“I don’t like seeing people in cages,” Perrin whispered. He wanted to go. The cage was open, and those eyes were watching. But the Aiel was not moving. If you do a thing, do it right. “Will you get out of there before somebody comes?”

The Aiel grasped the frontmost overhead bar of the cage, heaved himself out and to his feet in one motion, then half hung there, supporting himself with his grip on the bar. He would have been nearly a head taller than Perrin, standing straight. He glanced at Perrin’s eyes—Perrin knew how they must shine, burnished gold in the moonlight—but he did not mention them. “I have been in there since yesterday, wetlander.” He sounded like Lan. Not that their voices or accents were anything alike, but the Aiel had that same unruffled coolness, that same calm sureness. “It will take a moment for my legs to work. I am Gaul, of the Imran sept of the Shaarad Aiel, wetlander. I am Shae’en M’taal, a Stone Dog. My water is yours.”

“Well, I am Perrin Aybara. Of the Two Rivers. I’m a blacksmith.” The man was out of the cage; he could go now. Only, if anyone came along before Gaul could walk, he would be right back into the cage unless they killed him, and either way would waste Perrin’s work. “If I had thought, I’d have brought a waterbottle, or a skin. Why do you call me ‘wetlander’?”

Gaul gestured toward the river; even Perrin’s eyes could not be sure in the moonlight, but he thought the Aiel looked uneasy for the first time. “Three days ago, I watched a girl sporting in a huge pool of water. It must have been twenty paces across. She . . . pulled herself out into it.” He made an awkward swimming gesture with one hand. “A brave girl. Crossing these . . . rivers . . . has nearly unmanned me. I never thought there could be such a thing as too much water, but I never thought there was so much water in the world as you wetlanders have.”

Perrin shook his head. He knew the Aiel Waste held little water—it was one of the few things he knew about the Waste or the Aiel—but he had not thought it could be scarce enough to cause this reaction. “You’re a long way from home, Gaul. Why are you here?”

“We search,” Gaul said slowly. “We look for He Who Comes With the Dawn.”

Perrin had heard that name before, under circumstances that made him sure who it meant. Light, it always comes back to Rand. I am tied to him like a mean horse for shoeing. “You are looking in the wrong direction, Gaul. I’m looking for him, too, and he is on his way to Tear.”