Mya hated England. She hated its up-and-coming center, preferring the old, rocky, dirt roads of Spain. She missed playing on them, getting her feet dirty, her clothing soiled. She missed the simplicity of it all. There was something natural about the Spanish landscape, something England could not grasp no matter how many times it attempted to with its perfectly spaced, manicured trees. It was not wild, not like her. But England was her home now.