Book 4 - Spring

XIV - Going South

Russia takes a step, only to stumble to the ground. He face-plants into the rocks with a huff. He hears America scrambling beside him.

"Ruby?!"

"I'm fine," Russia insists, rubbing his head.

"Don't hurt yourself, Cat Dad," Kansas says.

"What happened?" North Carolina asks.

"I'm not used to walking like this," Russia admits.

Ukraine laughs disbelievingly. Russia scowls at the ground. He struggles back to his feet and sways, trying desperately to find his balance. He ends up on the ground once again, and he bares his teeth out of frustration.

"So you can run, but not walk?" Finland teases.

"It's hard to balance," Russia hisses defensively, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks.

America offers a hand, and Russia takes it. Russia smiles, looking over to America. America still seems unsteady on his feet, so Russia decides not to use him for balance. He uses his free hand to pull himself up with a nearby tree.

Russia holds America's hand gently, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

'Your hand is so small,' Russia thinks, internally cooing.

America leans against Russia's side, and Russia props an arm on America's shoulder. America stumbles, and Russia tries to ignore the now near-constant smell of blood and the blue glow emanating from America's unfinished shoe, the improvised prosthetic still visible under the ripped fabric.

He looks down at his own legs as he relents, allowing his knees to bend underneath him.

'I need to figure this out sooner than later.'

He takes a few experimental steps forward. He rises higher onto his toes to stand more comfortably and notes that America seems just a little shorter than he had before.

'Am I taller?'

'If I am, it can't be by much.'

'My legs feel weird.'

Looking down, he notes that his knees seem to sit differently. They bend at almost right angles, and he finds himself needing to walk on his toes to balance.

Russia takes a few steps, and America giggles. Russia's cheeks grow warm.

"Dad, you know any roadways 'round here?" Mississippi asks, standing.

America hums, waving his arm to summon his map. Russia watches the transparent blue sheet with an enamored smile.

'His magic is so pretty.'

America traces the roads, zooming into the east side like it's on a digital display. He moves his finger down the mountains. Then, America hums loudly before waving his hand through the projection. It dissolves beneath his fingers, fading to sparks that fall like sparkles from a firework.

America turns in what looks like a random direction and takes a step forward.

"We should head this way," America says, pointing, "but we should stay away from the road. We don't want anybody seeing Rue."

"Should we message Dix?" Texas asks nervously.

"We'll call him once we have cell service."

"Why not now?" Alabama questions, "you've got magic."

"Well, I would rather your uncle not crash the car."

So, they start walking.

The trees start to pass by quickly and Russia tunes out the conversations around him. His ears stay perked up in case anything happens, though he isn't sure if his ears would be able to pick up much. Russia finds that walking upright, though still strange, is possible.