A/N: I'm back from the dead, everybody! It's been a process, that's for sure. Depressions is like at the back of your closet; it lingers in your mind, and from time to time, you think you should even open the door and address it, but it continues to rot in that dark, decrypted space. Anyways, I'm trying to set up a schedule for my updates. Basically I'm trying to write 1000 words on every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Then, I could churn out a story every two weeks? I don't know, really. I'm not abandoning this project at all- it just takes me some time to get in the right mindset. Also thanks for being such a supportive lot! I really, really, really, appreciate every review, favorite, etc. Like those give me strength in the morning to get out of bed. The comments were just so sweet and I read every single one of them. OK, on with the story.

E is for Endure

A potent aroma lazily swirled in the air and floated into his nostrils. It slinked past his nasal cavity and up into his skull, curling around his brain like a spoiled house cat. His mind was foggy, his vision clouded. His pupils were dilated and a bright- too bright- swarm of colors beat down on his sensitive eyes like a swarm of wasps. He moaned and squeezed his eyelids shut, welcoming the enveloping darkness.

His voice was scratchy from its lack of use. When he cried out, it grated painfully like broken glass. An uncomfortable itch had settled in the back of his throat. Dry and biting, it filled his throat with fire.

"Water, water," he begged pathetically. He heard his voice, but knew it not. His sensitive ears strained to pick up the soft creak of wood beneath him. Very faintly, he thought he heard a distant thump. Was it his imagination? He didn't stick around to find out as his eyes fluttered close.

Line break

He opened his eyes. A blinding blue sky met his tired retinas. A fluffy cloud drifted across the sky. His head rattled, and he felt like a puppet being jerked in the hands of a careless child. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head tentatively. "Shit!" He cried when he felt a sharp sting on his right palm. He held up his hand and cursed softly when he saw the tiny wooden splinter that had managed to lodge itself in his palm.

He was in a wooden cart, and when he peered out he saw a short man who was carefully steering two massive horses. He slowly took in the green hills that rolled further into the landscape.

"Where the hell am I?" He rubbed his sleep eyes.

"We're almost there," a voice replied. Upon hearing his subordinates voice, Roy sighed in relief and looked over his shoulder.

"Fullmetal?" Indeed it was, the boy sat in a corner, with his broad back facing him. He looked fine, at first glance. But then, Roy noticed how his hair was cropped short at his shoulders? "Fullmetal would rather chop off another limb than his hair!" Roy knew first hand how possessive the boy was about his long hair. Despite the frequent grumbles from higher ups that the boy should have been given the traditional crew cut, fullmetal would transmute a spear if anyone so much as mentioned a barber. Roy had tried enforcing the rule himself, but when he found himself issuing the order, he realized he didn't give a damn. After all, with the combat boots, leather pants, and that gaudy red shroud, long hair was the least of Roy's concerns.

"So I see you had time to drop by at the barber's," Roy stated, attempting to break the silence. Ed merely continued to look at the lush green plains that dipped up and down like an ocean of grass.

"Of course, it's not half-bad, if you like looking like you're attending primary school." There wasn't actually any malice behind his words, but Roy smirked and waited for the upcoming outburst. He feigned casually inspecting his fingernails as he peered at his subordinate through the corner of his peripheral vision. After another minute or so of silence, he frowned. So fullmetal didn't want to exchange small talk? Fine, that was just fine with him. "I'm a colonel, not a therapist," Roy reminded himself.

"Any idea where we're headed?" Roy prodded. Silence. A tick mark bloomed on his usually impassive visage.

"Fullmetal, I order you to tell we where the hell we're going!" Roy barked. Slowly, as if he was afraid to even look at Roy, Ed swiveled himself just barely enough to show half of his face. A shadow loomed over his golden eyes, obscuring his expression. "Don't you know? We're going to where it all began," he replied in an almost inaudible voice.

Roy tensed, not missing the strange hitch in his subordinate's voice. No sooner than he finished his sentence, Ed immediately swiveled back into a crouch.

"Where it all began?" Roy asked. His inquiring tone conveyed his perplexity.

"Bang!" All of a sudden the cart lurched violently, and Roy found himself being launched from his seat. "Smack!" Roy groaned as his face made contact with the wooden panels of the cart. He groaned and felt a strange trickling sensation hit his parted lips. He reached out and gingerly touched his face. Sure enough, a thin stream of blood flowed copiously from his throbbing nose. The horses clambered onto their hind legs, neighing frantically. Roy carefully grabbed onto the sides of the cart as the cart rocked back and forth like a branch in the wind.

