Beneath it, a young man looked up, blinking. It was Jerum Nus, one of the Children.

“Oh, Light,” the young man croaked. “It hurts. I thought I was dead. Dead…”

His side was cut open. Perrin knelt hastily, lifting the boy’s head, giving him a drink of water as Galad took a bandage from the bag he carried and used it to wrap the wound. That cut was bad. The unfortunate youth would die for certain. He—

No, Galad realized. We have Aes Sedai. It was hard to get used to thinking that way.

Jerum was crying with joy, holding to Perrin’s arm. The boy looked delusional. He didn’t seem to care one bit about those golden eyes.

“Drink, son,” Perrin said, voice soothing. Kindly. “It’s all right. We found you. You’re going to be fine.”

“It seemed like I yelled for hours,” the youth said. “But I was so weak, and they were on top of me. How…how did you find me?”

“I have good ears,” Perrin said. He nodded to Galad, and together they lifted the youth, Perrin beneath the arms, Galad taking the legs. They carefully carried him across the battlefield. The youth continued mumbling, consciousness slipping.

At the side of the battlefield, the Aes Sedai and Aiel Wise Ones were Healing the wounded. As Galad and Perrin arrived, a light-haired Wise One—a woman who looked not a day older than Galad, but spoke with the authority of an aged matron—hustled over. She began chastising them for moving the lad as she reached out to touch his head.

“Do you give permission, Galad Damodred?” she asked. “This one is too far gone to speak for himself.”

Galad had insisted that each Child be given the choice to refuse Healing, regardless of the nature of their wound. The Aes Sedai and Wise Ones hadn’t liked it, but Perrin had repeated the order. They seemed to listen to him. Odd. Galad had rarely met Aes Sedai who would listen to the orders, or even opinions, of a man.

“Yes,” Galad said. “Heal him.”

The Wise One turned to her work. Most Children had refused Healing, though some had changed their minds once Galad himself accepted it. The youth’s breathing steadied, his wound closing. The Wise One didn’t Heal him completely—only far enough that he’d survive the day. When she opened her eyes, she looked haggard, even more tired than Galad felt.

The channelers had fought all night, followed by performing Healings. Galad and Perrin moved back onto the field. They weren’t the only ones searching for wounded, of course. Perrin himself could have gone back to camp to rest. But he hadn’t.

“I can offer you another option,” Perrin said as they walked. “As opposed to staying here, in Ghealdan, weeks from your destination. I could have you in Andor tonight.”

“My men would not trust this Traveling.”

“They’d go if you ordered them,” Perrin said. “You’ve said that you’ll fight alongside Aes Sedai. Well, I don’t see anything different between that and this. Come with me.”