Nynaeve began to hum softly. Egwene recognized a nameless, wordless tune her mother used to hum to her when she was little. When she was lying in bed, in her own room, with a fluffy pillow, and warm blankets, and the mingled smells of rose oil and baking from her mother, and... Rand, are you all right? Perrin? Who was she? Sleep came.
She stood among rolling hills quilted with wildflowers and dotted with small thickets of leafy trees in the hollows and on the crests. Butterflies floated above the blossoms, wings flashing yellow and blue and green, and two larks sang to each other nearby. Just enough fluffy white clouds drifted in a soft blue sky, and the breeze held that delicate balance between cool and warm that came only a few special days in spring. It was a day too perfect to be anything but a dream.
She looked at her dress, and laughed delightedly. Exactly her favorite shade of skyblue silk, slashed with white in the skirt — that changed to green as she frowned momentarily — sewn with rows of tiny pearls down the sleeves and across the bosom. She stuck out a foot just to peek at the toe of a velvet slipper. The only jarring note was the twisted ring of multicolored stone hanging around her neck on a leather cord.
She took the ring in her hand and gasped. It felt as light as a feather. If she tossed it up, she was sure it would drift away like thistle down. Somehow, she did not feel afraid of it any longer. She tucked it inside the neck of her dress to get it out of the way.
“So this is Verin's Tel'aran'rhiod,” she said. “Corianin Nedeal's World of Dreams. It does not look dangerous to me.” But Verin had said it was. Black Ajah or not, Egwene did not see how any Aes Sedai could tell a lie right out. She could be mistaken. But she did not believe Verin was.
Just to see if she could, she opened herself to the One Power. Saidar filled her. Even here, it was present. She channeled the flow lightly, delicately, directed it into the breeze, swirling butterflies into fluttering spirals of color, into circles linked with circles.
Abruptly she let it go. The butterflies settled back, unconcerned by their brief adventure. Myrddraal and some other Shadowspawn could sense someone channeling. Looking around, she could not imagine such things in that place, but just because she could not imagine them did not mean they were not there. And the Black Ajah had all those ter'angreal studied by Corianin Nedeal. It was a sickening reminder of why she was there.
“At least I know I can channel,” she muttered. “I'm not learning anything standing here. Perhaps if I look around...” She took a step...
... and was standing in the dank, dark hallway of an inn. She was an innkeeper's daughter; she was sure it was an inn. There was not a sound, and all the doors along the hall were shut tight. Just as she wondered who was behind the plain wooden door in front of her, it swung silently open.
The room within was bare, and cold wind moaned through open windows, stirring old ash on the hearth. A big dog lay curled up on the floor, shaggy tail across its nose, between the door and a thick pillar of roughcut, black stone that stood in the middle of the floor. A large, shaggyhaired young man sat leaning back against the pillar in only his smallclothes, head lolling as if asleep. A massive black chain ran around the pillar and across his chest, the ends gripped in his clenched hands. Asleep or not, his heavy muscles strained to hold that chain tight, to prison himself against the pillar.
“Perrin?” she said wonderingly. She stepped into the room. “Perrin, what's the matter with you? Perrin!” The dog uncurled itself and stood.
It was not a dog, but a wolf, all black and gray, lips curling back from glistening white teeth, yellow eyes regarding her as they might have a mouse. A mouse it meant to eat.
Egwene stepped back hastily into the hall in spite of herself. “Perrin! Wake up! There's a wolf?” Verin had said what happened here was real, and showed the scar to prove it. The wolf's teeth looked as big as knives. “Perrin, wake up! Tell it I'm a friend!” She embraced saidar. The wolf stalked nearer.
Perrin's head came up; his eyes opened drowsily. Two sets of yellow eyes regarded her. The wolf gathered himself. “Hopper,” Perrin shouted, “no! Egwene!”
The door swung shut before her face, and total darkness enveloped her.
She could not see, but she felt sweat beading on her forehead. Not from heat. Light, where am I? I don't like this place. I want to wake up!
A whirring sound, and she jumped before she recognized a cricket. A frog gave a bass croak in the darkness, and a chorus answered it. As her eyes adapted, she dimly made out trees all around her. Clouds blanketed the stars, and the moon was a thin sliver.
Off to her right through the woods was another glow, flickering. A campfire.
She considered a moment before moving. Wanting to wake up had not been enough to take her way from Tel'aran'rhiod, and she still had not found out anything useful. And she had not been hurt in any way. So far, she thought, shivering. But she had no idea who — or what — was at that campfire. It could be Myrddraal. Besides, I'm not dressed for running around in the forest. It was the last thought that decided her; she prided herself on knowing when she was being foolish.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered up her silken skirts and crept closer. She might not have Nynaeve's skill at woodcraft, but she knew enough to avoid stepping on dead twigs. At last she peered carefully around the trunk of an old oak at the campfire.
The only one there was a tall young man, sitting and staring into the flames. Rand. Those flames did not burn wood. They did not burn anything that she could see. The fire danced above a bare patch of ground. She did not think they even scorched the soil.
Before she could move, Rand raised his head. She was surprised to see he was smoking a pipe, a thin ribbon of tabac smoke lifting from the bowl. He looked tired, so very tired.
“Who's out there?” he demanded loudly. “You've rustled enough leaves to wake the dead, so you might as well show yourself.”
Egwene's lips compressed, but she stepped out. I did not! “It's me, Rand. Do not be afraid. It is a dream. I must be in your dreams.”
He was on his feet so suddenly that she stopped dead. He seemed in some way larger than she remembered. And a touch dangerous. Perhaps more than a touch. His bluegray eyes seemed to burn like frozen fire.
“Do you think I don't know it is a dream?” he sneered. “I know that makes it no less real.” He stared angrily out into the darkness as if looking for someone. “How long will you try?” he shouted at the night. “How many faces will you send? My mother, my father, now her! Pretty girls won't tempt me with a kiss, not even one I know! I deny you, Father o
