A Flow of the Spirit

Perrin shrugged into his coat as he walked back toward the Star through the evening shadows. A good tiredness soaked through his arms and shoulders; along with more common work, Master Ajala had had him make a large piece of ornamental work, all elaborate curves and scrolls, to go on some country lord’s new gate. He had enjoyed making something so pretty.

“I thought his eyes would come out of his face, blacksmith, when you said you would not make that thing if it was for a High Lord.”

He glanced sideways at Zarine, walking beside him, the shadows masking her face. Even for his eyes, the shadows were there, just fainter than they would have been for another’s. They emphasized her high cheekbones, softened the strong curve of her nose. He just could not make up his mind about her. Even if Moiraine and Lan still insisted they stay close to the inn, he wished she could find something else to do besides watch him work. For some reason, he had found himself growing awkward whenever he thought of her tilted eyes on him. More than once he had fumbled with his hammer till Master Ajala frowned at him wonderingly. Girls had always been able to make him feel awkward especially when they smiled at him, but Zarine did not have to smile. Only look. He wondered again if she was the beautiful woman Min had warned him against. Better if she is the falcon. That thought surprised him so much that he stumbled.

“I did not want anything I make to get into the hands of one of the Forsaken.” His eyes glowed golden as he looked at her. “If it was for a High Lord, how could I tell where it might end?” She shivered. “I did not mean to frighten you, Fai—Zarine.”

She smiled broadly, no doubt thinking he could not see her. “You will fall yet, farmboy. Have you ever thought of wearing a beard?”

It is bad enough she’s always mocking me, but half the time I do not even understand her!

As they reached the front door of the inn, Moiraine and Lan met them, coming the other way. Moiraine wore that linen cloak with the wide, deep hood that hid her face. Light from the common-room windows made yellow pools on the paving stones. Two or three carriages rumbled past, and there were perhaps a dozen people in sight, hurrying home for their suppers, but for the most part, shadows populated the street. The weaver’s shop was closed tight. The silence was deafening.

“Rand is in Tear.” The Aes Sedai’s cool voice issued from the depths of her hood as from a cavern.