in these times?"

Arthur cleared his throat loudly. "Er… do you mind explaining yourself, America?"

Alfred and Moriah turned to address them. "Yeah… this is my daughter Moriah, though you may know her better as Montana."

"Well," said Moriah, scratching the back of her head nervously. "I don't suppose you'd really know me. You've probably heard of me, though. I'm a bit… withdrawn. Aheheheh…"

Matthew came forward, his eyes alight. "I know you! Remember me?"

Moriah studied him for a second. "Oh, yeah! You're Canada—er, Mattie! You took me out hunting a few times long ago."

Matthew stepped forward and gave her a one-armed hug. "Yeah, I remember too. You were really young… about eight, in fact. Well, looked eight. That was the day you shot your first buck. Right in the head, too!"

"I know," Moriah replied, flashing a mischievous look at Alfred. "Dad was so scared I'd hurt myself."

Alfred snapped, "I didn't know you'd went that far into the woods. What if you'd gotten hurt?"

Matthew scoffed. "Deer tend to live deeper in the woods than you may think, Al, plus," He gave Moriah a proud look. "You're a great shot."

"Moriah," Alfred began, but Moriah held up a hand.

"Please, Dad, again don't call me Moriah."

"Why? I named you!"

"Only because the first two letters corresponded with my state name. You named all your states that way."

"Only so I could remember them! Jeez, there're fifty of you, gimme a break!"

"Well," said Moriah huffily. "I don't like the name."

Alfred looked a tad hurt. "But… I thought it was a beautiful name. I thought it would suit the beautiful scenery you have."

"Well, then you obviously don't know me."

Alfred's face fell. "How could you say that? I raised you."

Arthur sighed. "Now you know what I went through with you, America."

"What?"

"You wanted to be yourself. That's why you had your revolution. And that's also why you gave yourself a middle name." Arthur swallowed dryly. "Obviously… Montana wants to come into herself also."

Alfred turned quickly to her. "Does that mean you want to separate from me?"

Moriah laughed. "No, no! Never! I could never leave you, Dad. I love you."

Alfred smiled. "I love you too, Montie."

"But if you loved me," Moriah said carefully. "you would call me Marge."

Alfred wrinkled his nose. "Marge? Why?"

"It's short for Marjorie." Marge said. "And I think it suits me better than some prissy name that sounds like it should belong to some rich actress or singer. You see," Marge cocked her rifle. "I'm a huntress. And I don't think people would take me seriously if they called me Moriah."

"So, Marge," Matthew cut in, his eyes now darting from tree-to-tree. "Do you happen to have a safe place to stay around here? It might be that Al's decision to shoot off the flare has attracted more attention than just your own."

"Da," Ivan added, and Alfred frowned, as if he didn't want his rival's voice to tarnish the moment. "I can hear something big moving toward us."

Matthew nodded. "Yeah, that's what's worrying me."

Alfred's frown deepened. "How the hell do you hear that?!"

"Never mind that." Arthur turned to Marge. "Is there a place? Where did you come from?"

Marge pointed toward the trees from which she came. "Just north, not a mile. As I said earlier, I felt Dad's presence and came rushing over here. I might have attracted something on the way also. I must say I wasn't as careful as I usually am."

Suddenly, Lovino rushed forward. "Take us there, then, dammit! We'll die out here if we stay much longer!"

Alfred growled. "Don't yell at my daughter, asshole."

"What did you just call me, bastard?"

Francis pushed Lovino back a little. "Please, Romano. Don't worsen the situation."

"Don't touch me, wine bastard!"

"Please don't yell, brother!" Feliciano sniffed, threatening to cry.

Ludwig quickly tried to calm him. "Shh, shh, Veneziano, you'll attract something else…"

At this, Feliciano broke out into even louder sobs.

Gilbert glared at his brother. "Look at what you did, West! Now we'll attract everything from miles around!"

Lovino snarled. "Don't you blame my brother, bastard!"

"He's the one starting it, Totally Unawesome Tomato-Eater!"

