Where Winter Meets Summer (Rusame Countryhumans)

How the Robin Stole Fire

Thinking on their feet, the tiniest bird of the tribe decided to follow the Cockatoo to his camp and flew off in a frenzy to catch up. The little bird followed for several hours but eventually grew too tired to continue just as the sun sank into the shadows but all was not lost. Cockatoo reached under his crest and pulled out a flame so bright to light his journey before disappearing into the distant trees that the old man had described. The little bird had witnessed all this, confirming that what the old man had said was definitely true and returned to tell the others.

The next morning, just as the sun had risen high enough to illuminate the land but not heat it up, a single little robin took flight into the morning sky, heading over the dry, yellow plains to seek the fire-crested Cockatoo.

Just as his wings were about to give up and drop him from the sky from exhaustion, the towering trees came into view along with the Cockatoo's camp. The bird himself reached under his crest to light a small twig before tossing it into a slightly larger pile. He was preparing a meal for himself, lighting a small campfire to do so.

After waiting for the Cockatoo to face away, the robin eagerly approached to steal it but found it too hot to touch, as expected. Remembering what he saw, the robin plucked a fairly long stick from nearby and scooped up a small ember but was spotted by the Cockatoo, enraged that someone was trying to steal his fire. Clutching the flaming stick close to his chest, the robin dove back into the sky to escape but the other chased after him.

With a sharp swipe, the Cockatoo was able to knock the stick out of the robin's clutches. The flaming stick struck the ground and immediately, the bone dry bushes and plants burst into a hellish inferno. Horrified, the red-crested Cockatoo retreated back to the trees but the robin did not waver. He dove into the blaze and snatched the burning stick but the fire had scorched his chest as he shot back up over the wildfire.

It didn't take long for the fire to rage all across the dried up plains and smoke, ash and fire chased the wind that followed the robin. It was as if he wore a cape of fire, the very sun they coveted riding on his tail feathers.

The tribe woke to the sounds of triumph and the tired flaps of the little robin, now adorning a chest of blazing red feathers and a stick of fire.

When the fires of the wasteland finally ceased, the smoke and heat had caught the attention of the gods, who bestowed heavy rainfall and new life to the lands, changing the bitter, barren wasteland into a lush, beautiful meadow.

The robin was celebrated for his bravery and with the new fire, the tribe and people prospered with a whole new world of possibilities.

...

"What you wouldn't give for your story to end there but alas... there is more to be said. Isn't that right, America?"

(NOBODY POV)

It didn't take long for America to realize that fire did not bode well while being pounded by rain.

"God FUCKING DAMNIT!" he spat as he barely avoided the jointed, robotic tail that swept at his feet. His fiery attacks did nothing to the metallic hide of the mechanical chameleon puppet, leaving it just as pearly and white as before.

Russia found himself in a similar predicament as his frigid abilities didn't seem to hold as well as he wanted. It wasn't quite the rain that gave him problems, but the heat of the tropical rainforest environment. It turned his majestic glacial constructs and near impenetrable shields into sloppy disfigured messes. He realized this fact not long after being slammed into the ground as a toucan puppet plowed through his melting barriers with ease.