There was no thought of refusing. She had promised the Wise Ones to forget that she was Aes Sedai—the easy part, since she was not—and do exactly as she was told. That was the hard part; she had been away from the Tower long enough to become her own mistress again. But Amys had told her flatly that dreamwalking was dangerous even after you knew what you were about and far more so until then. If she would not obey in the waking world, they could not trust her to obey in the dream, and they would not take the responsibility. So she did chores right along with Aviendha, accepted chastisement with as good a grace as she could muster, and hopped whenever Amys or Melaine or Bair said frog. In a manner of speaking. None of them had ever seen a frog. Not that they’ll want anything but for me to hand them their tea. No, it would be Aviendha’s turn to do that tonight.

For a moment she considered donning stockings, but finally just bent to slip on her shoes. Sturdy shoes, suitable for the Waste; she rather regretted the silk slippers she had worn in Tear. “What is your name?” she asked, trying to be companionable.

“Cowinde” was the docile reply.

Egwene sighed. She kept trying to be friends with the gai’shain, but they never responded. Servants were one thing she had not had a chance to get used to, though of course gai’shain were not precisely servants. “You were a Maiden?”

A quick, fierce flash of deep blue eyes told her that her guess was correct, but just as quickly they lowered again. “I am gai’shain. Before and after are not now, and only now exists.”

“What is your sept and clan?” Usually there was no need to ask, not even with gai’shain.

“I serve the Wise One Melaine of the Jhirad sept, of the Goshien Aiel.”

Trying to choose between two cloaks, a stout brown woolen and a blue quilted silk she had purchased from Kadere—the merchant had sold everything in his wagons to make room for Moiraine’s freight, and at very good prices—Egwene paused to frown at the woman. That was no proper response. She had heard that a form of the bleakness had taken some gai’shain; when their year and a day was done, they simply refused to put off the robe. “When is your time up?” she asked.

Cowinde crouched lower, almost huddling over her knees. “I am gai’shain.”

“But when will you be able to return to your sept, to your own hold?”

“I am gai’shain,” the woman hoarsely told the rugs in front of her face. “If the answer displeases, punish me, but I can give no other.”

“Don’t be silly,” Egwene said sharply. “And straighten up. You aren’t a toad.”