A/N: I never liked the way the Flambards quartet ended, although I loved the books :) I always thought that Will should have lived – I never liked Christina/Mark, although re-reading Flambards Divided, my mind is slowly being changed, but only as a substitute for Will! So this is "the Epilogue that never was" for The Edge of the Cloud.

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me *sob* they all belong to the wonderful K.M. Peyton (has anybody read Snowfall, another book of her's? If you haven't – do! It's sad, melancholy, depressing and downright wonderful and amazing!!)

Christina stood on the edge of the airfield, shading her eyes against the sun, as she watched the sky for any sign of Will's plane. The war was over, the Armistice signed, and Will was coming home.

She was holding Isobel hand tight, for the airfield was busy, and Christina dreaded to think what dreadful accident could occur if Isobel ran off. Isobel, nearly four years old now, had only met her father a couple of times, and didn't really understand what was going on, although she knew enough to be excited, laughing, whilst pulling up clumps of grass. Christina picked her up, to avoid having to clean grass stains off Isobel's white pinafore that night. Christina knew how much Will would be looking forward to seeing Isobel – he doted on her, and spent almost as much time with her as he spent with his beloved aeroplanes. He had wanted to call Isobel, Emma, after the plane that he and Mr Dermot had built together. Christina had vetoed this, opting instead to call her daughter, who had inherited the dark Russell eyes that shone out of both Will and Mark's faces, Isobel, after Will's mother.

Christina felt a plucking at her sleeve and looked down to see Tom, her 7 year old adopted son. Violets child, he resembled Mark as much as Isobel resembled Will. Mark had been killed at Ypres in '17, and Christina had opened the letter he had left her, with instructions for it to only be opened in the event of his death. Christina had never told anyone the contents of the letter, but three days later she had returned to Flambards, now Will's due to Mark's untimely demise, with Tom.

Dorothy waved from the other side of the airfield, and started making her way over to Christina and the children. Although at 22 she was the same age as Christina, when she reached them, Christina saw that Dorothy looked at least 10 years older. Having married Mark and then lost him within the space of a year, grief had taken its toll, along with the multitude of horror's she had seen whilst nursing on the front.

Christina glanced at her watch, and then back at the sky. A moment later a plane appeared over the horizon. It landed slowly, skimming across the grass. A tall, young pilot with dark hair climbed out. Will. Christina ran to him with a cry, and he lifted her up, and spun her around before putting her gently down, and hugging both Isobel and Tom, who he had come to look upon as his son, rather than his nephew, despite having only met him twice before.

Everything was alright again, back to normal, or as normal as life could be, thought Christina, as she, Will, Tom and Isobel walked across the airfield to rejoin Dorothy, and normal life.