When Alfred arrived back in the camp, having calmed down enough to be presentable, it was bustling with life. Lovino was napping, leaning against the wall of the horse shack. His curl drifted up and down with each outward breath he took. Someone had set up a campfire with some wood that they had managed to keep dry, and Antonio was cooking what smelt like some sort of soup over it.

Francis and Gilbert were tacking up the two horses from the shack whilst trying not to wake up Lovino. The tall stallions- a glossy black one and a dapple-grey- were bucking and whinnying and adding to the chaos. They had to go out hunting soon, as they were running out of fresh food. Feliciano, Ludwig and Matthew had gone out to fetch some water from the waterfall.

"Hey, dude!" He called out to Francis as he passed. Francis paused and gave him a wink. He was clad in his full hunting gear; a pastel blue tunic with red breeches and black boots accompanied the sword at his belt, the bow and arrows slung over his shoulders and the assortment of knives visible from beneath his cloak. "How's it going, Al?" He asked while Gilbert struggled to fit a saddle on the back of the black horse.

"Not too bad, I guess." He shrugged. He found it both easy and difficult to talk to Francis. Despite them sharing most in the losses they had suffered, he had adapted faster than any of the others to the environment, and Alfred was somewhat jealous of him.

"Bad dreams again? Matt told me that you went out for a bit." Francis asked with concern. Alfred shrugged it off casually.

"I've had worse." Francis still looked worried, but let the American walk away without questioning him.

The birds were just starting to wake up. Their chirps clashed in a noisy chorus as he went to join Antonio by the fire. Antonio looked up with one emerald eye from where he crouched by the flames, prodding the embers with a sick. "Morning, Al." He said with a half-hearted grin, patting a space next to him for Alfred to sit.

Antonio had lost his right eye in an attack on their camp a while ago, and his country healing powers had failed to bring it back. Despite his attempts to keep up the mood of the camp, he always had a hint of depression in his voice as his lack of distance conception was too bad for him to fight or hunt properly. He was left at the camp to cook and help out in less testing areas. Alfred missed the old Antonio, but he knew he was still there.

"Morning! Whatch'a cooking?" Alfred grinned, smelling the contents of the metal pan resting on the fire. The contents was lumpy and a strange sickly green colour but it still managed to smell delicious.

"Oh, just some leftovers." Antonio sighed, tucking a strand of his scraggly wavy hair behind his ear. "You know, berries and potatoes and a bit of um... Grouse I think?"

"Where did you get the grouse from?" Alfred asked. "They live up on the highlands, don't they?"

"Yeah. Francis and Gilbert decided to be a bit more adventurous on their latest hunting trip." The spaniard said bitterly. He glanced over to his two former partners-in-crime as they prepared to leave again, wishing he could be by their side and not grounded back here at the camp.

"Is it nearly done?" Alfred asked, oblivious to Antonio's jealousy. He snapped out of his trance, slipping over slightly as he looked back up into Alfred's scarlet-tinted eyes. The sapphire blue had lost its glow over time to be replaced by the odd colour for no apparent reason. Alfred had never noticed.

"Wait a couple of minutes, can't you?" Antonio asked exasperatedly, shooing him away with a flick of his hand. Alfred sighed, pulling one of the tools they used for cooking from the ground and swinging it around carelessly in the air. It couldn't exactly be called a utensil; more like a poorly carved stick really.

"Jeez, Al!" Antonio flinched, batting away the thing. "Don't knock the other one out, I can barely see as it is!" Alfred chuckled, and set the possible weapon back down.

At that moment, another clattering added to the din as Ludwig, Matthew and Feliciano wandered back into the camp carrying two wooden pails of water each. Their faded accents clashed together in chatter. At the sight of Alfred, Feli set down the buckets and ran over, carrying a small cylindrical object in his hand.

"Hey, hey Al!" He called out, tripping over his feet as he wound his way in and out of the others in the camp. "Al, Yao sent us a message!"

At that, Alfred's ears perked up and he stood up rather abruptly, nearly whacking his head into the Italian's. "What?! Have they found something?" He aksed breathlessly, almost tempted to grab the small figure by the shoulders and shake the answers out of him.

