He could not understand why she wept so often. Nynaeve? It is past time we were on our way. Most are large. A strangled squawk erupted from her throat.
He knew every face as well as his own, and every name but one. Through his shirt she could feel the round, half-healed scar on his left side. Overhead, the cavern rose roofless through the mountain to a sky where wild clouds raced, striated red and yellow and black, as if on the winds of time themselves. Those at the front, the highest-ranking, the most powerful, began their progress toward the doors without to
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