He awoke slowly. He felt the ground beneath his head and against his body, there wasn't much between what felt like the dirt and his skin. Quickly realizing he wasn't wearing any clothes, getting out of the grogginess seemed easier. Blinking once, the light against his eyes wasn't harsh, but rather soft. Blinking again, the blur made by the sleep in his eyes cleared a little bit and he could make out what was above him; crisscrossing twigs and limbs forming a blanket of coverage in front of an overcast sky. Leading up to the canopy, dozens of conifers stood all their leaves missing, presumably shed. His vision now cleared, and he sat up.

The trees continued everywhere around him, and they were indeed shed of their leaves, which blanketed the dirt in a carpet of gold and brown. Where he had been laying they were spread away from his body. He rubbed his eyes. Seeing a little clearer, he noticed that he was on a hill. In front of him, the trees continued down the hill and presumably straddled it. Beyond he could see nothing but the forest stretching on.

The air was mild on his bare skin, but he still somehow felt cold. Scratching his face, he felt what couldn't be any less than a few days' stubble. The feeling made him pause. How long had he been here? He looked around. There was no one else here for sure, no tracks or footprints. No birds in the nearest trees or animals coming up to sniff him. Considering this, he was relatively clean. With exception of the dry dirt and a few leaves sticking to his back. Nothing had been crawling over him while he was out, so he couldn't have been there for that long, surely.

Putting his hands on his knees and sitting up further, he sat in perplexion. Had he come here himself? Had he been put there? The first of a million questions entered his thoughts, but these were the least concerning. For the time in the moments, since he had found himself awake, he tried to remember his name. He couldn't.

He doubled back, asking himself the same question. Still, he remembered nothing. No name attached itself to his efforts. His mind began racing, asking more questions. He sat still, racing through dozens of possible things about himself which had to be true, but none produced any answers. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't recall a single thing about himself. His name? He didn't know. His family? Who they could be stumped him. His age? He could just by virtue of being in his body he could be between thirty and forty, but an exact number was lost to him. It was the strangest feeling imaginable, but he had no idea if he had or hadn't felt anything like it before.

He sighed. For someone who had realized in a matter of few minutes that his entire past and identity were, he was pretty calm. It wasn't like a feeling of just being born. Of being dumb to the world and having much to learn and work through. He had an unalienable feeling that there was a story here, wherever here was. How he'd got into this forest was still a mystery. One that he knew would only be solved by getting up and getting moving.

Just as quickly as he'd realized his situation, then, he'd come to accept it as fact. Coming to terms with it might be something different. Standing up, he felt his feet shift into the loose dirt below. He curled his toes, It felt nice. He scanned the floor around him. There was no breeze, and the leaves around him didn't shift. He stopped, noticing a shape at the foot of a nearby trunk. Approaching it, he saw it was something fabric, looking like it had been balled up and tossed to the side. Shifting the leaves away from and picking it up, he shook off the loose dirt and other bits sticking to it and let it unfurl. It was a black pair of trousers. Dirt still stuck to them from having been sat on the ground for a time. He could still make out a seam on the legs.

Gripping them in one hand, he looked around again, this time with a sense of urgency. Still no sign of anyone. Chances were these were his. He checked the pockets; nothing. He folded them inside out, checking for anything. He found where a label would have been, but it had been cut off leaving a white strip. He folded them back and continued scanning the ground around him. Sure enough, he saw something else sitting on the ground a meter or so away, with a few leaves covering it. Walking over it and picking it up, he found it was another piece of clothing.

It was gray and covered in dry dirt as the trousers had been. Dropping the trousers, he picked up the new item and let it out in front of him. It v-neck tee shirt, with to his delight, a label on the neck. Licking his index finger, he rubbed away at the front of it. Some dirt came off, but nothing was on it other than some printed text, too faded to read in full. He could make out an 'A' at the start of a word and an 'e', not connected to the previous character at all. He turned the label over, hoping to find something else.

On the back, something was written in black pen and small handwriting, upside down. He flipped the shirt in his hand to get a better look, and could make out:

'Qrow, B.'

His mind began racing. If these were his clothes, as seemed very likely at this point, there was a great chance this was also his name. Qrow? Like a bird? He chuckled to himself. If this really was him, he must've had a hell of a time dealing with living with a name like that. It was then that he stopped again. It was a surreal feeling, one that only someone in his inextricably specific situation would perhaps experience. That of knowing things, having the same level of intelligence, feeling at home in your own body, yet knowing next to nothing about yourself or where you are.

It was undoubtedly strange, but it was a start. The uncertainty he had felt previously was surpassed by a newfound motivation to get moving. Of course, there was still the chance that these were someone else's clothes, but at this point, that was slim to none. He had woken up next to them and they, as he seemed to have been from his outgrown stubble, might have been there as long as he had. How he had been out for what could've on that basis been a few days was still a mystery. But they were here nonetheless. Picking up the trousers again in his other hand, he held them up. No one else was going to be needing them by the looks of it.

