(no subject)

[grassangel]

Title: Road onwards

Day/Theme: Nov. 21, 'on the path of dreams.'
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Characters/Pairing: Vague references to Hoenheim/Trisha, Edward, Alphonse, Winry
Rating: G

 

Over two hundred years ago there was a community in the middle of nowhere, nestled after the rocky foothills of a far off mountain range. There was a forest between them and the mountains, a river cleaving its way through bedrock and pre-historic glacier carrying boulders and life giving water down its bed.
There were the mountains, a forest, a river and then fields. Beyond the fields, more grass and sun saturated land as far as the eye could see.
Maybe if you travelled far enough you might reach another congregation of farms, but that was far, far off. It was a much better choice to go to town that couldn't quite be said to be in the foothills nor quite a town, though that was the only way one could describe it and its location.

Its name was Rismbool. There were no roads, no path, no direction that would assure you of a destination. There was only that river, the forest on its rocky banks.

A hundred years ago, paths had been worn into the ground between farms for years, people trading with others in this small community.
They were growing and with ever plentiful crops they needed somewhere for the surplus corn, wheat and milk to go to.
A train and a road soon plowed through the tiny community, somewhere near the middle of the far sprawled farms and houses.

Fifty years ago a house was built on the top of a small hillock, a sapling planted next to it. A young family lived in it, an incredibly small family with a single daughter and no son.
They had little land, the small acreage leased out to their neighbour, investments out of town supplying them with money.

Twenty years ago that lone daughter inherited that small house, married to a well studied man out of Western City. He had fallen in love with the town and her on a visit and they rejoiced in the quiet blessing of sun and small interests piled up in Central and other cities.

Eighteen years ago they had a son. A year after, they had another.
When their first son had celebrated his third birthday, that well studied man left overnight; leaving that lone daughter, now a lone woman, with two sons.

Ten years ago, that lone woman died, leaving two sons left in the care of their best friend and her grandmother.

Eight years ago, they left that small community; one brother clad in metal, the other weighed down with unnatural limbs.
They left one night, that house on the hill burning, their footsteps creating shadows in the dust. They left as any other person would leave, down that path to the station that had popped into existence a bare hundred years previous.
The main road, the road that lead out and into the tiny community.

That was what lead them on their path onwards. The one lone road out of their home.
Onwards, not back as the river does.