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Entry tags:
A Warning [Norway]
Title: A Warning
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Norway (& another)
Rating: 0+
Length: 350 words
Summary: His plan succeeded. Now, he waits for a message.
Other: Set during WWII. Written for the HWD drabble game; prompt was "conversations with crows"
A Warning
Three taps at the frost-covered window. Norway looked up, then went to let her in.
She swept into the shack as if she owned the place, bringing the swirling snow with her. He rushed to shut the door as soon as she was clear of it.
"Good day," Norway said, even though it wasn't. "D'you have news, then?"
She scrutinized him with one bright black eye as she settled down to perch on the only chair in the place, the thick ruff around her neck fluffed against the cold.
"I might."
Norway pressed his lips together and waited, though he couldn't afford to take time with it.
When she saw that she would get nothing from him if she didn't continue, she went on. "It's full lively down in the valley, I hear," she croaked. "They're getting ready to move."
"Oh?"
"Aye. I hear someone had a plan. And that he succeeded." She preened, glancing at him again. "They'll burn down every shack on the vidda until they find you, you know."
Of course he knew. Norway swore, and reached for his pack. It would hardly take any time to get things together, but – "How long before they get here?"
"Who knows?"
"Please."
"Four hours at least."
That would be enough. He'd already burned the code book. As for the radio and what remained of the explosives, he could hide them where they'd never be found.
Four hours would be enough.
His hands shook as he gathered a few bits and pieces for her, leaving them on the table for her to pick at as he got his things together. The heel of a loaf of bread, the last of his cheese. It should have been more, but there was nothing else left.
Later, Norway slipped away from the shack, breathing a spell. She spilled into the sky ahead of him, turning toward the village again.
The wind kicked up as he went.
Scattering snow buried the shack, covered footprints, smoothed the tracks of his skis to nothingness.
If was as if not a soul had been there at all.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Norway (& another)
Rating: 0+
Length: 350 words
Summary: His plan succeeded. Now, he waits for a message.
Other: Set during WWII. Written for the HWD drabble game; prompt was "conversations with crows"
A Warning
Three taps at the frost-covered window. Norway looked up, then went to let her in.
She swept into the shack as if she owned the place, bringing the swirling snow with her. He rushed to shut the door as soon as she was clear of it.
"Good day," Norway said, even though it wasn't. "D'you have news, then?"
She scrutinized him with one bright black eye as she settled down to perch on the only chair in the place, the thick ruff around her neck fluffed against the cold.
"I might."
Norway pressed his lips together and waited, though he couldn't afford to take time with it.
When she saw that she would get nothing from him if she didn't continue, she went on. "It's full lively down in the valley, I hear," she croaked. "They're getting ready to move."
"Oh?"
"Aye. I hear someone had a plan. And that he succeeded." She preened, glancing at him again. "They'll burn down every shack on the vidda until they find you, you know."
Of course he knew. Norway swore, and reached for his pack. It would hardly take any time to get things together, but – "How long before they get here?"
"Who knows?"
"Please."
"Four hours at least."
That would be enough. He'd already burned the code book. As for the radio and what remained of the explosives, he could hide them where they'd never be found.
Four hours would be enough.
His hands shook as he gathered a few bits and pieces for her, leaving them on the table for her to pick at as he got his things together. The heel of a loaf of bread, the last of his cheese. It should have been more, but there was nothing else left.
Later, Norway slipped away from the shack, breathing a spell. She spilled into the sky ahead of him, turning toward the village again.
The wind kicked up as he went.
Scattering snow buried the shack, covered footprints, smoothed the tracks of his skis to nothingness.
If was as if not a soul had been there at all.