And maybe not then. Vultures flapping, their white wings stained red; bloody, featherless heads tearing and gorging. Villages burned and men dead in battle. Rand drew the heron-mark blade and rode between them.
He had a vague memory of the void closing round him as he fell asleep, filled with that uneasy glow. How am I going to get back in here? I have to reach her. Why are you not gone, then? The sword? In five years I could make you worthy of it, make you a blademaster. the corner of his eye.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.