In the empty eyes of this child, he’d seen the withering of his own soul. The reflection had been… — Steven Erikson

“The dead never interrupt,” said the mason, “they but arrive.”

Have any of these thoughts been my own? Look at me—my every move seems a desperate search for someone to blame, always someone else. I’ve made being a tool of a god an excuse, a justification for not thinking, for simply reacting. And others have died for it.

Lorn stared at Tool. “Was that an attempt at humor?” she asked.

The T’lan Imass adjusted his helmet. “That depends on your mood, Adjunct.”