"I-I think..... Um...." Feliciano tried to say, biting his lip nervously. Behind the pair, Antonio noticed the anxious Italian and placed a cautionary hand on Alfred's shoulder. Alfred got the message and backed away slightly. "Oh, um... Sorry..." He muttered awkwardly.

"They said that they were on their way to visit us. They should be here in a couple of days." Feli informed. Alfred's posture sagged with disappointment; Yao, Kiku and Ivan had been looking for any traces of Arthur since he disappeared all those years ago. "I'm sorry, Al. Maybe they can help you look while they're here?" The smaller man apologised sheepishly.

"Ugh! We've already checked everywhere for miles around! And the other camps too! There's no way we're going to find anything around here!" Alfred groaned. Feli and Antonio flinched.

"You could be wrong, he could be travelling-" Antonio started, but Alfred cut him off.

"There's no way he would be travelling? If he hasn't been found for the last freaking five hundred years then why the hell would he be travelling now?!"

"Al, give them a break, will ya'?" Matt said calmly, walking past with a bucket of water. "It's not their fault." Alfred huffed, falling into place beside his brother.

He opened his mouth to start complaining, but Matt got there first. First putting down the bucket next to the fire, he turned Alfred's head towards him and looked him in the eye. "I've told you this a thousand times, Al. I know you miss him -I do too- but you have to face the facts. He's gone, he's dead, he's not coming back. He's part of the past, Al. You have to get over it."

Alfred looked guiltily at his feet, angry comebacks floating menacingly around his head. Matt didn't understand, he hadn't lost anyone like that. His father-figure was still around, he had no idea what he was going through... This was more than just someone dying... He was his first true friend.... He was the only one who understood.... You don't understand.... "You don't understand!" He yelled, shoving Matt back so his feet caught on the edge of the fire.

"Al!" Antonio exclaimed in shock, standing up to pull them apart. "For christ's sake Al, what's the matter with you?"

"Sorry." Alfred said, but it was drowned by an adrenaline-filled voice yelling out across the camp. The group looked over as Francis and Gilbert reared back on their horses and swished their coats, probably showing off to the Italians. "We're off, my friends!" Francis cried.

"Yeah, hope you miss our awesome asses!" Gilbert added in, turning his horse and galloping out of the camp entrance. Francis followed with a casual toss of his silky hair.

Alfred and Matthew scowled at their antics. The Italian brothers hardly looked impressed; Feli was chatting happily to Ludwig and didn't seem to have spared much attention for them, and Lovino was still sleeping heavily in the corner.

"Soup's up." Antonio said in the surprisingly calm quiet that followed the two ex-nations' exit. Alfred's stomach let out a well-timed rumble and he chuckled heartily. "And just about time!"

The six left in the camp organised various logs and tree-stumps around the campfire and one of them retrieved some wooden bowls from one of the tents. Feli woke up Lovi and practically dragged him over to the circle.

Antonio dished out the lumpy soup into their bowls and they dug in, making light conversation between each other, but mostly taking the time to eat. Food was limited there, and had been restricted to two meals a day.

Matthew frowned as he ate his soup. Alfred was grinning away talking to Ludwig about improving the horses shelter for the winter, and his earlier demeanour of hating avert thing had evaporated. His constant mood swings were bugging Matt, just like he knew his optimistic yet serious attitude in return annoyed Alfred. He wanted Arthur back too, he had just forced himself to let go. Alfred was living too much in the past and it was ever-so-slowly changing him into a more secretive, grumpy person.

He would have talked to Francis about it, but he was out hunting. Francis was as close to Arthur as Alfred, but he had managed to accept his loss within the first few years since the fall. Of course, it wasn't a hundred percent certain that he was dead, just no one knew what had happened and where he went. Death was a logical solution; five hundred years evading two hundred searching countries was a pretty difficult task, especially when you added it onto surviving the fall in the first place and continuing to adapt to the changed environment.

He also knew that Arthur was becoming more of a distant memory. No one had kept any photos of him- they had searched his old family house just after the fall to find anything, but any evidence of a life there had been hidden. All that they had to work on was a rumour that he was seen in Scotland, but the person who told them only said that they had blonde hair so it could have been anyone.

And then there was the trio of Yao, Kiku and Ivan. They had been searching for years now around the coasts and at sea for any trace, and to no avail. Matt buried his head in his hands, stressed. All he wanted was what was best for his brother, but Al just didn't want to let go.