"Che, you still suck ass at making insults, potato bastard."

"Yeah, well you're not as awesome as—"

"QUIET!"

It was, surprisingly, Matthew. Beside him, Alfred shrunk back significantly. "Toldja he's scary when he's angry."

"Now," said Matthew calmly, his tone still biting. "While we're traveling it is essential that we remain completely and utterly silent." He eyed the Italies at this and Gilbert. "Or else that thing may turn tail and decide to track us. So let's pack up our stuff. And again, I implore quietly. And we'll follow Marge back to her campsite. Al," He turned to his brother. "Douse the fire. I'll get the food from the trees." And he set off.

Without much ado, the others packed their things quickly. Smoke issued in great, wafting amounts from the fire when Alfred threw water on it. At this, Matthew hissed from his place in the tree, now unhooking supplies, "Dammit, Alfred! Stamp on it next time!"

Alfred tried to blow the smoke away by taking off his bomber jacket and waving at it, but that only managed to get the smoke to spiral higher into the sky. Then, Ivan came out of nowhere, scaring the living shit out of Alfred, as he stepped up from behind him, snatched the jacket out of Alfred's hands, and threw it down onto the heap of charred sticks and ashes. Alfred glared at him, but Ivan only smiled and said, "It helped, da?" and left to finish packing up his own things.

Meanwhile, Marge, who had been watching, walked over to pluck Alfred's jacket out of the smoldering fire, brushing it off and handing it to him. She was trying to hold down a smile, but it was obvious nonetheless.

"Thanks, Montie. That asshole…" Alfred grumbled, throwing on his dusty, ash-smeared jacket.

Marge let out a small laugh. "You can't say it wasn't your fault. You caused the mess up with the fire, so it should be your jacket that should be used to put it out. Besides," she added, casting a glance at the Russian, who was now standing with his back to them, gazing up at the night sky. "he was just doing what you should have done."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Alfred muttered irately, refusing to believe the fact that anything Ivan did was helpful in any way to him. "He's still an asshole."

Marge shook her head. "Oh, you really are hopeless. Maybe you should just let go of your rivalry with him. Forgive and forget, right? England and France have done it."

They both surveyed said countries, who were currently squabbling over something that concerned Francis ogling at Arthur's ass. They both then looked at each other again.

"Well," Marge said, shrugging. "At least it's less hostile than you and Russia. I mean, they didn't try to blow each other up."

"You don't need to remind me." said Alfred grudgingly. "But they damn near should have. No doubt if nukes had been created back then, one of them wouldn't be here right now."

Marge sighed exasperatedly. "Please don't make this difficult."

Sadiq, who had already packed, was standing watch, eyes scanning the trees. Yao was talking to Kiku from his place on watch too, not wanting to be outdone by Sadiq, but Kiku didn't appear to be listening. Instead, the man was scanning the skies as Ivan was also doing at the moment.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Francis had stopped bickering, and moved to opposite sides of the clearing. Francis was assisting Matthew by catching the supplies that were dropped down to him while Arthur was scuffing out his spirit circle, muttering under his breath as he did so, his eyes closed, his large eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Ludwig was helping Feliciano pack, but the Italian was proving to be a handful. He was currently darting around the clearing, sticking multiple white flags around it at intervals. Gilbert, who had already packed his belongings, was annoyingly pacing in a circle around the still-fuming Lovino, bragging, the Italian occasionally pausing in his packing to snap at him.

Kiku broke his stargazing to appear at Alfred's side without warning. Alfred started, holding in a yelp as he hissed, "Jesus, Kik. Don't do that!"

"Sorry," Kiku said, his eyes floating up to the sky once more. "The moon has moved. We have lingered too long here."

"Wha?" Alfred peered up at the sky, squinting, as if trying to make out an obvious shape in the stars. "I don't see anything."

Kiku tried to quell his frustrated sigh. Alfred tended to be thick.

"Da, let's go."

