Autumn 1872 – Tea With Daemons in the Hour Before Dawn

 

I held the cup under my nose. The tea smelled of pepper and something I could not place; the scent was more like beef stew than steeped leaves. I took a sip. I felt a warmth spread out from my mouth and across my skin. “Oh my,” I said.

Micarra grinned. “We have our comforts. Even when at war, one must make moment of pleasure. Otherwise the battles have no endings or distinction. Life becomes a continuous dance of teeth and claws. Dancing is all the sweeter when one can pause to savor dances past.”