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Born Free 11Alfred/Ivan Hetalia Fanfiction
CH.11 Mathew's journey, and Xenia
Kumajirou was sleeping peacefully by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and dreaming polar bear dreams, when he felt somebody nudging him.
"Wake up Kuma. It's time to go lazy bear." The polar bear blinked awake and sniffed the air groggily as the soft voice pleaded more insistently, "Come on Kumajirou, I need you to help me find Alfred. You remember Alfred don't ya? Get up already."
The polar bear spirit sat up and looked at who was taking to him. He tilted his head to one side curiously as he stared into the face of his nation blankly. Mathew frowned and tisk-ed in annoyance. "Don't you dare start playing that game again, you know very well who I am!" he scolded.
Kumajirou did know who Mathew was. Forgetting his nation was just a game Kumajirou liked to play. Mathew was so quiet most of the time. Kumajirou didn't like it when his nation was quiet or when other nations failed to notice him. Kumajirou muc
Born Free 10Born Free 10 A Devil with fur?
Ivan looked down at the wolf now standing next to Alfred. Throughout most of Ivan's history, wolves were seen as nothing more than vermin, detestable opportunistic creatures not worthy of mercy or kindness. Its eye color was not lost on Ivan either; clearly this was not a real wolf which made it even more dangerous.
"Alfred, in this country we have lots of stories we tell to our children of what happens when people follow wolves into the woods, and none of them end well!"
Alfred just rolled his eyes, "Ivan, It's not just a wolf."
"Yes Alfred I know, I just heard you call it dad!" Ivan said shooting Alfred an incredulous glance.
Alfred just waived him off, "That was my mistake, he's not dad. I have no idea why or how he's here, but he wants to help us. I can feel it." Alfred said as the wolf pulled his ears back and glared at Ivan.
Ivan debated whether Alfred needed to feel the pipe on the back of his head as well.
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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