Alfred did yelp this time. Matthew scurried down the tree trunk and shushed him with a glare. Alfred stared at Ivan who had, like Kiku, appeared from nowhere. Although, unlike Kiku, who still retained traces of strong samurai skills, there was no explanation as to why Ivan was so fast and quiet.

Alfred frowned. "We'll go when we're ready. But you could go right now if you want. I'm sure everyone would be glad."

At this, Ivan smiled creepily. Alfred shrunk back and Matthew called across the clearing "Al, please!" and the Russian said, "Da, I am sure of that. But then no one would know where I might turn up. Maybe when you are sleeping? I am not the person you want to be enemies with, Amerika. And I know you already were before," added Ivan when Alfred opened his mouth to protest. "But consider this: As far as I'm concerned, my country is dead. What is left of Mother Russia is gone. And I'm willing to accept that, even if it means I will no longer be a nation, even if it means the death of me. Now, though, I have nothing to lose. So, hurting any one of you wouldn't be a problem with me. I know I'll soon die anyway." He smiled at everyone, and a noticeable shiver raced through the crowd. "If I do kill you, I'll just see it as sparing you pain and suffering." His eyes darted to Marge, who was now shaking. "Do not be scared, little one. I'm sure you know death is inevitable?"

Alfred grabbed Marge, coming within a few feet of Ivan, not blinking, scowling. "You will always and forever be a heartless bastard to me, no matter if the world ends or not. But let's get one thing straight. You can hurt me. You can hurt my traditions. You can hurt my country. But you will not hurt my states, no matter how much you have left to lose. Got that?"

Ivan's smile turned into a frown. "Provocation, it seems, is still your specialty, Amerika. Have you ever wondered how you have acquired so many enemies? And yet you were surprised when the twin towers fell. It's really pitiful, how ignorant you are."

Alfred's face turned from warning, to murderous in a millisecond. Even Arthur stopped in his muttering to turn around, assess the situation, and rush forward, saying, "Alfred, you idiot. Not this again."

"Don't you dare bring that up, you worthless sonofbitch."

"Daddy, don't. You'll make it worse." Marge tried to pull Alfred away, but he wouldn't budge, wouldn't blink, determined to wait Ivan out.

Ivan scoffed. "Doesn't he always?"

"Russia, America, stop this at once." Arthur said, willing himself not to shrink back when Ivan flashed him a glare. "You're so selfish, both of you. Honestly, you want to fight now, when all of us are in danger?" Arthur scoffed, pulling down the hood of the cloak he was wearing. "It's just like the Cold War all over again. You didn't care who you killed, as long as you settled your vendettas."

Alfred stared at Ivan a little while more, Ivan staring back with the same amount of malice. Then the American turned away, grabbing his daughter firmly by the wrist and leading her toward the trees. "You're right, Igs. Sorry. Now, let's get the fuck out of here…"

"Um, Dad, it's that way."

"Oh, right. I knew that."

They traipsed through the forest for around an hour, before Marge had led them to a camp with a single tent and a snuffed fire.

"Well," she said, spreading her arms. "Here we are."

Alfred followed her into the camp, looking around in empathy. "And you've been living alone here this whole time?"

Marge shook her head. "No. Not this whole time. I did have the Dakotas camping with me, but then we were attacked and became,"—her throat seemed to have closed a bit at this—"separated."

"Daniel and Dahlila were here?" Alfred asked, astonished and excited.

"Yeah," said Marge. "But I haven't heard from them since. Before I felt you in close proximity, I'd been searching around for them, hoping they had somehow escaped."

Alfred's face fell. "They were captured?"

Marge nodded, almost hesitantly. "Yeah… I was hoping you could tell me if you've… felt anything?"

Arthur's brows drew together suspiciously as Alfred's hand subconsciously went to his chest. "No… no, I haven't felt anything since the Uprising began, except maybe a twinge here or there."

Arthur couldn't contain his curiosity. "Do you mind telling the rest of us what the hell you are talking about, or shall we be kept in the dark?"

