He poked holes into the leather in a double row, letting the work calm him. The stitching chisel he used made diamond-shaped holes—he could use the mallet on them for speed, if he wanted, but right now he liked the feel of pressing the holes without it.

He picked up his stitch-mark wheel, measuring off the locations for the next stitches, then worked another of the holes. You had to line the flat sides of the diamonds toward one another for holes like this, so that when the leather pulled, it didn’t pull on the flats. The neat stiches would help keep the saddle in good shape over the years. The rows needed to be close enough together to reinforce one another, but not so close that there was danger of them ripping into one another. Staggering the holes helped.

Little things. You just had to make sure the little things were done right, and—

His fingers slipped, and he punched a hole with the diamond pointing the wrong way. Two of the holes ripped into one another at the motion.

He nearly tossed the entire thing across the room in frustration. That was the fifth time tonight!

Light, he thought, pressing his hands on the table. What’s happened to my self-control?

He could answer that question with ease, unfortunately. The Black Tower is what happened. He felt like a multilegged nachi trapped in a dried-up tidal pool, waiting desperately for the water to return while watching a group of children work their way down the beach with buckets, gathering up anything that looked tasty …

He breathed in and out, then picked up the leather. This would be the shoddiest piece he’d done in years, but he would finish it. Leaving something unfinished was nearly as bad as messing up the details.

“Curious,” said the Aes Sedai—her name was Pevara, of the Red Ajah. He could feel her eyes on his back.

A Red. Well, common destinations made for unusual shipmates, as the old Tairen saying went. Perhaps he should use the Saldaean proverb instead. If his sword is at your enemy’s throat, don’t waste time remembering when it was at yours.

“So,” Pevara said, “you were telling me about your life prior to coming to the Black Tower?”

“I don’t believe that I was,” Androl said, beginning to sew. “Why? What did you want to know?”

“I’m simply curious. Were you one of those who came here on his own, to be tested, or were you one of those they found while out hunting?”

He pulled a thread tight. “I came on my own, as I believe Evin told you yesterday, when you asked him about me.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “I’m being monitored, I see.”

He looked toward her, lowering the leather. “Is that something they teach you?”

“What?” Pevara asked innocently.

“To twist a conversation about. There you sit, all but accusing me of spying on you—when you were the one interrogating my friends about me.”

“I want to know what my resources are.”