Elayne put on a face of commiseration, Nynaeve of glowering disapproval. She watched faces grow dogged and defensive and apologetic, and wondered whether her own looked the same. The old man nodded; that he might dangle Wavemistresses by their toes and that he must send tea were accepted equally. I will— He raised his right hand and studied the flat of his palm, where the branded heron stood clear, then looked at her.
The sword strapped to his back jarred with his green-striped Tinker coat, hanging undone for the heat. The action seemed unconscious. I thank you, Majesty. Yet the disappearance even of Nandera and whoever she had on guard might be too much.
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