Sorry for taking so long with the chapter, guys. And since I forgot to mention, the characters' origins did not come from me. Of course, Mr. Arthu and Alfred are from Hetalia. The Forest Guardian is loosely based off of the Skull Kid. Enjoy the second chapter.

Chapter 2: Forest Hopper

Alfred picked up the running tempo in his feet again, spinning around the corner and through the corridor.

The light was still there, bouncing like a rabbit.

Alfred flew down the hall, speeding down to the light, slamming his hands, catching it. "Got you!" he bellowed, the sound of his hands slapping together reverberating through the room. Alfred slowly opened up his hands. "What the…?"

The light floated out of his hands, then suddenly whisked itself and whipped into a flame. A burnt paper fell from it, and the fire slowly shrank away.

The parchment fluttered into Alfred's hands. Alfred looked at it with a puzzled look. "Um… it says… 'Yow-oo are close… turn aroo-oond…" he stared at the paper. "Is that really all it says…?" He shook the paper a bit. "Maybe if I spit on it…"

"Not so fast, boy!" a strident voice declared. "I'd better read that paper to you!" a shadowy figure leaped from a swirling twister of leaves from above, landing on their feet. "Hi!" he said, holding out his hand to Alfred. "I was watching you, you know. I couldn't believe that despite your high etiquette, you lack the skill for basic reading! Ah, well, it can't be helped. Just like a worm stuck in a shoe. Near impossible to help." He hopped towards Alfred, politely slipping the message into his hands. "Haah… and this message was supposed to lead towards me…

the figure sighed. "Here's what it says… 'You are close. Turn around." He executed a sharp about-face rotation. "And if you were to turn around, I would have shown up. Sorry if this is a mouthful to you; I just wanted you to keep your saliva and your personal hygiene where they're supposed to stay."

"In my mouth?" Alfred asked.

"Yes… in a way, I would suppose." The figure replied. "Oh, yes… I would think you should know who I am..."

. . .

"Woooooow, so you're the Forest Guardian?" Alfred asked. He yanked at the Guardian's pointy ears. The Guardian winced quietly. "Er, ow! That hurts a bit, you know! Owie ow ow!" Alfred laughed heartily. "I really like your ears, mister!" He beamed a huge smile.

Alfred had already gotten used to the Guardian, as he was quite flexible in those means. And yet, anyone, including him, could tell the Guardian was a really awkward figure. (At least Arthur got something right about the Guardian…) The little guy had a massive pointed hat made of woven grass atop his head, with six different feathers popping from the sides; the size was big enough that it covered his back. He had (as you could tell) really pointy ears, adorned with pierced rings and threads. His eyes were the size of lilac blossoms, emitting a peaceful blue in the dark. A wide yet slim smile pervaded the lower of his face.

His clothes seemed to be made of silky material but looked like cloth from a sack. It was tied loosely by a vine-like cord, with several forest material fashioned into badges and necklaces pinned on the top. Lacey material surrounded the neck area, with a few strands hanging loose. He wore gauntlets that had chunks of hay underneath, and had soft, brown gloves. He had leather boots, covered in algae and other things like smashed leaves and mud. He wore cheap looking, baggy trousers that had a few stitches. A sort of orb lay neglected near Alfred, as he was clinging to the Guardian's ears for dear life.

"Excuse me, Alfred, but these ears are a symbol of maturity in my culture! Please refrain from stretching them!" the Guardian blurted out, interrupting Alfred.

Alfred was still smiling broadly. "Then what's this thingy?" He asked, suddenly changing the subject. "It's sorta like some glowy thing."

The Guardian gasped in horror, as if the remark Alfred made was going to raise the dead. "My word! You call my greatest achievement a 'glowy thing'?" He shook his head. "Mockingbird's molasses, kids during these hard times… somewhat polite as they used to be, but as curious as a set of cucumbers!"

The orb glowed magnificently, with small breezes of pastel colors rounding it. Despite being a floating flame, the bottom was caressed by softly colored leaves. Sparks similar to fireflies surrounded the wonderful sphere, dancing around until they whisked away into the air.

The Guardian picked up the mysterious contraption. "Well, m' boy, this is the most important tool I've got! Of course, I will elaborate this wonderful device.

"This piece of perfection is my prized possession—the Firefly's Flame!" He made the Flame look showy as he did some jazz hands. "This, m'boy, is my 'lantern', as some loopy folk call it. How unoriginal! Anyhoo, it's of a different form to children. Obviously, it doesn't look like a lantern to you, my dear boy. To adults, it sure looks like one, since their imagination fades away. But to you, it's an orb of light. Very nice to ogle at, as I see you are staring.

"The ingredients to make this are pretty straightforward—one ray of sun from the sun, the light that the trees weep, which, by the by, can change the brightness of the orb by each bottle. Then there's Bworkle Mushroom's powder, the shoes of a stag beetle, and the transparency of a dragonfly's wing.

"… My boy, you look as uninterested as a snail is to a bagworm. Hmm, I would suppose mechanics do not appeal to you. Then I should cut to the chase. This is the bounding you followed about in the halls. It can also take you to the Emerald Woods. I must say, though, I was having quite a bit of fun saying the materials and their purposes…"

Then, out of the darkness, thumping noises went down the hallway.

The Guardian's eyes widened. "Alfred!" He whispered with a hint of shock in his words. "That could be that Arthur, you older brother. If he were to see me, it'd be REAL bad. I mean, extremely troublesome. Excuse me for the use of such gargantuan words, but we need to go! I'll promise to take you as soon as next evening! It's a date!" And without one more word or a reply from Alfred, the Guardian disappeared in a twister of leaves and wind.

The Guardian had left Alfred with a longing to see him again, with so many questions swirling about his head. They were so numerous in number; the vastness of Alfred's mind caused him to fall deep into a void of curiosity, confusion, and wondering.