Alfred turned to them and opened his mouth once, then closed it again, flashing at look at his daughter who nodded for him to continue. "I… I," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, Nantucket jutting upward despite the disturbance. He then looked at Arthur. "Art, you've felt when certain areas of your country are… hurt?"

Arthur blinked, having a vague feeling where this was going. "Yes, of course. During the London fires, I was burned for a long time. And even now I'm sure everyone's feeling a tad weak since major monuments and areas have been ravaged or destroyed."

"Oui, ami," cut in Francis, and Arthur instantly frowned. "When my Tour Eiffel went down, I felt sick for weeks."

"No one asked you, frog." Arthur snapped, then returned his attention to Alfred. "Go on,"

"Well…" Alfred said slowly, looking down at the ground. "Um, certain areas of my body are devoted to each of my states, and I can feel when they are hurt or in distress, or even when they're nearby. It's a perk, but it's kind of a hassle, such as the occurrence with New York. It felt like someone'd nearly slit my throat, and I couldn't talk for months."

"Oh, yes, I remember." Arthur said, thinking back to the time when Alfred had collapsed during the meeting, blood gathering in a pool beneath him. It was horrifying. "So that's what happened. I thought it was some freak accident. Something to do with attacking you as well as the towers."

Alfred flinched at the words. "Yeah, well, I haven't felt anything bad yet, so they all must just be in hiding."

He went over to poke the fire into life, and Marge motioned for the others to come into the clearing to set up their sleeping bags.

"Where did you get this tent at?" Lovino asked, eyeing it greedily.

"A cabin," Marge replied, and the Italian's eyes lit up hopefully. "But not mine. Just some emergency cabin placed at intervals around the park. I have some more tents and supplies back there, but for now we'll have to sleep here. You all look exhausted."

"Che, obviously." Lovino scoffed, and Marge frowned. Then, putting two fingers in her mouth, she whistled. Lovino looked up in alarm, just in time to see a large copper-colored dog tackle him to the ground. The Italian cursed and kicked and writhed on the ground as the dog sloppily licked his face.

Marge just stood beside him, watching with amusement and looking highly smug. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Dad. I wasn't alone when the Dakotas left. I've had Ruby with me."

Alfred straightened and turned from laying out his sleeping bag adjacent to Marge's tent, and his eyes brightened immediately. "Hey! Hello, Ruby girl. You remember me? Huh?" He bent over and slapped his knees, beckoning the dog.

Immediately, the dog paused in its pursuit to completely cover Lovino in drool, and perked its ears, staring at Alfred a moment before launching itself out of the Italian's lap and racing to him. Alfred let out a jubilant laugh as she too toppled him to the ground, tail whipping violently through the air as she covered his face in licks.

Alfred laughed, trying to avoid Ruby's tongue. "I see she still likes to give kisses, doncha, girl?"

Francis smirked. "I like to give kisses too, amo—"

"Shut it, frog." Arthur snapped, watching Alfred and Ruby wrestle on the ground, trying to hide his smile. "Alfred, what breed of dog is she? I've never seen one like her. Though from the build, I suspect she's a hunting dog?"

"Y-yeah," Alfred said, pushing the dog off of him and patting her on the head when she gave a few protesting whines. "She's a Coonhound."

"A Redbone Coonhound." Marge corrected.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Coonhound, you say? I've never heard of it." He frowned. He hated to admit that he didn't know something, even if it just was a breed of dog.

Alfred smiled. "Well, that's the thing. Most people outside my country don't know about the breed. They're bred exclusively here. Well… I'd say mostly in the south. They tend to have a lot of swamps down there."

"Swamps?"

"Well," Alfred continued, gazing down at Ruby lovingly as she began pacing around him. "Ya see, when you, France, and all the other countries that first explored me came here—"

"Honhon, and I wouldn't mind exploring you again, amour~"

"—they brought dogs with them." Alfred went on, ignoring Francis's comment, causing the other country to pout noticeably. "Hunting dogs, of course. But after my revolution, southerners discovered they needed heartier dogs, dogs that could take navigating their way through thick forested areas and could fight dangerous animals and survive if need be. So," He gave Ruby a scratch behind the ear as she sat loyally next to him. "They bred Bloodhounds with Irish Foxhounds to get the Coonhound."

