" My arms wrapped about little Jala, little sister, hot with fever but the fire grew too hot, and so, in my arms, her flesh cooled to dawn-stone, mother keening—Jala was the ember now lifeless, and from that day, in mother's eyes, I became naught but its bed of ash. "

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