Pulling them on, he let the shirt hang untucked and brushed the dirt off his back. Looking around again, he followed the slope in front of him. It seemed to level out, but chances are if he was on an incline, it would carry on down. If he was in a valley somewhere similar, there might be something at the bottom, hopefully, a road or some other way out of the trees. He wasn't that hungry or thirsty now, but he would be soon, especially after a walk. So the quicker he could find some civilization, the better.

Starting, he climbed down the hill and sure enough, the slope continued after the small plateau he had seen. He quickly got used to the sounds and smells of the place. The rustle of the leaves underfoot as trudged gradually through them became a constant, and he could often catch the bland stench of some mushrooms among the roots, or sap oozing out of a trunk. As he went, he continued deliberating on how he had gotten there, searching for any potential answers to memories. But still, none arose. He expected to be frustrated, but he only became more confused with time. Knowing nothing of his potential previous life, there was he could be angry about having lost, not now at least.

Soon realized that the endeavor of searching his thoughts for answers was, for now at least, fruitless. He concluded that he'd wait to see where he was before starting to ask questions. The rest of it was just needless hand-wringing.

After what felt like an hour of fairly level downhill travel, he got his first taste of someone else nearby. There had still been no wildlife, with the exception of a few small, brown birds of prey circling above the canopy, obviously not interested in him. Here and there were trees with the odd brown leaf still struggling to keep hold, as well. But other than that, the forest had been silent and still. Until he caught the faintest hint of distant, rhythmic noise. It was coming from down the incline, and he was confident that if he kept in this direction, he would meet whatever was making it.

Picking up the pace a little, yet still careful not to trip on any roots or stones, he pressed in that direction. After a minute or so, the noise only continued to grow, and he could see a break in the trees far in the distance, where the slope finally seemed to end. Carrying on, he could quickly differentiate what was making the noise. He could he voices, chanting voices, and the faintest tone of dozens of footsteps. The chanting wasn't the ominous sort, it seemed almost jubilant.

After another minute he had cleared most of the distance and the ground beneath him was significantly more leveled, and the edge of the treeline was a stone's throw away. Between him and it was a short formation of boulders and harsh rocks. Reaching them, he made the short climb over to finally reach the edge of the forest.

In front of him, beyond the last few conifers was the back of a house. Two stories tall, it stood in a row where others of similar sizes had their backs to the trees. Heading down the other side of the boulders, he found a gap leading down further to the side of the house. Heading through it, he landed on something sturdy and heard a soft crunch beneath him. Getting off of it and bending down to get a better look, he found it was a stack of small wooden crates used to make a step down from the gap. They were worn people having trodden on them and rotting, probably from rainfall. But he could just about make out a stamp, or some kind of hallmark in red, reading:

'Bergwand Fassweine, Est 1818.'

It was in a language he didn't understand, but he guessed the number was a year. 1818? He had no clue as to whether that was recent or not. For all he knew, it could be a thousand years in the past wherever this was. That thought prompted him to take a long look around. He was standing in an alley to the side of the house where the gap had led. Overhead, the sun had broken through the clouds and was casting rays across the buildings ahead of him. More houses. He had a surprisingly good view of this, what seemed like a town, because the downward incline he had traveled to get here continued. Most were white or cream with rooves a mixed shade of red, similar to the colors of bricks. Beyond the rooves was a great peak, covered in trees. He guessed similar to the one he had just been descending to get there.

Almost fittingly to the serene landscape, the houses and buildings around him were silent. But the voices and rhythmic noise continued, and he could now discern it was coming from the center of the town. He carried on down the alley, which soon connected to a wider street. The noise continued to grow as he got closer. As he walked, he could make out some of the buildings as closed shopfronts with what seemed like apartments above them. Some with balconies, others with large windows and black railings.

He could see a corner ahead of him, the voices, and what was clear now as footsteps, had reached an almost deafening peak. Rounding it, he finally came onto the scene of the noise. It was a cobbled road, wide enough for maybe one or two cars, with crowds of people rammed onto the pavements and streets on either side. This road seemed like the lowest point in the town and must've been the bottom of the valley. The building rising up around was the same as the ones he had walked by, but some were fitted with timber fronts in dark woods.

The crowds of people were clapping and cheering, just as jubilant as the echoing noise had made them out to be. There were people of all ages; what seemed like the entire population of the town. Children sat on their parent's shoulders, occupants of apartments leaned out of their windows, and every other person seemed to hold a flower or bunch of flowers. Abundant among them was a small blue one, no bigger than a dandelion. Many of the women had arranged some in their hair or put one behind an ear. But most startling to him, despite all the apparent celebration, was the object of the crowd's admiration.

