I've finally got the third chapter up; sorry it took so long! I've been extremelly busy with school and marching band, and it took away my muse.

Anyway, here's trying for a bit of a longer chapter. The last bit was dialogue from episode 30, in case anybody recognizes it.

Enjoy! And remember, reviews are luv. :3

DISCLAIMER: I most certainly do not own FMA or any of its characters. However, this particular fanfic and its plotline are mine.

It's not easy walking through the endless miles of desert for days on end, no matter how many people you've got to keep your morale alive. Sure, all the climate I could remember living in was the dry eastern villages of Ishbal, and the vast desert plains that surrounded it. But staring at it from a window or dirt road is much different than experiencing the harsh trek for yourself. Nobody complained, though, not when there were surely other of our race worse off somewhere. It was bearable for us, because we knew there was still hope somewhere in our future.

It had been no more than a week since Franz, Keith, and I had set off with the convoy of Ishbalans driven from their homes. We alone were representing our village; nobody else had wanted to go, saying something about how it was safer there and things would be better off soon. Such a desperate testimony could only make me scoff with pity. There was going to be no peace for us in the near future. Us kids couldn't stop fidgeting locked up in one place. Call it childish, but we were out with the hope to change the country somehow. As if we could do anything to make this treatment any better – but trying anyway was better than just sitting around and doing nothing.

My eyes narrowed against the wind as I followed the group across the sandy hills, pulling my muddy brown cloak a little tighter around my shoulders. It was always harsher at the top of the slopes where there was less protection from the elements. Indeed, the view was nice from up here. If one was able to look past the raging billows of dislodged sand, they wound see the underappreciated beauty that the desert gave. Especially at this time of day, nearing sunset, when the sky was alight with a breathtaking array of color stretching far across the barren land.

But with the night came a bitter cold, and already the temperature was starting to drop. It was slowing the convoy down as a few toddlers murmured complaints into their mother's ears, receiving only a light nod and a sympathetic kiss to the forehead. We'd be stopping soon.

And maybe an hour later we finally did, taking shelter in a small rocky outcrop hidden in the side of a large hill. The wind was pleasantly scarce here, allowing for a few particularly warm fires to huddle over, and it wasn't long before many had drifted off to sleep. I myself had found a cozy little alcove where the three of us had manage to keep a small flame going, and we gathered around with our clothes pulled close and listened to the gentle snores of our fellow refugees. The day had been a long one; my hazel eyes had just began to drift when a few whispers from my left caught my attention.

The voices were ones I recognized. In our ramshackle convoy, there were a few in particular who clearly had the leadership roles. One was a burly darker-skinned man who wore the traditional sash of Ishbal, and the other was a lighter-skinned man with gray hair and an odd scar flayed across his face. The second man had caught my interest more than the first had. He somehow seemed vaguely familiar to me, as if I'd seen his face before, but I couldn't put my finger on it. We called him Scar after the marking he bore, and trusted him with our lives. There was no reason to doubt his loyalty, after all.

It was hard to hear the muffled conversation over the wind that whistled tauntingly around our shelter, but I could make out a little of it.

"I've been …. before. I recognize it."

There was a short silence, followed by a short "Hm."

"… Not far ahead. A camp, we can… there by lunchtime."

"Good. We're runn…. Food and provisions."

That was all I really cared to listen to as I brought my hood to my head and lay back against the sand. There was a camp out here? That would undoubtedly mean a few days rest after over a few weeks of travel, or however long it had been. Days were hard to keep track of in this kind of lifestyle, after all. Franz and Keith had already fallen into slumber and I joined them minutes later, my last thought dwindling on the thought of soon having a real bed to sleep on at last.

It seemed that no time had passed at all before we spotted the camp on the uneven horizon – it was funny how time flew when there was hope soon to be had. And the burly man's estimate had been correct, as the sun was perches high atop the midday sky when we finally made our way into the scrappy ramshackle camp. We made our way in and hesitated until a paler man, lacking to Ishbalan look in his eye, advanced with a warm smile. Silent relief swept through our ranks. We would be welcomed here.

"Thank you for such a warm welcome," Our burly man nodded his head in a brief bow, before looking back up. "But you're sure? You realize who we are, and where we're from."

The paler man, however, merely raised a hand to stop him. "Judging by your complexion and eye color, I'm guessing… Ishbalan, right? Well, don't worry. This is a place of refuge for those who have been banished from their homelands for whatever reasons. No questions asked. We accept criminals and military deserters alike. Quite a mix." He reached over, taking a small cup from the table beside him. "Here, you must be thirsty." Despite the calm aura of the man, we all couldn't help but feel even more relaxed. It was good to see that there were still people who could accept an Ishbalan as a friend in such a hostile world.