Reaper's Gale (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #7)

by Steven Erikson

Beak was driven down by the immense weight, the horrible hunger. Yet he would not retreat. Instead, he let the fire within him lash out, devouring every candle, igniting everything. His friends, yes, the only ones he had ever known. Survival, he realized, could only be found through purity. Of his love for them all – how so many of them had smiled at him, laughed with him. How hands clapped him on the shoulder and even, now and then, tousled his hair. He would have liked to see the captain one last time, and maybe even kiss her. On the cheek, although of course he would have liked something far more…brave. But he was Beak, after all, and he could hold on to but one thing at a time. Arms wrapped tight, even as the fire began to burn the muscles of his arms. His shoulders and neck. His legs. He could hold on, now, until they found him. Those fires were so hot, now, burning – but there was no pain. Pain had been scoured away, cleansed away. Oh, the weight was vast, getting heavier still, but he would not let go. Not of his brothers and his sisters, the ones he so loved. My friends.