In the semi-darkness, the pebbles looked like coffee beans. What an odd thought. The warm twilight sun bathed the dry, rocky terrain in a soft orange hue, turning the black of the small rocks that littered the ground into deep brown, and the deep red of the soldier's blood into a warm shade of black. It was comforting, somehow, watching the light transform such things as blood and rocks into beautiful colors to complete the painting of a serene beach. The soldier sat in his own pool of warm black blood, and set his sword down gently beside him. The metal of the blade caught the orange light of the sinking sun, and the soldier's eyes teared up thinking about the battles he had seen with that blade, the narrow escapes he'd had, and the glory it had given him. He ran blood soaked fingers along the familiar length of it's chipped pommel, and sang a song of warriors long gone. He sang to birth, to glory, to women and to death. To birth, because the story of all mighty warriors began with their birth. To glory, because all me ultimately pursue it, leading them down their destined paths on the journey of life. To women, because their love drove great men to do great things, and kept weary soldiers from giving up the battle. To death, because it was the end of all things. The soldier sang, until his song died with his breath, and then he lay there beside his blade and let the end take him. In the semi-darkness of the setting sun, the pebbles littering the beach looked like coffee beans, and the dead soldier was at peace.