Christopher Jaynes

“You idiot.” He blinked at her. “Are you only now realizing that forces greater than ourselves might tear us apart?” she asked, still smiling. “Well . . .” he began. “Well . . . well no, not exactly . . .” He trailed off weakly. “But that was always true, Aleran,” she said, “long before the vord threatened our peoples. If they had never done so, it would still be true.” “What do you mean?” She shrugged a shoulder. Then she took up his knife and fork and cut another slice of roast as she spoke. “Many things can end lives. Even the lives of Aleran Citizens. Disease. Fires. Accidents. And, in the end, age itself.” She fed him the piece of roast and watched him begin to chew before nodding approval and beginning to cut another. “Death is certain, Aleran—for all of us. That being true, we know that all of those we love will either be torn away from us, or we will be torn away from them. It follows as naturally as the night after sundown.”
― Jim Butcher, First Lord's Fury