This chapter turned out rather different from when I first envisioned it. I knew it needed some sort of a twist, but nothing was coming to me. Then, a few months ago, something happened that inspired me. I live in the desert, and people don't generally think that this happens here, but it did.

Chapter 17

Rose pulled the bed covers up to her chin and curled herself up into a ball. She was glad she had thought to ask for another blanket early the day before. She thought about turning up the radiator but she didn't want to get out of bed. Rain pattered against the wooden shutters and pinged against the glass windows behind them. It was a gloomy morning and it completely matched her mood.

She had lost her head in so many ways it wasn't funny. She had gotten spoiled. Back at home, she was just a lunch counter cook and waitress. Yes, people sought her out, but mainly for just a friendly smile and a grilled ham and cheese with a side of potato salad. Then they were gone. Here in Ishval, people sought her out because they wanted her company. She was pampered and fussed over and made much of. A little too much, as it turned out.

Now she was that crazy Amestrian woman who caused a fight and ran away as soon as it started.

Well, maybe she couldn't help that part so much. As soon as the fists started flying she was swept back to that dark, mad time in Liore. For what seemed like an eternity, her being seemed to shrink deep inside her as if trying to hide. Then she just turned and ran, trying to put as much distance between herself and the madness as quickly as she could. She remembered with a twinge that she had dropped the bottles of beer she had been carrying. That must have made a mess.

She vaguely remembered Atash catching up to her, and she thought she answered whatever questions he asked her, but it was sort of a blur now. Then, once the panic had worn off, she felt so miserable because people had gotten hurt because of her, directly or indirectly, and the best she could do was take off like a scared rabbit. She was not proud of herself.

And, oh, the look Kaihan gave her, the one just before he punched Stanno! He almost looked as though he wasn't sure which one of them to hit. He could tell right away that she was the one who had told Stanno about his secret that wasn't really a secret. She had, after all, promised that no one would hear it from her. Well, if he was disappointed in her, she was sure disappointed in him.

And then there was Stanno. He had worked so hard to redeem himself for her sake. It was clear that it was not something that came to him naturally, but he got better at it as the days went by. He opened up to her, showing that he had a tenderness wanting so hard to come out. But all it took was the right sort of provocation and he caved in. All that hard work for nothing. The man was a liability to himself and it was a good thing she was leaving now before she fell too far for him.

The rain sounded like it had lessened, down to a just faint tinkling. On top of everything else, she wasn't looking forward to driving to the train station in an open car in the rain. She didn't think she could face Stanno just to ask him for a ride in his truck. She didn't think she could even face him to say good-bye. Well, maybe she could convince herself that it was doomed to begin with and even if she had lost her head for a while, she hadn't actually lost her heart.

Yeah. Right.

She flipped herself onto her stomach and buried her face into her pillow. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to go and put this all behind her, but she also wanted so badly to stay. With her face still buried, she let out a scream of frustration into her pillow. It felt good for a moment. While she lay there, she could hear what seemed like an echoes of her scream. Somewhere outside, down the street or maybe even the next street over, she thought she heard not one, but several faint cries. She lay very still and listened. They weren't cries of fear or sorrow or anger. They sounded excited. She wondered in disbelief if the festival hadn't actually stopped and people were still partying in the street.

Then there was a sharp crack against the wooden shutters at her window. She raised herself up on her elbows and frowned toward the window, debating whether or not to open it. Had it started to hail? No, it was a single report, as if someone had—

Crack!

Rose gave a start. As if someone had thrown a rock.

"Rose!"

She stared harder at the window. Aside from what she was hearing, she couldn't believe what she could see through the curls and swirls of the carved design.

"Rose!"

She threw back her covers and without bothering with slippers or robe, she hurried to the window, opened the glass panes and pushed the shutters open.

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Miserable, damn kids! What the hell are they screaming about? The damn festival is over!

