Healing Projects - Chapter 11
May. 5th, 2012 02:31 pm( Busy life )
Letter #7
Hi Cath,
On our way back now. The last letter was getting a bit long, so I didn't mention this odd thing that happened in one of the towns Breda and I were visiting. We found another hot spring, near a little wrecked shrine. Just before supper one night, we decided to strip down to our shorts, and have a good soak. My back did start bothering me near the end, after all that sleeping on hard ground.
Letter #4
Hi Cath,
Well, Miles and Scar are off again. They had a little meeting with all of us in Mustang's inner circle, and some local Ishvallan elders, to talk about where they should go next, and to pass on any information they thought the boss should know. You know, to help him decide what to concentrate on as he helps the rebuilding. We're going to be taking a road trip south, because it looks like Aerugo might be giving the wrong sort of “help,” sending unfriendly influences and even guns via the southern desert. I suppose I shouldn't be telling you stuff like that, should I? Don't tell mom and dad.
These are letters written from Ishval, after Father was destroyed and Amestris was saved. Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc, alchemically healed of the paralyzing injury he had suffered, joined the small combined military and civilian companies led by Colonel Roy Mustang, in their project to help restore Ishval to viability as a state. The selection of letters below were written to Havoc's sister Catherine. They provide some insight into how things progressed in the relatively early days of restoration project, and they shed more light on the character of many of those in Colonel Mustang's inner circle – primarily, of course, Mustang himself.
Roy stood in silence, head high, waiting for the nearly faceless figure to reply and decide his fate. The featureless white that seemed to stretch infinitely on all sides of the Gate made him think of ice and cold, and he almost felt he should shiver, but in reality he felt nothing. Neither hot nor cold – nothing. It was as though the concept of temperature did not exist here.
Here, where he had come with only two-thirds of the last existing philosopher's stone, clutching it in a clammy hand, hoping it would be enough.