'Why do you not go to them, Toc the Younger?'
'I cannot.' 'No,' she nodded, 'you cannot. The pain is too great. The loss you feel.' 'Yes,' he whispered. 'Nor should they yield love to you, should they? Any of them. The children...' 'They should not, no.' 'Because, Toc the Younger, you are the brother of Onos T'oolan. His true brother now. And for all the mercy that once dwelt in your mortal heart, only ghosts remain. They must not love you. They must not believe in you. For you are not the man you once were.' 'Did you think I needed reminding, too, Olar Ethil?' 'I think... yes.' She was right. He felt inside for the pain he'd thought - he'd believed - he had lived with for so long. As if lived was even the right word. When he found it, he saw at last its terrible truth. A ghost. A memory. I but wore its guise. The dead have found me. I have found the dead. And we are the same. 'Where will you go now, Toc the Younger?' He gathered his reins of his horse and looked back at the distant fire. It was a spark. It would not last the night. 'Away.' Dust of Dreams The Malazan Book of the Fallen by Steven Erikson