"And she's called a Coonhound for a reason." Marge said, holding up the furry pelt of a raccoon by the tail. "Coonhounds can climb trees and even fight off alligators, mountain lions, and bears if need be. She's kept me very safe these past few weeks and helped me on the hunt. Haven't you, girl?"

Ruby barked happily in response, trotting over to sniff at her recently-skinned catch still held in Marge's hand.

Alfred frowned, casting a glance at Arthur. "You haven't heard of the book Where the Red Fern Grows? It has Coonhounds in it."

Arthur also frowned. "No, I don't believe I have. Though I must admit, I'm more into older works such as Shakespeare, John Locke, Charles Dickens…"

"I have,"

Alfred turned to Ivan, who had surprisingly answered. He stepped out from the shadows he had been standing in and eyed him evenly. "It was a good book. Though I must say, the accent in which it was written was quite annoying. But the dogs were loyal. And the book had a good plot, if one is into such things as hunting and country life. But the ending was sad… which I disliked." He paused, eyes rolling upward as he thought. "Ah… what were those dogs' names? I can't seem to remember."

"Old Dan and Little Ann." Marge had to reply for Alfred was too shocked to find his voice. "I didn't know you read books by American authors, Russia." There was obvious amusement in her eyes.

Ivan looked at her steadily before saying, "Of course I do. I read as a past time. I normally ask people or search the Internet to find good books. I've read books from many other countries as well. This one, however, just happened to be from America, and, having read the book, I wanted to show that I'd at least learned something. I've known of Coonhounds for a few years now. Although, I still think the Borzoi is a much better hunting dog."

Arthur blinked in understanding. "Oh… the Russian Wolfhound."

Alfred flashed his brother a glare. "How the hell do you know that?"

"I read." Arthur replied simply. "American literature, though, has lost its taste for me."

Alfred frowned and turned back to Ivan. "And what do Bersers or whatever hunt exactly?"

Arthur sighed. Alfred wanted to be dominant in dog breeds also. Of course.

Ivan grinned. "Borzois hunt their namesake: wolves." At this, he saw Alfred's face fall, then added, "I have one at home. Though Sasha seemed to have disappeared a few months ago."

Alfred thought for a moment, then said, "So… she's big, is she?"

Ivan flashed him a malicious look that made him flinch. "Sasha is male. Unlike your country which has turned the noble name feminine, in my country it is still used as a form of Alexander."

Marge spoke up to spare her father further embarrassment: "Maybe after all this, we could get together and have a doggy playdate, huh?"

Ivan looked at her incredulously and Alfred muttered under his breath "Fat chance." And steered Ruby away from the Russian protectively.

"Okay!" Marge clapped her hands together loudly. "Enough dog talk. I understand you all have had a long plane ride? It's best to get as much sleep now as you can."

And with that, everyone laid down in their respective sleeping bags. Though everyone remained wide awake, even Marge, with the thought that Ivan was amongst them. Most were busily going through memories of bad things they had ever said or done to him, judging whether or not they may be the first to fall victim to his trusty pipe. All of them seemed worried, except for Lovino, who was still muttering grumpily under his breath about the whole Uprising even as the last nations drifted wearily off to sleep.

They all woke up early the next morning. Marge made sure to go around and shake everyone awake (though with Ivan, Alfred forbade her to do so, and tried kicking the Russian awake himself before shrieking when he was abruptly grabbed by the ankle as Ivan had been awake the whole time). Lovino they had trouble waking up, though many suspected the Italian was already awake but was going through one of his stubborn fits. Marge tried sending Ruby on him, but Lovino only rolled over and buried his face in his pillow to avoid receiving excessive amounts of slaver to the face. Eventually, Gilbert got impatient and tickled him awake, at which point Lovino did wake up (and rather pissed off at that) and the Prussian came away with a bloody lip.

