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Thoughts on Scillara
Near to the end of The Bonehunters and I'm reminded of why I love Scillara. Her giving up the child, despite the small minority around her trying guilt her otherwise, makes me happy. She has every right to turn away this child considering her situation, especially when there is a good home readily available to place them in. The fact that she can do this and continue on without it becoming some core fault of her character, that's important to me
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Most marriages involve mutual thoughts of murder on occasion
Scillara, Toll The Hounds, pg 136
"If I could see you," Heboric muttered, "I'd conclude you've improved some."
"I have, Destriant of Treach, though I would have thought those feline eyes of yours could pierce every veil."
He grunted. "It's more that you no longer slur your words, Scillara."
"What do we do now?" she asked after a moment.
"Dusk will soon arrive. I would go out to find L'oric, and I would that you accompany me."
"And then?"
"Then, I would lead you to Felisin Younger."
"Sha'ik's adopted daughter."
"Aye."
Scillara glanced away, meditative as she drew deep on the rust-leaf.
"How old are you, lass?"
She shrugged, "As old as I have to be. If I am to take Felisin Younger's orders, so be it. Resentment is pointless."
An awkward conversation, progressing in leaps that left Heboric scrambling. Sha'ik was much the same. Perhaps, he reflected with a grimace, this talent for intuitive thinking was a woman's alone - he admittedly had little experience upon which he could draw, despite his advanced years. Fener's temple was predominantly male, when it came to the holy order itself, and Heboric's life as a thief had, of necessity, included only a handful of close associations. He was, once more, out of his depth. "Felisin Younger has, I believe, little interest in commanding anyone. This is not an exchange of one cult for another, Scillara - not in the way you seem to think it is, at any rate. No-one will seek to manipulate you here."
House of Chains, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #4)
The rules of mortal flesh were all that mattered, the need to breathe, to eat, drink, to find warmth in the cold of night. And, beyond these struggles, when the last breath had been taken inside, well, she would be in no condition to care about anything, about what happened next, who died, who was born, the cries of starving children and the vicious tyrants who starved them – these were, she understood, the simple legacies of indifference, the consequences of the expedient, and this would go on in the mortal realm until the last spark winked out, gods or no gods.
The Bonehunters by Steven Erikson
to live a hard life was to make solid and inpregnable every way in, until no openings remained and the soul hid in darkness, and no one else could hear its screams, its railing at justice, its long agonizing stretches of hardness. hardness without created hardness within.
Scillara, Toll The Hounds
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To live a hard life was to make solid and impregnable every way in, until no openings remained and the soul hid in darkness, and no one else could hear its screams, its railing at injustice, its long, agonizing stretches of sadness. Hardness without created hardness within.
Scillara, Toll the Hounds
