it coils like a molten snake,
and cuts you like a sharp knife.
this desert heat is a hunter—
it will ruthlessly take your life.
and cuts you like a sharp knife.
this desert heat is a hunter—
it will ruthlessly take your life.
He said not everything was about duty, but Teiran wasn't sure she agreed. Was not everything she did about her job? Her duty to Solterra? Is that not precisely who she had been manufactured into, what she had been made to do? If others found her repetitive life boring, they had kept it to themselves.
To Teiran, her patrols of the desert and surveys of the streets were normal. In fact (although she could not, or perhaps would not, admit it to herself), they were also a comfort. She had been orphaned and raised in the desert to kill and then the man who had done it to her had been murdered. Her job was the only thing she knew how to do, with or without instruction.
Her duty gave her purpose. "I don't think I am chasing after anything," the soldier responded then. She watched him wave down the bartender for more to drink and felt a little like maybe he was chasing the alcohol looking for something himself, though she didn't say it. Didn't even know how to.
To Teiran, her patrols of the desert and surveys of the streets were normal. In fact (although she could not, or perhaps would not, admit it to herself), they were also a comfort. She had been orphaned and raised in the desert to kill and then the man who had done it to her had been murdered. Her job was the only thing she knew how to do, with or without instruction.
Her duty gave her purpose. "I don't think I am chasing after anything," the soldier responded then. She watched him wave down the bartender for more to drink and felt a little like maybe he was chasing the alcohol looking for something himself, though she didn't say it. Didn't even know how to.
