A/N: This made my whole day. This was in my Vocabulary workbook: A man of towering pride and unbridled ambition, he stopped at nothing to achieve his goals as quickly and directly as possible. Made me think of Roy and I just couldn't stop smiling.
015: The Scent of Blood.
It was hard to picture her smelling anything but herself. The scent of blood shouldn't be on someone so young, although she told him that she wasn't young anymore. It was true, the years had formed new creases and scars in their skin. Another war wasn't something the needed now, for their minds were still trying to rid it of the nightmares of the other one.
He frowned when she entered his tent, with her sullied uniform. When had she gotten the blood on it? She was in the watchtower all day long, it just didn't fit. She sat down on her cot, across from his. He watched with intent eyes as she took off her shoes and began to polish them. It was a waste of time, for tomorrow the mud and the innocent lives would dirty them.
"You smell like blood. Who's funeral is next, an enemies or one of our own?" he spoke sitting across from her. She stopped and opened her mouth to answer him with a witty remark but couldn't think of one. It was as if they both knew the answer to it and it weighed heavily down upon them both in the midnight air among the screams and gunfire.
A/N: Thank you so much Carissa. (: