Memories of Ice (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #3)

by Steven Erikson

Peace is the time of waiting for war. A time of preparation, or a time of wilful ignorance, blind, blinkered and prattling behind secure walls.

Unfamiliar faces, gauging regard, every sense heightened in an effort to read the unknown. The natural efforts of society. Do we all possess a wish to remain unseen, unnoticed? Is the witnessing of our actions by others our greatest restraint?

There is, all about us, ancient knowledge – that cannot be denied. Yet Kruppe wonders, are there memories? True Memories? Of enlivened flesh and the wind’s caress, of the laughter of children? Memories of love? When frozen between life and death, in the glacial in-between, what can exist of mortal feeling? Not even an echo. Only memories of ice, of ice and no more than that. Gods below … such sorrow …

<3 Kruppe

War is not a natural state. It is an imposition, and a damned unhealthy one. With its rules, we willingly yield our humanity.