"Fullmetal, are you injured?" he called out. If Edward heard him, he didn't bother to respond. Roy whipped his head around. "Dammit, fullmetal, we don't have time for this shi-" The cart was empty, as of Roy had been talking to himself the entire time. "Fullmetal? Get your short ass over here now!" Roy commanded. Beneath him, the cart driver furiously whipped the horses that bucked savagely. "I'll be sure to pay you when I get back," Roy called over his shoulder as he spotted some well worn stirrups. He clutched onto the leather strips as he carefully, lowered himself to the ground. He swayed like a pendulum as the cart continued to tremor, and violently smacked against the hardwood, before he finally felt his black boots graze solid ground. "Like hell I would've stayed on that rickety deathtrap."

Roy swept the back of his military jacket for any wooden filaments and winced at the tiny splinters embedded in his palms. He looked up from his palms and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing his surroundings. "Could this be-?" his eyes scanned the familiar crop fields and dirt path. "No, it can't be," he reassured himself.

But then his eyes widened at the uphill pathway and the stone fence. Meanwhile, the cart driver desperately whipped the reins up and down and muttered obscenities under his breath.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. These stallions are normally so tame. I assure you, I'll give 'em a whippin' so severe, they'll be quieter than a pair of mice," the cart driver apologized.

"It's fine." Roy had already started his trek uphill.

Line break

By the time that Roy had finally managed to climb uphill, he was certain of two things. One, that he would never, ever, again complain about the smog of Central City if it meant goddamn cars; and two, that he would wring Fullmetal's neck as soon as he got his hands on him. In front of him was a traditional country house that had certainly seen better days. The white paint peeled and the roof was short a couple of red shutters.

Roy stepped over the termite-ridden stairway of the front porch. He rattled his knuckles against the flimsy wooden door. Chips of green paint dusted his knuckles when he pulled back his hand. He stared across the front lawn, a miniature jungle with all the dense weeds and dead insects. A huge tree, which might have bore apples at one point, loomed over the lawn with it's naked, curling branches. Two strands of weathered rope attached to a rickety plank hung off on of the branches.

"Must've belonged to a family" Roy noted. When the door wouldn't give, Roy kicked the door down. A cloud of dust immediately greeted him. "Damn dust's in my eyes," Roy spluttered in between coughs.

He took another step forward when a sudden squeak sounded from under his feet.

"Who's there?!" he shifted into a defensive stance. He looked down, and a soft, plush bear grinned a little too happily back at him. "False alarm, just some stupid toy" he reassured himself, ignoring the heat blossoming in his cheeks.

"Squeak."

"Was that a mouse?" Roy thought. He wouldn't be surprised if there was a rat infestation.

"Squeak, squeak"

"Definitely not a mouse" he corrected himself. The sounds were more mechanical than animal.

"Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak," the squeaks increased in intensity, grating like nails against a chalkboard. Louder they grew- "squeak, squeak, squeak," louder still- "squeak, squeak, squeak," louder, louder, louder, "squeak, squeak, squeak," they screeched like the howls of tortured animal being ripped to pieces, "squeak, squeak, squeak." Roy couldn't take it anymore he covered his ears, but even through his hands, he felt every squeak pierce his flesh.

"SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK"

His skull was going to split open, Roy was sure of it. Noise scraped his sensitive ear canals like the pointed ends of a cleaver.

"SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQEUA-"

Silence.

A minute after the squeak had ceased, Roy still had his hands pressed against his ears. The absence of noise was so clear and vivid, like the fresh wails of a newborn. He released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

He shot an uneasy look at pristine, white door, that looked as untouched to the rest of the house like a patch of snow against slush. That had to be it, the source of the ungodly sounds. If he looked back on that instance, he wouldn't have known why he knew that the noise came from behind the door, but he just did.

He twisted the golden knob to the right, pulling the door back. His fingers were spotless. "Huh, no dirt," he noted.

Roy swallowed. Of course there was a long, dark set of stairs waiting for him. He grasped the narrow sides of the passage looking for a light switch. A dusty, light bulb hanging overhead flickered, once, twice, before illuminating the stairs with a dull, incandescent glow.
Roy hurried down the stairs. He wasn't sure how long the light bulb would last. The stairs groaned under his weight. A musty smell, like old newspapers, lingered in the air.

