"You thought you could fly."
From his perch on the cold, stony ground, Mustang cracks open an eye and rolls it for her. "Wrong."
She leans back against the hard, unforgiving bark of a maple tree and offers up no reply; mystic things such as that deserve none. Blue eyes trail aimlessly across an even brighter hued sky, pursing her lips when her search revealed there to be no clouds. Briefly, she hears children in the whispers of her mind, laughing, talking- and she is happy. For the moment.
Mustang leans back and sighs, blowing wispy hair from his wind-whipped cheeks. "I could fly."
She ponders this, wondering if it's a testimony to the blissful ignorance of a child- or perhaps maybe he could. Time does funny things to one's memory, and she'd like to believe there's something special about Roy Mustang than his god-complex and ability to kiss ass.
Her breath steams out before her in the chilly air as she lets out a lung-full of air she didn't know she was holding. "Look, Mustang, they're here."
A long, elegant finger points off into bright blue distance where a jolly, smiling house stands, the object of gaps of awe and a young girl's tears. She sees this, and more, and realizes this is not her place.
Before Olivier turns fully to go, she snaps her once-friend a sloppy salute and grins an Armstrong grin, one full of purity and humanity and simple, pretty love.
"Don't ever stop soaring, then, Ponyboy. Don't you do it."
And she is gone.