Beak, can you hold your own in what’s to come?' A low murmuring reply: 'Yes sir. You’ll see. Everyone will because you’re all my friends and friends … - Steven Erikson

Nostalgia was like a disease, one that crept in and stole the colour from the world and the time you lived in. Made for bitter people. Dangerous people, when they wanted back what never was.

Belief creates, Arathan. So you have been taught. The god cannot exist until it is worshipped, until it is given shape, personality. It is made in the crucible of faith.

It wasn't too much, to take a frail figure into one's arms for those last moments of life. Better than a cot, or even a bed in a room filled with loved ones. Better, too, than an empty street in the cold rain. To die in someone's arms - could there be anything more forgiving?
Every savage barbarian in the world knew the truth of this.