The stairs flashed. "Did I just blink?" No, there it was again. The staircase was swallowed in darkness before being spat out just as quickly.

"Shit!," he cursed. "Damn light bulb's giving out!" He rushed down the stairs, the light around him feebly flickering.

"How far do these stairs go?" Roy panted. It was as if the staircase had a mind of their own and were increasing in length just to toy with him. All around him rays of light were snuffed out of existence just as quickly as they came.

Ten more steps! The lights flickered on and off even faster.

Nine. The light stayed on longer than usual.

Eight. Roy gasped for breath, his eyes clinging on the dull glow.

Seven. "An entire three seconds. That's a new record,"

Six. Roy had spoken too soon. The light had receded, leaving behind an empty, vacuum of darkness.

Five. Roy's foot caught onto a splinter. He stumbled and went airborne.

FourThreeTwoOne. He landed on the solid cement with a heavy thump.
"Dammit!" For once, Roy was glad to be all alone. If Fullmetal saw, he was sure that every bulletin board in HQ would have a tacked up blown-up Roy, mid-trip.

He pulled himself of the floor. "Nice," he said between gritted teeth, "real nice." One of the sleeves on his navy blue uniform has a hole wide enough t stick in two fingers. "Damn coat must have ripped when I fell."

A tiny sob halts his train of thought. He sees it now, much too vividly. A child, no older than eleven is hunched over. When the child quivers, Roy can see the skin stretch taut against their ribs, curved bones jutting out like a bubble on the verge of bursting.

"It can't be."

That golden hair.

"No way."

That metal arm.

"It's not-"

Those eyes. The eyes that seared into him like a red-hot poker.

His voice was alien.

"It is."

Edward was a monstrosity of metal and man. Not only did automail plates cover his arms but wrapped around his shoulders, digging into his skin. His fingers were human. His index fingers were as straight as arrows, but his thumbs looked like they'd been yanked backwards like a lever that's been cranked in the wrong direction. His pinkies were nubs. Roy saw teeth marks at the small, red stump. A voice he did not know wondered if Edward chewed it off while he was writhing in pain, half to death. His torso was another story. Parts of what Roy assumed was once a broken wheelchair intersect in and out of Edward's abdomen. The metal was twisted but the placement was precise, as if the wheelchair was a string of silver thread stitched into the boy's body.

"Fullmetal!"

Edward didn't even spare a glance.

Roy shrugged off his military jacket and gently draped it over his broken subordinate. The navy blue fabric shrouded his skeletal body like drapery. Roy slipped a hand under his bony back and lunged upward to lift him up, only for the two to crash onto the floor. His subordinate was impossibly heavy. Roy wrapped his arms around Fullmetal's waist and pushed up. His efforts were futile.

"You can't," Edward said in a small voice.

Roy tried to pull fullmetal off the floor I can't. "The hell I can't," Roy huffed.

"But you can't," Edward repeated.

"What the hell do you mean?" Roy growled at the boy. But he can't, not when heavy chains are locking Ed into place. The silver chains were brutally bound to Ed's neck, but tied off elegantly like a bow. Roy pulled at the chains, but they only tightened around Ed's neck.

"Fitting isn't it?" Edward brokenly laughed.

"Fullmetal, enough of this victim bullshit. If we don't get this chains off you, you are going to bleed to death before we get to the nearest hospital, do you understand?" Roy clawed at the chain, his fingernails torn and bloody.

"It was only a matter of time," Edward wheezed. "It was stupid of me to think that it wouldn't catch up to me."

"That what wouldn't catch up to you?" Roy demands.

Edward said nothing but he turned his head. His eyes stared vacantly behind him. Roy abandons the metal chains to follow Ed's empty gaze.

It's a watch. Silver and shiny, Roy doesn't even have to let his eyes linger for more than a moment; he's all too familiar with the geometric dragon circumscribed within a hexagon, etched onto the stainless surface.

Fullmetal was right, it is rather fitting. Realization strikes Roy hard and cold, like a splash of frigid water. "It's a collar," he numbly processes. "A collar for a dog."

The watch. Edward. His automail.

"Not just a dog," Edward taunted.

"A dog of the military." Roy realized.

"No." Edward snarled. "Your dog."

Page Break
"I'm not your dog!"

Laughter. Footsteps.

"Get off me kid!"

Clouds of incense, a coiled snake.

