Alphonse sits at the bank of the river. He watches the flow of the water, listening to the gushing of the liquid's movement. Small hands smudged with dirt rub at the bruise on his cheek. There had been a fight, and Al remembers the golden eyes glaring at him, and the force of the blow to his face. He had lashed out in return, then had run away to hide his forming tears. Now he hears footsteps and turns, then leaps to his feet, on the defensive. But a hand gestures him forward, and he runs over joyfully, calling,
"Brother!"
