Tea

Seia didn’t know he was the Warlord when he offered her six bullets and a mug of tea. He looked like the other soldiers huddled near cooking fires in the shadow of the redwoods. He didn’t sound like he had killed mountains and fed the desert with blood. He didn’t look like stories. He was tired, sagging under the weight of bullet belts and bandoliers. His eyes were muddy, sleepless, and darting. 

He told her to sit down, and told her a story about the end of the Old Coast. It started with a war and a long drive home.