Cast a Dark Shadow part 3
anonymous
March 9 2009, 08:23:08 UTC
The child took a step and bumped into something solid. The blond stumbled back, and gasped, heart beating fast.
“M-monsieur Winter…”
The words were almost lost in the howling weather, and Canada didn’t dare try to say more. The imposing man looked down at him through the blistering wind and snow, and Canada blinked vainly and trembled, unable to clearly make the aged face out. It had been a long time since he had last seen it.
His voice stolen away, the small colony could only look on with wide eyes as the General turned, large boots creaking in the deep snow, and started walking in the direction of Canada’s house. The man’s cloak fluttered serenely and Canada watched, chest fluttering with alarm, before the small nation followed hesitantly behind him, mesmerized by the way the wind and bite of the cold fell everywhere but inside the cast of that long shadow.
And as the years passed by, the old man’s cold gaze ceased to be that of a stranger’s anymore.
Canada walked alone through the snowy land, General Winter’s presence an icy reminder at his shoulder with every step, like a ghost from the grave. One day… it whispered, as the crops froze.
One day…
*
The seasons changed and his citizens enthusiastically talked about ships arriving on the horizon.
‘France!’ Canada thought desperately, and ran to wait fervently at the docks.
But the ships that returned weren’t French. They were British. Tears fell down round cheeks, but the small nation hastily wiped them away. He was British now.
Everything began changing… but the summers came and went, and his towns grew more and more into cities bustling with life and energy. The harvest came in and it was in his house that Canada noticed the first signs of frost appear on the window panes.
“He’s here.” The adolescent said suddenly.
“Who?” England seemed to perk up at that, setting down his paperwork. “Another friend?” The British nation waved a hand towards where Kumajirou was lazily sleeping on the rug. “Does this one have any abilities?” The man smiled and chuckled. “Fire-breathing or magical arts, perhaps?”
“Huh?” Young Canada’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “No…” He shook his head in reply and looked out the window again, eyes searching for a hint of that dark figure.
“Winter is here.”
“Oh.” England slowly lost his cheerfulness, his expression clearly melting into one of unease. “I see…”
Canada loved England, he was a good older brother… but it occurred to Canada that England was afraid - Of him, or of General Winter, Canada wasn’t sure.
So when the young nation stood on the bank and waved goodbye to the older one while the last leaves of autumn fell to the ground, he watched the ships sail down the St. Lawrence with polite indifference.
His breath soon turned cold and he could hear the tinkling of the wind through the chilled branches of the trees. He knew who was behind him.
“Winter.” Canada uttered.
“Da.” The imposing figure agreed.
“You’re a bit late this year...” Canada observed quietly, smiling hesitantly at the river. His older companion gave no reply but it didn’t deter him. “That’s all right. But I was thinking about when I would see you.”
The blond turned around and General Winter’s aged eyes stared down at him. Canada gazed back, his own eyes wide and clear.
The General’s moustache seemed to bristle in annoyance, before the deep booming voice reminded him. “One day, I will take your life.”
“I know...” A slight tremble still remained in his limbs, but the young nation’s expression was absent of fear.
General Winter turned, and each step he took moved his body hundreds of metres away. “You will hope,” That voice echoed and the clouds began snowing. “That I am late on that day.”
Canada watched that figure disappear into the white and let loose a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
His leadership was changing, his people were changing, everything around him was changing, and more often than not, he saw it happen alone. It seemed like he was perpetually waiting for his guardians to return.
How lonely he must be if he relied on the presence of such a man.
“M-monsieur Winter…”
The words were almost lost in the howling weather, and Canada didn’t dare try to say more. The imposing man looked down at him through the blistering wind and snow, and Canada blinked vainly and trembled, unable to clearly make the aged face out. It had been a long time since he had last seen it.
His voice stolen away, the small colony could only look on with wide eyes as the General turned, large boots creaking in the deep snow, and started walking in the direction of Canada’s house. The man’s cloak fluttered serenely and Canada watched, chest fluttering with alarm, before the small nation followed hesitantly behind him, mesmerized by the way the wind and bite of the cold fell everywhere but inside the cast of that long shadow.
And as the years passed by, the old man’s cold gaze ceased to be that of a stranger’s anymore.
Canada walked alone through the snowy land, General Winter’s presence an icy reminder at his shoulder with every step, like a ghost from the grave. One day… it whispered, as the crops froze.
One day…
*
The seasons changed and his citizens enthusiastically talked about ships arriving on the horizon.
‘France!’ Canada thought desperately, and ran to wait fervently at the docks.
But the ships that returned weren’t French. They were British. Tears fell down round cheeks, but the small nation hastily wiped them away. He was British now.
Everything began changing… but the summers came and went, and his towns grew more and more into cities bustling with life and energy. The harvest came in and it was in his house that Canada noticed the first signs of frost appear on the window panes.
“He’s here.” The adolescent said suddenly.
“Who?” England seemed to perk up at that, setting down his paperwork. “Another friend?” The British nation waved a hand towards where Kumajirou was lazily sleeping on the rug. “Does this one have any abilities?” The man smiled and chuckled. “Fire-breathing or magical arts, perhaps?”
“Huh?” Young Canada’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “No…” He shook his head in reply and looked out the window again, eyes searching for a hint of that dark figure.
“Winter is here.”
“Oh.” England slowly lost his cheerfulness, his expression clearly melting into one of unease. “I see…”
Canada loved England, he was a good older brother… but it occurred to Canada that England was afraid - Of him, or of General Winter, Canada wasn’t sure.
So when the young nation stood on the bank and waved goodbye to the older one while the last leaves of autumn fell to the ground, he watched the ships sail down the St. Lawrence with polite indifference.
His breath soon turned cold and he could hear the tinkling of the wind through the chilled branches of the trees. He knew who was behind him.
“Winter.” Canada uttered.
“Da.” The imposing figure agreed.
“You’re a bit late this year...” Canada observed quietly, smiling hesitantly at the river. His older companion gave no reply but it didn’t deter him. “That’s all right. But I was thinking about when I would see you.”
The blond turned around and General Winter’s aged eyes stared down at him. Canada gazed back, his own eyes wide and clear.
The General’s moustache seemed to bristle in annoyance, before the deep booming voice reminded him. “One day, I will take your life.”
“I know...” A slight tremble still remained in his limbs, but the young nation’s expression was absent of fear.
General Winter turned, and each step he took moved his body hundreds of metres away. “You will hope,” That voice echoed and the clouds began snowing. “That I am late on that day.”
Canada watched that figure disappear into the white and let loose a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
His leadership was changing, his people were changing, everything around him was changing, and more often than not, he saw it happen alone. It seemed like he was perpetually waiting for his guardians to return.
How lonely he must be if he relied on the presence of such a man.
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