He was still so very young. Faeriestrue faeries, not their changeling throwawayslive forever, and when you have an eternity of adulthood ahead of you, you linger over childhood. You tend it and keep it close to your heart, because once it ends, its over. Quentin was barely fifteen. Hed never seen the Great Hunt that came down every twenty-one years, or been present for the crowning of a King or Queen of Cats, or announced his maturity before the throne of High King Aethlin. He was a child, and he should have had decades left to play; a century of games and joy and edging cautiously toward adulthood.But he didnt. I could see his childhood dying in his eyes as he looked at me, silently begging me to answer for him.

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Seanan McGuire, An Artificial Night.

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