"Stop that annoying brat!"

And shouting. Derisively, more shouting.

If Roy had been the type of man who slept in, he would've buried his head under a solid layer of pillow. Luckily, two grueling years bunking at military school with two hundred other teenage boys in a "military barrack," which was essentially four big pieces of cardboard held together with staples, dutifully prepared him for this moment. Unluckily, his two minutes inside an unfamiliar log cabin, which was essentially four medium size pieces of cardboard held together with tree sap, lacked pillows. Or any such bedtime comforts for that matter.

When Roy awoke- quite grumpily- cracking the crick in his neck, he noted his makeshift blanket was a wrinkled suit jacket. He yawned.

He opened his mouth. "Hhhhhhhh," he screeched.

Roy gagged, massaging his tender throat. "Haven't heard a voice crack like that since I was sixteen."

He sat up, taking in the sparse space, how the weary wooden planks wanted to collapse on him. The shack was not illuminated but pinpricks of sunlight dotted the floor though holes in the wood. Roy stretched.

"Clunk." Roy had banged his hand against a wooden bowl. Wetness seeped into his hand. He relished the cool liquid running over his aching fingers.

Wetness?

"Hhhhhh!" Roy gasped (which, for all intents and purposes, probably meant "water!").

He scooped the wooden serving bowl and tipped it toward his mouth. Immediately a gush of sweet liquid doused his dry mouth, Roy could feel the cells on the back of his throat soaking up the liquid like a sponge.

Just as quickly as the liquid soothed his throat, a river of nirvana, it abruptly dried up. A coffee colored hand, wrinkled like a raisin, snatched the wooden bowl of his lips. Roy shook a weak fist at the hand, infuriatingly showering expletives at the owner behind said hand. The hand, and by extension, the owner, paid no mind.

"Easy now. You'll drink yourself sick", an older woman chided.

Her skin, the color of freshly fallen chestnuts, contrasted the hard lines of her hands. He followed the spiderweb of her sinuous veins to her surprisingly youthful face: plump, pink lips, a ruddy nose, and...red eyes.

Red eyes.

Roy was not a stranger to the looks. A newbie officer, fresh out of the academy? That hadn't warranted any glances. But a newbie state alchemist who could set a building ablaze with a snap of his fingers? The envious gaze of his comrades swarmed him like fleas on a dog.

He felt like an ant under a magnifying glass

Then the war happened.

This time people stared too, but for different reasons. Setting a building on fire? He might as well be playing with matches. But setting an entire village on fire? "Flame Alchemist," indeed. Once the envy of fellow officers, he was subjected to their pitying glimpses. He hated pity most of all.

"Look how far you've fallen, Roy," they sighed. "You have been forsaken."

Strangely enough, he prefered the way the hateful glances of Ishvalans. While the Ishvalans were not known to be a particularly theatrical race, Roy had always thought the red was fitting.

Every emotion was more vivid in red. It was always the same emotion: hate. And yet it was retold a thousand different ways in a thousand different smoldering, red gazes.

"Scum!" or "Animal!," or "Monster!"

Each eye a message, captured in red.

A thousand red eyes, as precious as rubies, and as worthless as pebbles.

Red. At morning, torching school yards, red. At evening, taking roll call, red.

Suddenly, brown.

They had lost the candid curves of youth given way to the bitter edge of age.

The eyes of a killer.

"Hello, major Mustang," she greeted him, all courtesy, no cordiality. "Long time no see."

Her voice was cold.

He dared to peer at her face.

Her eyes were warm, the inviting amber of his youth, the same brown of old book spines or black tea she poured in cracked china cups while they drank away the night in each other's company.

The density of that brown gaze kept the red at bay.

Her focused, tender gaze singled out among a thousand spiteful, red eyes.

He dreamt in brown that night. A sepia film of when he accidentally brushed against her hip on the way to the bathroom, her blush when he was rendered speechless at the sight of her in a short, blue skirt.

Red gave way to brown.

Page break.

Same eyes, but a different look.

The woman didn't hold her gaze. Her eyes flickered briefly over his ratty clothes before darting to the water glass.

"Got a name?"

"Roy-" he snapped his mouth shut. "A state alchemist in Ishvalan territory? That'll get me killed!"

"Maes," he amended. He shut his eyes, too tired to deal with any suspicious glances.

"Well, Maes," the woman snorted. "Perhaps you could tell me why you and your son were camping in the desert without proper equipment."