Marching down the road in broken steps, three-by-three, were dozens of men with rifles on their shoulders. Dressed in grey uniforms, with black boots and metal helmets. On their backs were full backpacks with roll mats on the outside. Despite their otherwise sinister appearance, all of them were smiling and waving back at the crowd as they slogged their way down the road. Most of them were fresh-faced, but there were a decent amount of older men among them as well. From where he stood, he had a good view of the entire procession and noticed that some of the men, soldiers presumably, were also walking among the crowd on the sides of the road.

A hive of activity no doubt, the whole thing screamed celebration. But celebrating what? He wondered. Before realizing that was irrelevant to him. The whole thing was so rancorous that he'd been caught up in the spectacle for a brief moment, and had forgotten what he was trying to do; find out where he was, and maybe get a better clue as to who he might be. He continued to watch as some of the people with flowers handed them off to the soldiers as they progressed down the road. Some simply threw them at the men, and they got caught on their shoulders and backpacks. It was his focus on this flurry of color from the flowers that he focused on something else abundant on the street.

On the lamposts in bunches of three each, and hanging from the faces of the buildings on poles, there was a flag. Made up of three bands of black, red, and gold. Some of the crowd were even waving miniature versions of it. It was striking against the buildings, he could see that. And it obviously meant something to these people, and they were celebrating the soldiers with it. It was striking, but he wouldn't get any answers by continuing to gawk, as drastic a change as it was from walking through the woods.

Continuing, he reached the back of the crowd on his side of the street. Most of them were stood silently watching the parade and didn't seem like the best to talk to, so he moved to the front. Edging through the crowd he quickly made out people talking, distinct from the celebrations he had been previously. The whispers and what sounded like small talk were completely alien to him. Remembering the crates, it sounded like the same language. He sighed. If he wasn't going to be able to understand anyone here, he'd likely have to struggle to find somewhere where he could. But, he thought, there was no harm in trying. Reaching the front of the crowd, he looked for someone who might be open to talking.

He spotted two girls to his right. They were smiling and chatting to each other, and one of them had just handed a bouquet of flowers to a passing soldier. Approaching, he picked up on their conversation.

'Hast du schon jemanden gesehen?' One of the girls, a blonde, asked her friend.

'Nein, ich hoffe, einen meiner Freunde zu sehen, der gleichzeitig mit mir sein Abitur gemacht hat. Er schrieb mir und sagte, er sei gut aus dem Norden herausgekommen...' The other girl replied, a slightly solemn look crossing her face as she looked back to the passing men.

No harm in trying, he thought.

'Ugh, hey.' He smiled at nothing after saying that. It was the first time he had heard his own voice. The girls heard him and turned abruptly.

'Hi?' The blonde girl said, looking confused.

'I..um.I know what it looks like.' He only just registered that among these clean and well-dressed townspeople, he looked and sounded somewhat like a tramp. 'But could you tell me where I am?'

Both girls looked dumbfounded. They looked back and forth at each other.

'Amerikanisch?' The other girl whispered to the blonde.

'Ja.' She replied, side-eyeing him.

Suddenly, he felt something tapping his shoulder. Turning around, he saw one of the soldiers standing there. A young man with deep blue eyes and short brown hair. His helmet was slung from his pack, and he had a cursory look of sleep around his eyes. In his outstretched hand was a black pack of cigarettes, with one poking out.

'You want one?' He asked, grinning, comically almost. It was the first time he had been able to understand anyone there, but he spoke in an accent similar to the girls.

'Um...I'm good.' He said, holding a hand out in refusal.

'You sound like you would.' The soldier said, still grinning. Craning his neck, he saw two more soldiers behind the one offering him the cigarette. Both started laughing. The one in front of him broke out his grin as he heard this, and started laughing as well. He pursed his lips. Obviously, his rough voice had rubbed off on these guys.

The soldier slapped his knee, before taking the cigarette from the pack and putting the pack away. From the same pocket, he pulled a lighter, and through his laughter cupped his hand to his mouth to light it.

'They put me up to it.' The soldier said, still laughing. 'No hard feelings Heiserkeit.'

'None felt.' He replied, decompressing a little. 'So you can understand me then?'

'Oh of course I can.' The soldier said enthusiastically. 'Those two couldn't, I see.' He continued, pointing to the girls, who were still standing silently watching them both. 'Keine Sorge, meine Damen, ich übernehme das.' Hearing that, they turned back to the parade. 'Don't worry about them, they've probably never left the state, the poor things. Are you alright though, friend?' The soldier looked him up and down. 'You seem like you've been through more than us.' He turned back to his friends as he said that, shooting them a passing look.

'I'm fine. Just a little dirty. Can you...' He paused, looking for the right words. 'Where are we?'

'I can tell you. But at least let us introduce ourselves before I introduce you to this place. What's your name, American?' He stopped, and they were silent for a moment.

'Qrow.'

'Like the bird?' The soldier laughed again, but softer. 'Strange.'

'Qrow, with a Q.'

'I see. I must admit, I've never heard that one before.' The soldier's accent made the cut through every word he said. 'I'm Jonas.' Jonas extended a hand, Qrow shook it.