On the Horizon
The thick grey clouds filtered the afternoon sunlight, filling the sky with a cold, diffuse light, and Winry pulled the warm blue muffler higher over her nose as Den tugged at the leash in her gloved hand. The dog seemed completely unaffected by the cold as she danced at the end of her leash, impatient for the young woman to follow. With a sigh, Winry allowed herself to be led away from the shelter of the house and into the softly falling snow.
The white flakes had begun drifting out of the sky shortly after breakfast, and the gently rolling plains of Risembool now wore a thick downy cloak as far as Winry's eyes could see. She felt another insistent tug and looked down to find her childhood companion staring with reproaching eyes, as if appalled by the attention being paid to the landscape and not to the immense amount of sniffing and exploring there was to be done. Winry again allowed herself to be led, this time to a large, bare tree, where Den began to sniff systematically around the roots.
With Den occupied, Winry allowed her attention to drift once more, her eyes inadvertently turning to her left, to the now snow-buried path that led down from the Rockbell house and ended at the Risembool train station. Even though she had spent most of the past year training in Rush Valley, the habit of looking to the train station, hoping against hope for the sight of a familiar red coat and hulking suit of armor, returned easily now that she was home.
Forcing her thoughts away from the Elric brothers and the worry that would follow, Winry instead marveled at the absolute lack of sound around her. Even the noise of Den's enthusiastic pawing at the frozen ground seemed strangely subdued, as if muffled by the delicate falling flakes. A part of her felt awed by the alien silence, while another part of her wanted to scream, to laugh, to do anything to break the unnatural winter spell. But the silence seemed too great even for her willfulness, and Winry cast her eyes about again, in her own way as restless as the dog beside her.
She resisted the urge to let her gaze linger at the road again, but continued sweeping her eyes over the rolling plains, watching for the faint sparkling glint that came off the snow in the low light. It was beautiful in the same unearthly way the silence was. In her mind, Risembool was a land of green, of warmth, and of freshly cut grass and tilled earth, not a frozen crystal so clear and devoid of warmth that a single shout could shatter its shining facets. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of red, its brilliance striking against the featureless, coruscating snow.
The flash was gone by the time she turned back to the road, but she could not tear her eyes away from the empty horizon, hoping against rationality that it had not been a mirage ghosting by the edge of her perception, that the familiar red coat and hulking armor really were making their way down the snow-covered road. Just as she was about to turn away with a leaden heart, the flash of red appeared again, having crested the last gentle slope before the Rockbell house, the vibrant colour a glowing beacon across the pure white landscape.
Despite all the times the red coat on the horizon had signaled injury and pain for one or both of the Elric brothers, Winry could not help the surge of joy that shot through her for the simple fact that two of the people most dear to her in the world were alive and literally on the road home. However, the initial happiness faded and was replaced by a slow sense of growing unease, its chill even colder than that of the elements, as she watched the figures on the horizon approach.
When the figures neared enough to be resolved to her eyes, she could see that the familiar crimson coat clothed an individual in a wheelchair, the hood pulled far over his face and hiding his features. Another individual, darkly dressed and covered in hat, scarf, and gloves, walked behind, forcing the wheelchair though the slick, iced-over road. There was no dully gleaming suit of armor in sight.
The realization was like a physical blow to her stomach, and Winry dug her free hand into the tree trunk to steady herself, feeling only a faint sense of rough bark beneath her hand through the thick lining of her gloves. A part of her wanted to run down the road, to find out for herself as soon as she could what had happened, why the eternally patient but selflessly devoted Alphonse was missing, and why the boy next door was again returning home to her in pieces. But the awareness of Alphonse's missing presence froze Winry to the spot, and all she could do was look on and wait, her eyes fixed on the coat, as bright as a drop of fresh blood against the snow, as it made its agonizingly slow way towards her.
The wind picked up slowly, swirling eddies of spindrift across Winry's vision as she waited. Halfway between the slope where the pair first appeared and where Winry stood, the travelers paused, having felt the change as well, and the dark figure gestured to the house while bending over to speak to the chair's occupant. The seated figure stirred in response, and the red hood fell, revealing a thin, pale face and dull, wheat-coloured hair.
The unexpected occupant of the chair thoroughly upset Winry's already fragile emotional state and she fell to her knees, in her shock unable to feel the impact with the frozen ground. Troubled by her owner's unease, Den paused in her exploration and trotted back to Winry's side, placing her cold forepaws on the young woman's leg and staring at her with canine concern. At the unexpected touch, Winry stared at Den in momentary confusion before noiselessly throwing her arms around the warm animal and burying her face in the soft, familiar fur.