"My son?" Roy stiffened.

The woman raised a brow and hiked her thumb out a window. He followed her finger out of the shack and onto a patch of dirt where Ed was prying a little girl off his neck.

"Oh, yes," Roy smoothly revised. "How is...he?" "Ed might be using a fake identity, too."

"The boy's fine," the woman answered.

"Damn," he thought. "No name." Roy parried a few questions, hoping the woman would refer to Ed by anything other than "that boy," but the woman was adamant not to give away too many details.

Roy coughed. "Do you mind if I see him? Oh god, I'm so worried about... the poor kid…" Ry coughed again, and smothered the woman with his best obviously-concerned-parent look.

She sighed, got up and barked something unintelligible outside the door.

"Alright, get off me!" Ed screamed. With a parting giggle, the little girl climbed off his back with all the limber grace of a monkey and scampered towards the other children.

Ed shuffled inside.

"You look...healthy," Roy settled on as he eyed Ed's strange attire.

He wore a simple white kaftan on top and baggy, brown pants. A black and red striped sash ran over his shoulder.

What to make of a military dog in Ishvalan clothes?

"Playing dress up?" Roy thought.

"Hi dad," Ed's familiar, grating tone greeted his ears.

"Or playing pretend?"

"Can we have some time alone?" Roy asked. The woman glared at him. "No," her eyes screamed. "Sure," she replied, gathering her things in a straw basket.

The woman neatly exited the little shack, but it still shook as if she had slammed the door behind her.

"Camping trip, huh?" Roy smirked.

Ed violently blushed. "Shut up! It was all I could think of." He crossed his arms, returning a surly gaze.

Roy smirked. "Whatever you say, son."

This time the shack shook violently as Ed viciously slammed the wooden door.

Page Break

"It doesn't fit right," Ed whined, fiddling with his sash. Roy slapped his hands away.

"Shit!" Ed glared at his superior.

"Cut it out. You look fine," Roy affirmed, donning his own robes. Actually, the boy looked more than fine, but Ed was as oblivious to his looks as racoons were to quantum physics. Besides, the kid didn't need a bigger head.

Even though Roy had reprimanded his subordinate for fiddling with his uniform (ahem, outfit), he couldn't help but adjust the neckline of his shirt and smooth his beige pants.

"Alright, let's go," Roy said. Ed was more than happy to step outside, and from a crack in the wood, Roy watched Ed enthusiastically flip in the air before setting off after a stray dog.

"Be careful-" Roy swallowed. "If fullmetal trips and falls, than that's his problem."

Feeling much too like a housewife who watches their kids through a kitchen window, Roy snapped his attention back to his clothes, straightening out his shirt. When he was satisfied, he took a breath, and exited the small confines.

He was glad there were no mirrors.

"A wolf in sheep's clothing," he thought.

Page Break

Roy inhaled deeply, savouring the fresh air. Big mistake.

He immediately doubled over and started coughing. The odor of manure and garbage assaulted his senses. The stench of something rotting was alarmingly pungent.

He surveyed his surroundings: a cluster of small wooden shacks and campsites, a gaggle of Ishvalan children playing tag, a stable, and garbage littered everywhere. There were no roads, a woman carrying a bucket over her head gracefully sidestepped tin cans and crumpled paper.

"Welcome to Lakha."

Roy turned to face the speaker, cursing when he accidentally stepped on a rotten banana peel.

"Careful you don't cut yourself," the woman cautioned, indicating several jagged pieces of broken glass. "The only antiseptic we have is decade old whiskey."

Making note of that, Roy asked, "How did I get here?"

The lines in the woman's face shifted in what Roy assumed to be surprise.

"Your boy didn't tell you?"

"Obviously not," Roy thought, shaking his head.

"He carried you on his back. He must have walked for miles. His feet were bleeding by the time he got here." The woman's eyes softened. "That's a good son you've got there."

"Carried me?" The last thing he could remember was sand, and the two shivering under the night sky. And the next morning… He could vaguely remember being tired and cold. Ed had been saying something, but his voice sounded so far away and all he wanted to do was sleep…

"Damn it!"

The woman jerked away. "You're a grateful one," she sniffed.

"I can't believe I was useless, again." Roy clenched his fist. "I couldn't even stick it out for one night!" Seeing the incredulous look on the woman's face, Roy immediately schooled his features into a neutral expression.

"I'm still feeling under the weather today," he smiled, "sorry."