Stanno ran his hand over his face and glared up at his ceiling. Was it worth getting up and yelling out the window to tell everyone to shut the hell up and leave him in peace? That was exactly what he was in the mood for, to be as caustic and bitter as he could possibly be, to unleash such a stream of profanity that the very air would turn blue. Sure. Why not? It's what people would expect him to do.

He kicked off his blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Trudging over to the window, he gave the shutters a rough push, making them slam against the outer walls.

Then he froze. He stared.

The air was white with the swirl of snowflakes. He completely forgot about all the noise that could be heard coming from what seemed like every corner of Ishval, the shrieks of delight and cries of amazement. He leaned out the window, holding out his hand to let the flakes fall into it. Drawing his arm back, he stared as the flakes slowly melted in his palm. Gazing back out into the brilliant shower of white, a smile grew on his face and he laughed to himself. Then he laughed a little harder.

Maybe Ishvala didn't make the world stand still, but this was good enough.

Without bothering to close his shutters, he quickly pulled on a shirt and grabbed his boots, practically stumbling into them as he rushed downstairs. Flinging his back door open, he ran out through the gate, down the side of his house and out into the street. He looked up and down as his neighbors came out of their houses and stared up at the sky and at each other. Then he made a quick inspection of the ground. The snow was melting as soon as it landed, so it was easy enough to fine a small rock. Probably one of the ones Atash kept using. Snatching it up, he trotted over to the front of the Desert Dove and positioned himself under the window of Rose's room. Taking aim, he pulled his arm back and flung the rock into the air. It hit the shutters dead on, making a satisfying crack. He had absolutely no concern about damaging his own handiwork or property. Actually, it was kind of fun. He glanced quickly around his feet for another rock and, finding one, he took aim and let fly.

There was no way she couldn't hear that, but just in case, he cupped his hands around his mouth. "Rose!" he yelled.

For all he knew, she might still be asleep. He waited for a moment and called again. "Rose!"

He was about start looking for another rock when the shutters opened and Rose's head appeared in the window. She stared at the swirling flakes for a moment. Stanno desperately wished he could whistle. He waved his arms wildly and Rose looked down.

"Rose, you come down here right now!"

She stared at him for a moment, then up at the sky, then back down at him. As an afterthought, she wrapped her arms around herself against the cold. "It's…"

She stopped as though afraid to say something so feebly obvious. It didn't bother him.

"It's snowing!" he cried, laughing. He waved at her again. "Come down! I have to talk to you!"

The snow was actually getting thicker and Rose had to shade her eyes and peer through it to see him. The breath of exasperation she let out formed a little foggy cloud that dissipated in the snowfall. "Why should I?"

Stanno smiled. Maybe she thought she sounded dismissive, but he thought she just wanted convincing. He spread out his arms. "Because I love you!" he cried, his voice echoing off the building.

Her mouth dropped open a little. Was she really that surprised? Well, maybe so. He'd only just managed to tell what he should have told her already. If he had, he wouldn't have to be standing out in the snow yelling it up to her. So it was no wonder that she wasn't rushing out.

"I'm a fool, Rose," he went on, "and I don't deserve you! But you're so sweet and so kind that you'll take pity even on a poor fool like me and at least come down and hear me out!"

She gazed down at him for a few moments in something like wonder. Was she wondering how he could be such an idiot? Then she suddenly disappeared. With a start, Stanno nearly called out to her. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe she thought he was crazy and was better off without him. He was debating whether to rush inside or just give up when the front door of the hotel opened and Rose came running out, wrapped in her bathrobe and slippers on her feet. Not really very sensible for snow, but at least they both realized that sensibleness wasn't so important at the moment.

He ran up to her and swung her into his arms, dancing around in a circle and laughing. "I knew it, Rose Thomas! I knew it!" he cried. "If you didn't love me back, you wouldn't have come running out into the snow in your nightgown!"

"You're crazy!" Rose cried, trying to sound indignant but unable to keep from laughing. One of her slippers flipped off her foot. "Oh, now look!"

