Raproachment 3a/7
anonymous
October 7 2011, 03:04:10 UTC
The largest island of the western chain had been named 'New York', after some ruins or other that the humans had found upon the peaks, and as a nod to the ancestry of one of the leaders of the settlement. Matthew wasn't certain exactly what it was, but there was some rumor about an old Nation, long gone--
That wasn't important right now. What was important was the murmurings of the sighting of a small boy who had somehow become separated from his parents.
Considering that the islands were still fairly geologically unstable, with moderate to severe earthquakes, and that the settlers themselves occasionally split off due to political disparity and the headstrong desire to 'get back to nature', it could be just an orphan that was so shellshocked that he was skittish of larger groups. The land provided plenty of natural resources, so it was entirely possible that it was just a wild-child, who, in any case, should be be brought to whatever near relatives existed in civilisation.
There was something about this island-- these islands-- that had been tugging at Canada's memories since Matthew had set a foot on the western beaches. Like he'd been here before, and yet--
Maybe that itself was a sign that these were to be his lands. Russia would be disappointed, to say the least.
“There is something familiar here,” France murmured to his ear, echoing the thoughts that were running through his mind. “It is as though I have seen something of these lands, and yet... I have never had a desire to claim them.”
The words trailed off as they approached the area that the residents had mentioned seeing the boy. Russia and Ireland were off checking another one of the habitual sighting areas on the other side of the island, but Matthew had a feeling...
And it was proved to be correct by the sight of a blond head-- not on the ground, as the settlement had explained. This child seemed to love to be up high-- he was settled in the crook of a tree that overlooked New York's eastern harbour.
He looked to be about twelve, perhaps younger, and from Matthew's position on the ground, he couldn't see what colour the youth's eyes were, but somehow he thought they would be as blue as the skies he was watching so intently.
“Allo.” Francis said cautiously. “Do not run away, s'il vous plait. We just wish to talk to you.”
The gaze that looked down on them was indeed the colour of the skies. There was something wary in that glance, something old--
And the age suddenly disappeared in the flash of a brilliant smile.
“I know. You're like me.” The boy said, “I want to go there--” a tanned arm pointed towards the horizon, “He's waiting for me, but I'm - I don't like the sea.”
“The ocean certainly is dangerous for young ones.” France said calmly, but Matthew could hear the faint notes of surprise and uncertainty in his voice.
This young one-- this was New York. He knew more about himself than Canada had when he had only been settled for a few years. How strange.
“I know, but I promised I'd find him. It's not like I'm afraid, or anything--” But there was fear in that voice.
“Find who?” Matthew tilted his head, watching this strange colony (of his, his mind told him, after all the people came from him,) whose eyes had returned to the sea.
“Whom.” Corrected the boy, not looking backwards.
“Whom, then?” Matthew smiled faintly.
“I'm... not sure. I just know I need to find him. He's all alone, and I - I need him.” Tears were threatening. “I want to be with him.”
Raproachment 3b/7
anonymous
October 7 2011, 03:10:59 UTC
“We'll take you there.” Matthew said firmly. Perhaps these islands were not to belong to Canada after all. Perhaps it was to Spain, as Ireland was female. He only hoped it would not be Russia. “You don't need to cry. Even if you're not going to be my little brother, I'll help you.”
“Matthew, are you sure?”
“We'll take you there, New York.”
“That's not my name-” The boy jumped down out of the tree easily, landing with the clumsy grace of a teenaged boy. He was taller than Matthew had expected, but still-- the eager expression in those large blue eyes made him reach out a hand. Perhaps the boy would accept his guidance. Would choose him.
“Then what is your name?”
“Thanks, Mattie.” A hint of familiarity at the nickname, just a flicker, and whatever it was was lost in the rush of twelve year old energy running towards the newly built docks. “My name is Alfred.”
That wasn't important right now. What was important was the murmurings of the sighting of a small boy who had somehow become separated from his parents.
Considering that the islands were still fairly geologically unstable, with moderate to severe earthquakes, and that the settlers themselves occasionally split off due to political disparity and the headstrong desire to 'get back to nature', it could be just an orphan that was so shellshocked that he was skittish of larger groups. The land provided plenty of natural resources, so it was entirely possible that it was just a wild-child, who, in any case, should be be brought to whatever near relatives existed in civilisation.
There was something about this island-- these islands-- that had been tugging at Canada's memories since Matthew had set a foot on the western beaches. Like he'd been here before, and yet--
Maybe that itself was a sign that these were to be his lands. Russia would be disappointed, to say the least.
“There is something familiar here,” France murmured to his ear, echoing the thoughts that were running through his mind. “It is as though I have seen something of these lands, and yet... I have never had a desire to claim them.”
The words trailed off as they approached the area that the residents had mentioned seeing the boy. Russia and Ireland were off checking another one of the habitual sighting areas on the other side of the island, but Matthew had a feeling...
And it was proved to be correct by the sight of a blond head-- not on the ground, as the settlement had explained. This child seemed to love to be up high-- he was settled in the crook of a tree that overlooked New York's eastern harbour.
He looked to be about twelve, perhaps younger, and from Matthew's position on the ground, he couldn't see what colour the youth's eyes were, but somehow he thought they would be as blue as the skies he was watching so intently.
“Allo.” Francis said cautiously. “Do not run away, s'il vous plait. We just wish to talk to you.”
The gaze that looked down on them was indeed the colour of the skies. There was something wary in that glance, something old--
And the age suddenly disappeared in the flash of a brilliant smile.
“I know. You're like me.” The boy said, “I want to go there--” a tanned arm pointed towards the horizon, “He's waiting for me, but I'm - I don't like the sea.”
“The ocean certainly is dangerous for young ones.” France said calmly, but Matthew could hear the faint notes of surprise and uncertainty in his voice.
This young one-- this was New York. He knew more about himself than Canada had when he had only been settled for a few years. How strange.
“I know, but I promised I'd find him. It's not like I'm afraid, or anything--” But there was fear in that voice.
“Find who?” Matthew tilted his head, watching this strange colony (of his, his mind told him, after all the people came from him,) whose eyes had returned to the sea.
“Whom.” Corrected the boy, not looking backwards.
“Whom, then?” Matthew smiled faintly.
“I'm... not sure. I just know I need to find him. He's all alone, and I - I need him.” Tears were threatening. “I want to be with him.”
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“Matthew, are you sure?”
“We'll take you there, New York.”
“That's not my name-” The boy jumped down out of the tree easily, landing with the clumsy grace of a teenaged boy. He was taller than Matthew had expected, but still-- the eager expression in those large blue eyes made him reach out a hand. Perhaps the boy would accept his guidance. Would choose him.
“Then what is your name?”
“Thanks, Mattie.” A hint of familiarity at the nickname, just a flicker, and whatever it was was lost in the rush of twelve year old energy running towards the newly built docks. “My name is Alfred.”
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