The woman stared at him long and hard. Internally, Roy squirmed under her scrutinous gaze. The last woman looked at him that way threatened to shoot him if he strayed down the wrong path.

"Huh," the woman finally commented. "Well, go on to your boy. If you need anything, just chase down one of the monkeys," here, the woman pointed to the children (Ed, included) who were wrestling in the dirt, "And ask for Maha. I'll come if I can." And with that, the woman resumed back to whatever business she came from.

"Oh," she added, "And thank your boy, while you can." Here, the woman looked forlornly at the children. Abruptly, she schooled her features back to her usual, sardonic expression, walking away.

"I will," Roy mutterred. He intended to.

Page Break

"Folks are saying that you're the new tough guy on town," Roy smirked. He watched Ed wrap his arms around a squealing little boy, before playfully tousling his white hair.

Ed grinned, relinquishing the energetic little boy from his headlock. "That a challenge, old man?"

"No," Roy said. "Actually, I wanted to discuss something else."

"You finally decided to propose to Hawkeye?" Ed flashed his shit-eating grin.

"What? No!" Roy scowled. "Lieutenant Hawkeye and I are strictly friends who value each other's professionalism" (not including, of course, the times his lieutenant had to brandish her pistol in the office when he had taken one too many "coffee breaks"). "I value my lieutenant's skills-"

"Your lieutenant?" Ed grinned.

"I feel the same way about all my men," Roy amended. At the sight of Ed's smug face he added, "including you."

"Whatever," Ed blushed.

Now it was Roy's turn to grin.

"Anyways, we need to find out where we are," Roy diverted, motioning to the lumps of garbage that stank to high hell.

"Lakha," Ed replied. "Didn't the woman tell you?" Ed replied, avoiding Roy's inquisitive eyes.

"She did. But I have no idea where this is," Roy huffed. For all the strange places Ed and Al trapised to in search of the elusive Philosopher's stone, Roy knew his subordinate must have recognized this place.

"We're in the East," Ed frowned.

Roy blanched. After spending the better part of his career stationed at Eastern Command, he was all too familiar with the dry land. It was supposed to be annexed into Amestris following the Ishvalan War, but shortly after it had escalated into a genocide, no one was willing to reclaim a desert which had became a bloody graveyard. In the end, it was laconically referred to as "Desert Area."

"There's another thing," Ed added. "This place we're in, it's a-"

"Super!" a rough, impatient voice which could only belong to Maha's bellowed. On cue, swarms of children disentangled and ran towards the scanty shacks with as much enthusiasm as an ice cream truck.

Ed's stomach growled in reproach.

"After dinner," Roy pursed his lips.

Page Break

Dinner at Maha's was delightfully raucous for such scant company. Tentatively, Roy took a nibble out of a strange, leathery meat swimming in a yellow stew. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he dunked a strip of flat bread into the stew and wrapped it around the strange meat.

Across him, Fullmetal was chowing down on some type of lentil stew with all the grace of a hippopotamus at the Central City Zoo. ROy delivered a sharp kick to the boy under the table. Before he could realize his error, Ed had delivered an equally painful blow to his legs, using his automail foot. The two glared at each other through mouthfuls of stew.

"I didn't know dinner came with entertainment," Maha crowed. She took a dainty strip of flat bread and polished off the last bits of meat in her cracked soup bowl.

"This is an excellent meal," Roy smoothly interjected. "The spices are so...unique."

Maha laughed. "Unique. I bet city boys like you haven't ever eaten anything close to this before."

"If I may ask, what's in the stew?" Roy said as he swallowed down another piece of mystery meat.

Maha diplomatically smiled. "Snake."

Across the table, Ed choked.

Unique, indeed.

Page Break

After the...nourishing… meal Roy watched the retreating backs of the children as they ran into the embraces of inviting parents.

"Reminiscing?" Maha asked. She slid next to him, and her eyes trailed over a man who picked up his daughter and spun her before seating her on his shoulders.

Roy grunted. It was hard to imagine Ed as a little boy, pawing for his mother's arms.

"Makes me wish my boy were that young again," Maha sighed.

A son? Through the haze of post-sickness delirium, Roy tried to remember the deep timbre of a man's voice.

"You have a son?" Roy asked.

"Oh yes," Maha wearrily smiled. This time, her voice dropped an octave.

"Not a day goes by when I don't think about Heathcliffe Erbe."