"Here!" Stanno lowered her carefully. "Stand on top of my boots!" He held her closely, letting her weight rest on his feet. "Now, admit it! You love me, don't you!"

Rose tucked her head under his chin. "Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Stanno pressed his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes. Yes, he was sure, out of faith rather than arrogance. He still needed to work at it, but he'd devote a lifetime to it. "God knows I'm not perfect," he said. "But you're the first person I've ever wanted to be perfect for!"

She hugged herself to him. "No one said you had to be perfect. Nobody is. I'm sure not."

"You're perfect for me!" Stanno countered. He smiled and tilted her chin up so she could face him. "You've got the measure of me, Rose. I'm a little weathered, a little warped, but in the proper hands and with a little tender care, I could finish up a decent, comfortable piece."

A smile began to pull at the corner of Rose's mouth. "Something I can curl up with on a"—she squinted up into the snow shower—"cold winter morning?"

"I guarantee it!"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Something that won't get all bent out of shape for stupid reasons?"

"Ah. Well, that's where the tender care comes in." Stanno held her a little tighter. "And I can promise you plenty of that in return, and more besides."

Rose gave a soft little laugh. "Well, I have to admit, you've got a lot of potential for a fixer-upper."

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Christina stood on the seat, leaning on the deep window ledge and gazing out at the falling snow. She pressed a small fingertip against the glass. "That's right, sweetpea," Roy told her. "That isn't a sight you're likely to see again." He lifted the lid of the teapot, which was nearly empty, and he frowned. "Where is that girl? What's her name? Pashmina?"

Riza leaned to get a better look out the window. She pointed. "That's her outside, I think, with her young man."

Roy peered through the snow. "What are they doing out there?"

"Dancing, it looks like." Riza held out a piece of a sesame roll to Christina. "Here, sweetie. Eat up!"

"Dancing in the snow, huh?" Roy chuckled. "Why not? Oh!" He shifted his gaze a little. "Looks like they're not the only couple enjoying the weather."

Riza turned to look where he was pointing. Not that far outside the window, two people stood in a close embrace, sharing a prolonged kiss. She smiled and said, "That ought to make the snow melt pretty quickly."

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Grumman slowly cranked the reel of his fishing pole, contemplating his next cast. The drizzle didn't bother him too much. He had almost left his thermal underdrawers at home, thinking that since this was Ishval, he wouldn't need them. But he didn't get to where he had gotten by cutting corners, taking short cuts, or, most of all, ignoring his gut when it came to taking precautions.

Then he frowned and folded up the brim of his fishing hat. No, that wasn't his eyesight going wonky on him. Those white specks were not floaters on his retinae. They were actually falling out of the sky. He stared at them for a few moments, then chuckled, lifting his rod and whisking his hand-tied fly into the air, where it traveled far behind him. Bending his forearm back and forth, loading the rod tip with stored energy, the fly sailed backwards and forwards above his head. When it had traveled to his satisfaction, Grumman made his final cast, letting the fly sail forward and landing with light, insectile grace on the river's surface, making the mouths of hungry trout water with anticipation.

Settling in his hip boots, Grumman glanced back up at the snow and shook his head, chuckling to himself. Ishval was quite a place.

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"Of course it's important!" Shua insisted. He stood in the doorway of the hotel, the telephone cradled in one arm and the receiver against his ear. "...well, yes, of course I bother you when you're busy. I'm your husband. It's my job…oh, quit growling! You don't scare me...no, no, wait! Listen! I just had to tell you! You won't bloody believe this, but it's snowing! Here in Ishval! It's snowing!"

