#young!royai

"Roy can you rope the tree, actually?" she called out to him, pausing to toss him a length of rope before lifting the deer by the hocks. Roy caught the rope deftly and turned to appraise the tree line, finding a sturdy maple to climb.

He scrambled up its boughs, scooting onto a low-hanging branch to tie off the dressing rope. He dropped the noose and Riza looped it around the buck's hooves, pushing up from below as Roy hoisted until it was secure.

They set to work dressing the deer, Riza's knife working in long, methodic strokes while Roy wrapped the organs she passed his way, scrambling to keep up with her terrifying efficiency. They toiled in silence, too hot to speak. Roy desperately wanted to stick his face into the ice box, but they needed to keep the meat cold on such a sweltering day, so he instead packed the entrails neatly over the top of the ice.

After nearly half an hour, Roy leaned back on his heels and wiped a sheet of sweat from his brow. His knees ached from kneeling and his t-shirt stuck to him everywhere.

"It's too damn hot for this," he grumbled. Riza turned to him with a reproachful glare, sweat and blood mingling in an unsightly smear all over her face. She looked half wild, her short, sweat-soaked hair sticking up every which way and her knife still buried in the buck near her ear.

To Roy's surprise, her expression turned thoughtful, and she hummed in agreement. "Let me just get this bit out and we can take a break."

When she finished, Riza stuck her knife in the soft dirt and crouched at the stream to wash her hands. Roy joined her, splashing the cold water on his face and feeling the rivulets rolling down his neck.

"You have blood all over your face by the way," he pointed out. "You look like you murdered someone." Riza scrubbed at her cheeks vigorously and Roy couldn't help but laugh, bumping his shoulder into hers playfully.

He hit her harder than he meant to, and she threw her hand out to steady herself, her arm sinking into the stream up to her elbow as her head went under. She surfaced immediately, indignantly yelping a sharp hey! as water rushed down her neck to soak her shirt.

Roy felt her hand on his arm and then he was in the water, toppled by her strong shove. The shock of cold made him gasp, and he quickly crawled out to dry land, thoroughly drenched. She laughed, a rare expression, sweet peals echoing in the summer air, and Roy thought maybe he should let her push him into rivers more often.

"Now we're even," she crowed, still giggling. Her honey brown eyes flashed with playful amusement.

"As the resident authority on equivalent exchange, I would hardly call that even," Roy huffed, but Riza only laughed harder.

"Okay mister alchemist-in-training," she snorted, "let's get back to work. We're almost done with this but we still have to pick the blueberries if I'm going to make that crumble tonight." Roy groaned and Riza swatted him lightly. "You look like a drowned rat by the way."

Fifteen minutes later Roy climbed up the tree again to retrieve the rope. Together he and Riza lowered the buck to the ground, and Roy picked the knot until the rope came loose. As he tugged it, his foot slipped, taking his knee with it, and he tumbled out of the tree, yelping in surprise as he reached for the branch to catch himself. The bark scraped his hands and his weight proved too heavy for his grip; he fell, a stray branch slicing the heel of his palm open on the way down.

"Roy!"

His back hit the ground hard, knocking his breath out of his lungs. When he opened his eyes Riza was crouched over him, eyes wide.

"You're bleeding!" she exclaimed, grabbing his wrist and inspecting the cut on his hand. It stung fiercely and bled a lot more than Roy would have expected.

"That hurt," he groaned, sitting up and pulling his hand back to wipe the blood on his still-damp pants. Riza made a strained tch.

"Don't do that-- just go wash it in the stream. It looks bad." Roy did as he was bidden, Riza hovering at his side as blooms of crimson puffed up like clouds of ink, only to dissipate in the current. It still stung, but the cold water numbed it soothingly. She grabbed his hand again and lifted it to her eye level.

"Well," she declared after prodding it somewhat, "it doesn't look like you'll need stitches. It's not as deep as I thought."

"Well that's good," Roy said. "I guess I'll just bandage it up when we get home and try not to aggravate it for a few days."

"You're not getting out of picking the blueberries with me," Riza warned.

Roy laughed. "I wouldn't have hoped so for even a second. You're a slave driver, you know," he teased her.

Riza flushed a little and pouted, her round cheeks puffing out. "That's not funny, Roy," she grumbled.

"What? Come on, you know I don't mind helping you with your chores," he said earnestly, and Riza flushed even more.

"I know," she said simply, and stood up to finish packing away their field tools.

Roy watched her work, admiring the confidence with which she moved. She was completely in her element, and Roy struggled to imagine her in another setting, perhaps a student in university or a city dweller dressing up fancy and going for drinks at the bar. It didn't seem possible; she belonged here, in the backwoods toting a hunting rifle or carrying groceries from the market on her hip.

Truly, they were from different worlds, Roy thought. But here he was, a city kid sweating in the countryside as he field dressed wild game, and it felt natural. It wasn't so impossible, was it?

Maybe she could belong somewhere else, too, in time.