Faux Paw

8

It was a long train ride to Dover, during which Matthew had to leap over several tunnels the train went through, but he eventually made it to the station there and set out toward the famous chalky cliffs.  The sea air stung his eyes like bitter tears, and as he spread his wings wide, he felt the powerful lift of the wind and began to lean into it.

It was so strange, to feel the ocean breeze like this.  While it was still as exhilarating and bittersweet as it would have been if he were in his human form, the sensations were worlds away from anything he could have imagined. 

Looking up to the moon, Matthew stood there like some ancient sentinel, his ebony claws digging into the edge of the cliffs, sending particles of stone cascading down toward the sea.  His golden amber eyes slipped closed as his nostrils flared, and he smiled a little as he felt the damp air buffet his wings, shivering as moisture formed on the leathery appendages and danced over his crimson hide.  After a full minute of this, Canada opened his eyes, his ruby scales glimmering faintly in the moonlight as he tilted his neck down and examined the ground far below.

The worst that could happen?  He could fall to his death…but he knew that he was still the nation of Canada, so it wasn’t as if he’d be dead for very long.  It would be a painful recovery, and England would probably be the one to find him, giving him endless grief and continuous tirades as he nursed him back to health…

…which was why he wouldn’t fail.  He couldn’t fail.  He’d burdened the Brit enough, and it was time to seek help elsewhere; besides, he’d learned very early on that he couldn’t expect England to do everything when he was in trouble.  Maple, the War of 1812 alone had taught him that.  

With a determined growl, Matthew launched himself from the cliff face, throwing his wings wide and holding his breath as he plummeted for a few seconds, then soared high on an updraft.  It wasn’t long before he figured out the mechanics of flying and gliding in his new body, and set his sights on the eastern horizon.  Were it not for the wind in his ears and the flapping of his wings, he might have heard the persistent honking of a vehicle speeding toward the cliff’s edge in his direction.

There was a loud screech of brakes and the skittering sound of dirt and gravel spraying everywhere, followed by a string of incessant cursing and rapid footsteps as Arthur leapt from the car and went running, skidding to a halt at the edge of the cliffs.

“Bloody bastard!” Arthur shouted, nearly collapsing as the crimson blob that was Matthew began to fade into the distance.  “Where the hell does he think he’s going?!  It’s not like France can see him, or any of the other nations, so why the hell is he going that way?”  England raked his hands through his hair as Percy and Mint Bunny approached warily from behind.  “Damn it,” he growled, “if I wasn’t so chuffin’ exhausted, I’d go Britannia Angel on his arse and drag him back by his bloody ear!!”

Mint Bunny darted behind Percy, who received the full burn of Arthur’s heated glare when the Brit turned around.  Taking a step back, the unicorn pawed the ground anxiously.  He said he no longer wishes to burden you, and that you should get some rest.

“As if I could bloody REST with that silly git out of my sight!!”  Arthur exploded, gesturing angrily.  “What if he changes mid-flight?  Did he not think of that?  How am I supposed to find a cure for this mess while I’m worrying about whether he’s drowned in the bloody ocean or not?!”

U-um…I could go and make sure that he arrives safely? came a meek voice from behind the unicorn.

Arthur’s ire seemed to dissipate a little, and he lowered his arms, remaining tense for a few more seconds before sagging with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose.   “Yes…could you?  I’d appreciate it.  I apologize for this, I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” England muttered, trudging back to the car as the little green bunny flew off.  “I don’t understand why he just…randomly took off like that.”

It probably isn’t as random as it appears, Percy offered, flinching a little when England turned and glared at him.

“If you’re going to give me more riddles, I swear-”

Could you have said something to upset him?  Percy interrupted, his chest swelling a little as he tried to appear brave. 

