East Bound - Russia x Germany

Cherskii, Poekhali

I walked out of the old building, feeling warmer and more positive than before. There was sort of a snarky smile on my face as I walked down the now dark and empty streets. Smoke billowed from the hole in the yurt, and the smell of meat was tantalising enough to attract the dogs to the entrance. Both Poland and Yakutia looked at me as I entered.

"Cooled off somewhat?" She greeted me dryly.

"Oh yes," I sat down, warming my hands by the fire. "Quite."

"She had a backup plan, you know," Poland started, handing me a slab with meat on it.

"Sorry."

"I don't think you are,"

One glare made him look away.

"As he was saying, I did have a backup plan." Yakutia interfered, nudging something in my direction. I didn't bother to pick it up. "It's there," she prodded the thing.

I took the thing gently with my finger. It was just a key. "A key?" I asked.

"What kind of key?" She kept on, hinting.

"A car key,"

"Yeeeeees," she waved her hands around, as if I was very dim. I gazed at the key, transfixed, it wanting her to give me the answer straightaway, but there was an overwhelming amount of natural curiosity coming up. It was an ordinary sort of key, rusted brass but pretty light. A key ring was attached to it. Nothing denoted where it came from.

Then, as if I suddenly was given the answer, I bolted upright. I wasn't the only one, too. "The truck key!" Both Poland and I said loudly.

"Did I miss something?" Germany came in, rubbing his eyes. "I kind of got lost. The wind kicks all the snow in my face." He fished his wire framed glasses from his pocket and started to dry them on his jacket.

"We have a way out." I smiled.

"Really?" He asked. "No more sleds?"

"We have the truck key," I held it up in the dim light. "But we'd better leave soon, because the man's bound to find who stole his keys."

Yakutia was on her feet in an instant. "You're right. I haven't thought of that. Then see have to move now. I've seen the truck. It's blue, with a tarp attached to it. Start packing, we need to go."

We all moved at once, stuffing objects into trunks, dismantling the beams, blowing out the fire, and packing it all up on the sled. The dogs, as usual, weren't too keen on this arrangement. They yipped pitifully, and I sort of felt sorry for them. That was, until the wind blew straight in my face. Then, I was eager to get going as fast as possible. Next to me, Poland looked like a puffed up cat, and I wondered what I looked like. The only one not struggling was Yakutia, but she'd probably been in worse conditions, i.e. our disaster on the lowlands. It was as if the wind was warning us of danger, like an ice bear breathing down our necks.

We made it to the lot in a nick of time, finding the truck and wrenching open the back to lug all of our things inside. We spent five minutes wondering what to do with the dogs.

"We can't just leave them here," Poland pointed out. "They are domesticated."

"They might suffocate back there," Yakutia glanced at the tarp.

"It's breathable," I countered, pinching the semi hardened stuff. It was the same fabric my father used to bring home groceries. "We can make holes in it if necessary."

"But....what if....?"

"We'll figure it out later," Poland suddenly become serious. "We have to leave."