“What will you do?”
Ezra carved away at an apple, slicing chunks with his balisong knife. The metal weeped at such a mundane task, the steel craved the flesh of the enemy, to feel its gutters flow and the edge bite.
“My old man was a farmer.”
A couple of others in the group chuckled. They sat or stood around a small fire, the popup tents arranged in neat lines amongst the camp, all the men still uneasy about the ceasefire. About the surrender.
“He had a parcel of land, in the lowlands, been in the family for generations. The Sags burnt it all in the Bank offensive, scorched earth and all that.”
“But really, a farmer?”
Ezra tossed the core of the apple into the flames. The knife hummed as he swung it shut. All eyes watched the knife, as if it were the one speaking.
“It’s a noble profession.” He put the knife away. “And it’s time I created something. There’s been too much death.”
Prompt originally posted by Danny-Boy13 on reddit and received 5 upvotes.