Arthur opened his mouth to deny such a thing, then gave it some consideration, bushy brows furrowing.  “I…well…”  Realisation began to dawn, and Arthur tensed, looking guilty for a moment.  “He said he didn’t feel bad about this whole mess!” England protested, immediately on the defensive.   “And he should, this is really a pain in the neck, I don’t know what he’s going to be from one minute to the next, whether he’ll be something that can burn my house down, or something that’ll try to kill me, or—”

What did you say, specifically?

“I…”  Arthur seemed to deflate a little, cringing and slowly raking a hand through his hair.  “I said this situation is causing me a hell of a lot of trouble,” he muttered, then spread his hands.  “I was only being truthful, Percy.”

Sometimes the truth hurts…but I think there’s something more than that, the unicorn offered, going to England’s side and nuzzling his shoulder.  He told me…he doesn’t believe that you truly love him.

“What?”  Arthur lifted his head, his expression confused and a little distraught.  “Where on earth would he get such a ludicrous idea?  I’ve loved him since he was small.”

I don’t think you’re giving him the kind of love he desires, Percy replied, looking back toward the horizon where Mint Bunny’s small form had just disappeared.  He wishes you to love him a certain way, but doesn’t believe you are capable of doing so because of the wounds the past has caused you.

Arthur frowned, feeling his throat tighten a little as he turned his back on the mythical creature.  “Th…that’s a load of bollocks.  Utter nonsense.  I’m bloody well fine, I don’t know what he’s on about.”

You do realise that I can tell when you’re lying? Percy sighed, turning and making as if to walk away.

“He’ll turn on me like the rest, Percy,” Arthur said softly, resting a hand on the edge of the driver’s side door, his gaze distant as he looked down at the upholstery and listened to the engine idling.  “Either that, or I’ll hurt him in a way he won’t forgive, or he’ll simply get bored of me and leave.  I’m not meant to have a happy ending.”

Percy halted, ears pricking slightly as he turned his neck and looked over his shoulder at the Englishman, scowling as much as an equine possibly could.  And since you choose to convince yourself of such a blatant lie, Matthew will never have one, either. 

England flinched, frowning a little as he lifted his head and looked over at Percy.  “Oi, it’s not—”

You are a selfish person at times, England, Percy interrupted, nostrils flaring as he gave the Brit a look so stern that Arthur actually shrank a little, chastised.  There are only a handful of nations in the East who are familiar with magic that Canada would know of, Percy explained, his normally serene eyes dark with warning.  You cannot afford to be selfish now.  A very ill wind is blowing, and I refuse to tell you anything more than that.

As the unicorn whirled around and galloped off, England felt uneasiness tug at his heart, and he climbed into the Aston Martin, looking worriedly toward the horizon.  “It’s not as if any of them have the power to harm him,” he muttered peevishly, resting his hands on the steering wheel and tensing as realisation dawned, a cold feeling of dread washing over him like an icy wave.  Arthur considered the notion, then shook himself, laughing nervously and shaking his head as he put the car into reverse and turned back toward his estate.  “No…no, don’t be ridiculous, Arthur, old chap.  Canada’s a sensible lad, there’s no way he’d be fool enough to go near Ivan like that.”

*

To be honest, Matthew wasn’t quite sure where to begin his search.  It was only by a stroke of luck that he finally decided on his first destination.

He’d flown across the Channel to the coast of France, perching on a building in the dockyard to think, smiling fondly as he listened to the dock workers conversing in French.  However, another language reached his ears as well, and he craned his neck over the edge of the building, trying to discern where it was coming from.

An ocean liner seemed to be preparing to set out to sea, riding low with fuel and whatever imports it was carrying.  Canada squinted, spotting the flag and perking up immediately.  Norway!  That might be a good place to start…after all, he’d heard that Norway knew a troll, and England had insisted once in a drunken fury that Norway could see magical creatures but refused to speak about it because he just wanted England to look like a crazy ass.  England’s logic, of course, and drunken logic at that.

Still, Canada couldn’t think of a better nation to start with, and with a small sense of hope burgeoning in his breast, he made his way toward the ship.