Shua laughed. "I thought that'd get your attention…yeah, everything's pretty much come to a halt." He leaned out of the door a little to look up and down the street. "There's folks dancing and singing in the streets as if they haven't stopped since last night." He grinned as he watched Stanno and Rose from his vantage point. "It seems to be making folks feel a bit frisky, as well. Ah, love!" He sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "I miss you, Ollie. When can you take a break?...Ah, come now! Just for a couple of days?" He crooned soulfully in Ishvalan into the receiver, "(I am waiting for you to come to my home, but you won't come, my dear one, my heart!)"

He listened for a few moments and smiled warmly. "Ah, that's all right, sweetheart. I'll come to you, then…as soon as I can, I promise." He chuckled. "I'll melt right through that wall of yours! See if I don't!"

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This was wonderful.

He didn't know how long it could possibly last, but he would stand here until the very last snowflake fell. Miles stood in his shirtsleeves out in the middle of the compound, tilting his head toward the sky and letting the tiny needles of cold land on his face. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed this. It didn't exactly transport him back to the sweeping white grandeur of the Briggs mountain range, but it was a nice little reminder.

He was aware of cries of astonishment as the men poured out of their bunkers, the mess hall, the offices, or wherever they happened to be. He then became aware of footsteps coming up beside him. Command Sergeant Major Benjamin stopped at his side and looked skeptically up at the sky.

"Crazy, huh, sir?"

"Bat shit crazy, Sergeant," Miles agreed contentedly.

Benji gave him a dubious glance. He didn't like the cold. As much deep and abiding respect he felt for his colonel, he couldn't imagine why anyone would have any sort of affection for a place like Briggs. He frowned glumly.

"How long you figure this'll keep up?"

"Not long enough," Miles sighed.

"Huh." Benji pulled his coat a little tighter around him. "'Cause, you know, we're not exactly equipped for this. I mean, we don't have any snow gear."

Miles turned to give his adjutant a glare colder and more forbidding that the depths of a Briggs winter. "Snow gear?"

Benji stirred uncomfortably. "Uh…yes."

"Snow gear?"

"Well…'cause of…you know…" Benji pointed up. "Even some of the men were saying—"

"Snow gear?" Miles roared.

Benji jumped and snapped a salute. "My apologies, sir! Forget I mention it!" He did a quick about face and marched away.

Miles shook his head and turned his face skyward again, watching the flakes swarm down and gently envelope him. "Snow gear!" he muttered in disgust.

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He'd had about as much snow as he could take in his journeys to the north. It was not a source of wonder or joy. The cold would get into his bones and crush his spirit, but he had no choice.

This, of course, was no comparison. The older children were running around the cul-de-sac, and Rada efforts to get them to put on their coats were futile. He was content to stand in the doorway, holding Turyan. The little boy seemed to be very cautious about what was going on, and he pointed randomly at the flakes as they fell. Scar took Turyan's hand and turned it so it was facing palm up. A few flakes fell on it, and Turyan giggled and curled his fingers over them. When he opened them again, the snowflakes were gone. Puzzled but undaunted, he held his hand out again. This time he let out a shriek of delighted laughter.

Scar laughed quietly to himself. Maybe snow did bring a little joy.

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A couple of the novices were trying to scrape up sufficient snow to make big enough snowballs to throw at each other. It seemed to be accumulating better on the temple steps than on the ground. Saahad Imir stood on the top step, shading his eyes with his hand and contemplating the sky. He turned as Bozidar joined him at his side. The chief priest didn't mind the snowflakes falling on his bald head.

Imir grinned at him and nodded toward the novices. They were supposed to be sweeping the inside of the temple. "Should I get them back to work, Saahad?"

Bozidar shook his head and waved his hand. "No, no. Let them enjoy this while they can. Who knows when it may ever happen again?"

Imir peered back up. "I was just a little lad the last time this happened. I thought the world was coming to an end, but then my mother started laughing." He turned back to his superior. "It's not exactly what you'd call a miracle, is it?"

"Well, probably not," Bozidar replied, smiling down at his young students as they were joined by others youths in a snowball fight. "Perhaps just a gentle reminder that the unlikely can happen."