"Heh, the bastard can hit when he's annoyed but not when he's in danger." Gilbert muttered to his brother, though Ludwig was only half-listening as he was currently trying to keep Feliciano from chasing a butterfly out of the camp. "I'll remember that."

"Okay, everyone!" Marge said cheerfully, throwing her backpack over her shoulder when everyone had packed, tent within it. "The cabin should be about a day away. I traveled only a short way out here to search for Danny and Dallie."

The rest of the day passed without much but small talk and they stopped every once in a while to snack on whatever they'd managed to bring with them in their packs. Arthur was still thinking about Marge and states she had mentioned. He was curious, but it was more out of a lack of conversation that he said, "I only knew the Thirteen personally, but I don't know your other state's names."

Alfred smiled. "Well, I have fifty, so I can't blame you for that. I even forget them sometimes, especially the twins."

Marge guffawed up front. "Ha! D'ya remember that time when you gave the wrong gifts to the Dakotas? That was hilarious!"

Alfred frowned. "I didn't know you still remembered that. You were younger than them at the time."

"Yes, but," Marge went on. "you remember something as funny as this for the rest of your life. So, okay, Dad thinks he's bought the perfect gifts, okay—"

"One was a set of toy soldiers and the other was a handmade doll." Alfred continued, catching the amused stare from Arthur. "And I didn't sew the doll! I just… made the clothes…"

At this, Arthur and everyone within the vicinity burst out laughing. Alfred, rather pink in the face shouted, "All right! All right! You'd do it too if they were your kids!" The doll had turned out to be pretty crappy and had scared his daughter at first, because Alfred absolutely sucked at sewing.

"Anyway," Marge went on, for Alfred was having trouble composing himself. "It was their birthday, so he gave them the gifts, names on them and everything… but he gave them to the wrong person!" She shrieked with laughter again.

When everyone followed suit, Alfred once again shouted, "You'd make the same mistake! They looked exactly the same! Clothes and haircuts and everything!"

Arthur finished laughing, wiping tears from his eyes and continued, "Now, back to my earlier question…"

Marge then turned around to face them, smiling wickedly. "Oh, wait, I haven't told you about the mistake he made with the Virginia twins."

Alfred rounded on her immediately. "I told you never to repeat that!" Then, without allowing her to say anything more, he answered Arthur, "Well, I'll name them in alphabetical order so that I won't have to repeat the states in order too. Just remember I named them all so that the first letters or so of their human names matched your state name. So… there's Allison, Alexei, Arielle, Aaron, Calvin—whoops, I mean Callie—Colton, Connor, Della, Dillon Cole, Flint, Georgiana, Halola, Ida, Illius, Ingrid, Ivan, Kailee, Kendrich, Louis, Maison, Martin, Malakai, Michael, Minerva, Misty, Moriah—oh, excuse me, Marjorie—Nekolai, Nevaeh, Hamilton, Jeremy, Mercedes, Nathan Young, Caroline, Dahlila, Oscar, Olivia, Orion, Penelope, Roan Isaac, Carolyn, Daniel, Tennyson, Terax, Ulysses, Veronica, Victoria, Warren, Virgil, Willow, and Wynston."

"Damn," Yao muttered. "How you keep track of all them? I barely can with my o—" Yao's words had caught in his throat as he was reminded of those he had lost. Kiku moved to stand beside him, brushing up against him as he walked to let him know that he was there for him.

Gilbert snorted. "I would. I'm awesome like that."

Lovino gave him a scathing look, but before he could say anything, Ludwig snapped, "Be quiet, bruder."

Marge stopped to examine the sky. "It's getting dark. We should make camp."

Everyone muttered their assent—it had been two long days of travel for them on limited supplies of food and they were all more than ready for sleep.

