Nynaeve rose smoothly to her feet. More than that. Whatever they were, they were certainly no worse than Trollocs, nothing at all beside a Myrddraal, and he had not given them a second look. Mat tossed the dice back into the semicircle as he stepped out, and one of the men called, Here, southlander, you can't quit while you're winning.
His face softened as he looked down at her. Three times the man whose eyes were fire had been in her dreams each time when she dreamed a dream that convinced her Rand was in danger. The Old Tongue has music in it, but too many even of the nobles are impatient with listening to it these days. Did you think I did not know, child? Well, as you wish it.
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