The life you describe... is one of unbearable loneliness. [ There was something like anger coming off of the assassin -- not the roiling of the heat of battle, but a cold ache, felt in one's bones. It was mingled with something akin to regret. Even someone who loved his moments of quietude and seclusion, as the Ironeye did, recognized that there was value in joining with others.

The Raider would drink and laugh and boast, and he would listen. The Executor would paint his pictures, and he would look on. He looked into those pale eyes and wondered if this was why the god had longed for death. ]

[ His voice, when he spoke, was soft. ] What shall we do with ourselves, then? We who can neither properly remember, nor forget?

[ Perhaps there was no true answer. Ironeye could not return to what he had been. Neither, it seemed, could the Forsaken. ]

...before I left, I resolved to walk the path that I alone desired.