Feliciano was fussing with his sleeping bag and Ludwig sighed, going over to help him. The Italian was unusually hyperactive, and said that he didn't want to go to sleep because he kept having nightmares.

Lovino, meanwhile, peered over at them for all the noise they were making, and frowned at Ludwig's presence. He was currently tucking Feliciano into his sleeping bag, much to Lovino's displeasure.

Eventually, the Italian grew tired of watching Ludwig struggle with his brother, and walked over, pushing the German away. "Get your wurst-diseased hands off him, bastard." And he commenced soothing Feliciano.

Sadiq, meanwhile, circled the camp once before sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag, just about to settle down, when he caught sight of Yao, who was talking to Kiku, then sat rigidly upright. Kiku, meanwhile, was looking as though he could fall asleep just from Yao's droning voice.

Arthur was drawing a circle around the camp with a stick, then sat down to murmur in an ancient language, between sessions whispering, "I hope I'm not too late…" He had his cloak on and his hood up and sat alone on the outer edge of the camp. Francis dragged his sleeping bag over beside the still-muttering Arthur, contently watching him, the Briton none the wiser, too engrossed in his spell-weaving.

Gilbert laid out his sleeping bag (well away from Ivan) and sat down on it, taking out a knife and slipping it under his pillow, all the while watching Ivan, who eventually spotted him halfway through and glared pointedly at him. After that, Gilbert refused to slip into his sleeping bag, preferring instead to lie upon it (though rather hesitantly), facing Ivan's direction. Gilbert stared unblinkingly at him until Ivan's eyes met his, at which point, he looked away quickly, pretending to examine the stars.

Matthew was slipping into his sleeping bag next to Alfred's, determined to watch him carefully so that he couldn't wander off to do something totally stupid again. Ludwig tried to lay on his sleeping bag beside Feliciano (afraid the idiot would do something to hurt himself), but Lovino snapped at him, so he was forced to move beside his brother, still close enough to keep an eye on both Italians. Lovino placed himself between Ludwig and Feliciano, quieting his brother with a growl.

Marge was about to slip into her tent when she said, "Um… are you sure none of you would like to sleep in the tent? I could just sleep out here for tonight, it's not like I have been out in the open like you guys all the time I've been here. If anyone's sick—"

"No," Alfred said hastily before Lovino or Ludwig could say anything—Lovino for himself and Ludwig for Feliciano. "You have it, Montie. We can take one night out here before going to the cabin, I'm sure."

At this, he got many glares, but Alfred seemed oblivious to them as he settled down between his daughter's tent and Matthew.

They all dropped off gradually, Feliciano and Lovino among the first, shortly followed by Gilbert (who was loudly snoring). Ludwig fell asleep just before Yao and Sadiq settled into their sleeping bags at the same time, watching each other closely until they both became too tired to keep their eyes open and gave up their little competition to rest. Matthew assumed it fair to say that Alfred had fallen asleep, as his breathing had deepened, and turned over to drop off himself. Francis watched Arthur dreamily throughout his hour-long muttering, being forced into sleep soon after Arthur had turned around and uttered a yelp of surprise at his presence. The Brit then quickly relocated somewhere over by Matthew and fell asleep almost immediately, though he still continued to mutter in his sleep, as if something was still on his mind. The only ones left awake were Kiku and Ivan, though Kiku fell asleep watching the stars. Ivan too was watching the stars, wondering what would conspire within the next few days and if he would ever be home again and see Sasha and all the others he left behind. Shortly before deciding it was time to rest Ivan contemplated putting the spider that was then crawling beside him on Alfred, but settled with what he would be doing the next morning as being good enough, and fell into a light sleep.

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Bleeeeeehh, my mind was elsewhere when I wrote this a million years ago. I dunno why I suddenly started mentioning dog breeds and books and whatevs. I guess the crack machine in my head started turning and I couldn't stop it!

Don't worry, though. This chapter was long because if I split it and posted it as two, you really wouldn't be getting much action out of it. The next one is longer, too. And it has action, yay!