Den's thick fur warmed her snow-chilled face, and Winry inhaled deeply as the hot burn of saline tears welled up in her eyes. She felt as if her mind had ceased to function; the image of Alphonse's emaciated face staring out of the hood of Edward's jacket burned behind her clenched eyelids as she sought the words, or even the sounds, to express the soul-rending sadness that welled within her. Eyes shut tight, she attempted to block out all sensation, as if by shutting out the feather-light touch of snowflakes drifting into her hair and the icy kiss of wind on her skin, she could also shut out the reality of the two figures making their ponderous way towards her, could reduce the painful truth to a nightmare that would evaporate once she opened her eyes.
Still, hard as she tried, the feel of Den's rhythmic panting beneath her cheek and the slowly permeating chill of the ground through her pants were too real and too solid to ignore, and Winry lifted her face from the comfort of her canine companion's fine fur to face the inevitable as the figures moved close enough for her to make out the extent of Alphonse's alarmingly malnourished condition. As they neared, she kept her arms wrapped firmly around Den, as if the warm dog was the only thing in the world keeping her from collapse.
When the approaching figures were close enough for Den to catch their scent, her protective instincts took over and she struggled to free herself from Winry's grasp, straining towards the newcomers. Without a word, Winry dropped her arms, turning to rest heavily against the rough icy touch of the tree trunk, and willed herself not to cry. There would be plenty of time for tears later, when she'd heard the complete story; for now, she had to greet Alphonse, to let him know how glad she was that he was once again whole, no matter how high the price. As if sensing her owner's resolve, Den barked a warning at the visitors, the sound as sharp as gunshot in the still air.
The two figures stopped in surprise and turned their attention towards the tree, noticing for the first time that a young woman and her dog watched them from under the bare, snow laden branches. From beneath the crimson hood, Alphonse smiled and turned towards his companion. Winry saw his lips move, but could not catch his words. Al's companion could, however, and nodded in response, unwinding the scarf from around his face. Her eyes drawn to the movement, Winry noticed for the first time that Al's companion was not clad in the military blue that reminded her of starless nights but in black, a deep, familiar, coal black that stirred a faint flicker of hope within her chest.
That flicker of hope burst into full-fledged flame as the black-clad figure removed his scarf and pulled up the brim of his hat to reveal an all-too-familiar but all-too-seldom grin and a pair of eyes the colour of autumn sunrise. Words were unnecessary for Winry to understand the pride and unadulterated joy in Edward's expression; the doubt and guilt that had clouded his eyes for years had finally fallen away, burned to ashes by the blaze of his hard won triumph.
At a sharp nudge from Alphonse, Edward stumbled forward to where Winry sat, his face growing red, being suddenly exposed to the raw, icy air. When he reached her, he offered his gloved right hand, but Winry could only stare at it mutely, wondering just what she would feel beneath her glove. Would she meet the touch of yielding flesh or familiar metal? Impatient with her staring, Edward bent down and grabbed her wrist, hauling her bodily from the ground. She was too preoccupied with the answer to her question to protest his less-than-gentle treatment; it was the familiar steel she felt around her wrist, and she could not help but search his face for a hint to his thoughts at the realization.
Something in her expression must have changed, conveyed the question foremost in her mind, for Edward's eyes dropped to his hand on her wrist and he shook his head, flexing the automail limb with a faint, satisfied smile. The simple gesture was enough for Winry to understand what he would never put into words; he was satisfied with automail now that his brother was whole once more. At the thought of Alphonse, Winry turned to the youth in the wheelchair, clad in scarlet but steadily being covered in white snow, and smiled at the pleasure on his face. Grasping Edward's hand again, she pulled him along, covering the distance between them and Alphonse in three swift strides, and threw her arms around both brothers, pulling them close and reveling in the cloth-muffled warmth she felt beneath her gloved hands.
For a single, bright shining moment she held them close. Then the tears came, hot and tasting of salt, spilling from her eyes and leaving warm liquid trails on her cheeks that swiftly turned icy in the cold winter air. Still, the two brothers did not let go, and Edward did not complain. Winry smiled through her tears as she tightened her grip on the two, heedless of the snow that was beginning to collect in soft piles on them, and simply marveled at the fact that there were two warm solid bodies within the circle of her arms. Edward had fulfilled his promises; his brother was flesh once more, and Winry's tears were indeed tears of joy.