"Come dear reader and you will hear, the tale, the tale of a forgotten year. Come dear reader and I will tell, a tale, a tale I know so well. The stage is set, the players chosen and the act is about to begin...:"

-E. G. Honermann.

"It is often said in Mistral, that it is nearly impossible to tell what season it is at any given time without looking at a calendar. The country's rural climate seems to defy winter, chasing away cold to stay warm almost all year round. But ask anyone who's lived there long enough and they would tell you that, like a card player, the country has its tells. When spring rolls around, the numerous cherry trees that dot the countryside put forth their beautiful pink blossoms. It rains more frequently, but the rain is warm and the storms always give way to cool days. As summer starts, the rains drop off slightly as the heat rises. These are the days when you find the majority of the populace indoors with an ice tea and the dust powered cooling units on full blast. Fall steals in like a bandit, bringing a slight drop in temperature as the trees shed their leaves and winter follows in with a rise in cloudy days and cold rain falls. That's why I love it here in this little cabin; being surrounded by trees like this is very helpful in telling the seasons. As you can see, most of the trees around here are starting to turn orange; which means that it will be fall soon. This in turn, means that the Mistrali festival is going to begin soon."

Shiroi Arashi smiled to himself as he listened to his mother explain Mistrali weather to him. He was sitting in the kitchen of her home, several miles from the city of Mistral as the sun set on a fine summer day.

"The Mistrali people sure seem to love their festivals," he remarked, glancing out the window at the pink late evening sky.

"Oh, for sure," his mother Sharon replied. "There are four festivals in total; one to mark the start of each season. I've been to each festival, but they kinda lose their fun when you're by yourself."

She was smiling when she said this, but her smile couldn't fully hide the lonely look in her eyes. Roy knew that, deep down, she was longing for the company of his father; Oban Arashi.

Sharon sighed quietly. "Anyway, enough about me, I want to hear more about you. You've been here for several weeks, and I still feel like there's so much you haven't told me."

Roy shrugged, "I've told you about my team, the school dance, and my journey to get here. I was going to tell you more, but then Haven was attacked..."

The black haired faunus fell silent as his mind traveled back over the previous week's events. The defense of Haven Academy had been a particularly tough fight and even though Qrow Branwen's team had been successful in defending the school, Roy had taken the life of a fellow faunus in the process.

Sharon's eyes softened as she bent over the cast iron skillet full chicken she was cooking. She knew how heavily the death still weighed on Roy's conscience and she'd done her best to help him move past it. Mainly by keeping him busy through chores around the house or by keeping up their training. But there were only so many things to do around the small cottage and there were only so many things she could teach him.

"Well, now's your chance to tell me more," she said brightly, attempting to steer her son's mind away from the painful memories.

"I do have one story I could tell... it's a long one though."

Sharon smiled, as she realized her ploy had worked. "Well consider my interest peaked. I've always enjoyed long stories. What's it about?"

She poured a ladle full of homemade orange sauce over the chicken. As the sauce hit the pan, the chicken sizzled deliciously and a wonderful aroma filled the kitchen. Sharon kept her eyes on the pot as she stirred the food with a large spoon, twisting her faunus ears to the side as to better hear her son.

Roy's ears twitched as the chicken gave another loud sizzle. "It's about the time my team and I were sent out on an away mission during the summer of our first year."

His mother turned around to give him her full attention. "Your father always talked about his first away mission. I can't wait to hear about yours!" she said excitedly.

Roy shifted in his seat as a knot of uncertainty settled in the pit of his stomach and he became reluctant. "I don't know," he said tentatively, "It's not really something I want to talk about."

Setting her mixing spoon on the counter, Sharon walked over and gently cupped her son's cheek.

"Usually when you don't want to talk about something, it probably means you should," she said with a reassuring smile.

Roy offered a small smile back, "I guess you're right."

He settled back in his chair and started to play with the small lit candle in the center of the table, running his fingertips quickly through the flame to avoid burns.

"I don't like to name my stories." he began, "I don't want them to ever be viewed as something that I might have made up. All my stories happened exactly as I tell them."

He grinned to himself, the flickering flame reflecting in his eye, "Although, if I had to name this story, I would call it 'A Major Field Trip"