Nash really had gotten older— he talked more now, fought less. He still practiced. But he'd buried his swords deep in someone else's grave, they no longer whispered him violence. Nash told himself, sometimes, that he was in the business of stopping violence now. Fighting wars with maps and words, ending them before they started. He swallowed this story when he had trouble sleeping, when other feelings twisted his stomach. And it was the truth. But like most of the stories Nash told, it was not the whole of the truth.
"And people like me are only good when they're useful." He tilted his head without moving his eyes. "Do you have questions?"
no subject
Nash really had gotten older— he talked more now, fought less. He still practiced. But he'd buried his swords deep in someone else's grave, they no longer whispered him violence. Nash told himself, sometimes, that he was in the business of stopping violence now. Fighting wars with maps and words, ending them before they started. He swallowed this story when he had trouble sleeping, when other feelings twisted his stomach. And it was the truth. But like most of the stories Nash told, it was not the whole of the truth.
"And people like me are only good when they're useful." He tilted his head without moving his eyes. "Do you have questions?"