Perrin attacked. Slayer brought his head up, eyes widening, his scent growing amazed. He raised the bow to block, but Perrin’s swing shattered it.
With a roar, Perrin pulled his weapon back and swung again, this time for Slayer’s head. Oddly, Slayer smiled, dark eyes glittering with amusement. He smelled eager, suddenly. Eager to kill. A sword appeared in his raised hand, and he twisted it to block Perrin’s blow.
The hammer bounced off too hard, as if it had hit stone. Perrin stumbled, and Slayer reached out, placing a hand against Perrin’s shoulder. He shoved.
His strength was immense. The shove tossed Perrin backward to the dock, but the wood disappeared as he hit. Perrin passed through empty air and splashed into the water beneath. His bellow became a gurgle; dark liquid surrounded him.
He struggled to swim upward, dropping his hammer, but found that the surface inexplicably became ice. Ropes snaked up from the depths, whipping up around Perrin’s arms, yanking him downward. Through the frozen surface above, he could see a shadow moving. Slayer, raising his reformed bow.
The ice vanished and the water parted. Water streamed off Perrin, and he found himself staring up at an arrow pointed directly at his heart.
Slayer released.
Perrin willed himself away.
Shift. He gasped, hitting the stone outcropping where he had been with Hopper. Perrin fell to his knees, seawater streaming from his body. He sputtered, wiping his face, heart pounding.
Hopper appeared beside him, panting, his scent angry. Foolish cub! Stupid cub! Chase down a lion when you’re barely weaned?
Perrin shivered and sat up. Would Slayer follow? Could he? As minutes stretched and nobody appeared, Perrin began to relax. The exchange with Slayer had happened so quickly that it felt like a blur. That strength…it was more than any man could have. And the ice, the ropes…
“He changed things,” Perrin said. “Made the dock vanish beneath me, created ropes to bind me, pushed the water back so that he could get a clear shot at me.”
He is a lion. He kills. Dangerous.
“I need to learn. I must face him, Hopper.”
You are too young. These things are beyond you.
“Too young?” Perrin said, standing. “Hopper, the Last Hunt is nearly upon us!”
Hopper lay down, head on paws.
“You always tell me that I’m too young,” Perrin said. “Or that I don’t know what I’m doing. Well, what is the point of teaching me, if not to show me how to fight men like Slayer?”
We will see, Hopper sent. For tonight, you will go. We are done.
Perrin sensed a mournful cast to the sending, and also a finality. Tonight, Oak Dancer’s pack and Hopper would grieve for Morninglight.
Sighing, Perrin sat with his legs crossed. He concentrated, and managed to imitate the things that Hopper had done in tossing him from the dream.
It faded around him.
He woke on the pallet in his darkened tent, Faile snuggled up beside him.
Perrin lay for a time, staring up at the canvas. The darkness reminded him of the tempestuous sky in the wolf dream. Sleep seemed as far off as Caemlyn. Eventually he rose—carefully extricating himself from Faile—and pulled on his trousers and shirt.
The camp was dark outside, but there was enough light for his eyes. He nodded to Kenly Maerin and Jaim Dawtry, the Two Rivers men who guarded his tent tonight.
“What’s the time?” he asked one of them.
“After midnight, Lord Perrin,” Jaim said.
Perrin grunted. Distant lightning lit the landscape. He walked off, and the men started to follow. “I’ll be fine without guards,” he told them. “Watch over my tent—Lady Faile still sleeps.”
His tent was near the edge of camp. He liked that; it gave him a little more sense of seclusion, nestled near the hillside at the western side of the camp. Though it was late, he passed Gaul sharpening his spear near a fallen log. The tall Stone Dog stood up and began to follow, and Perrin didn’t dismiss him. Gaul felt he hadn’t been fulfilling his self-appointed duty of watching after Perrin lately, and had stepped up his efforts. Perrin thought he really just wanted an excuse to stay away from his own tent and the pair of gai’shain women who had taken up residence there.
Gaul kept his distance, and Perrin was glad. Was this how all leaders felt? No wonder so many nations ended up at war with one another—their leaders never had any time to think by themselves, and probably attacked to get people to stop pestering them!
A short distance away, he entered a stand of trees with a small pile of logs. Denton—his serving man until they got Lamgwin back—had frowned when Perrin had asked for them. Once a minor lord of Cairhien, Denton had refused to return to his station. He thought of himself as a servant now, and would not let anyone convince him otherwise.
There was an axe. Not the deadly half-moon blade he had once carried to battle, but a sturdy woodsman’s axe with a fine steel head and a haft smoothed by the sweaty hands of workers. Perrin rolled up his sleeves, then spat on his hands and picked up the axe. It felt good to hold the worked wood in his hands. He raised it to his shoulder, stood the first log in front of him, then stepped back and swung.
He hit the log straight on, splinters flipping into the dark night air, the log falling into two pieces. He split one of the halves next. Gaul took a seat beside a tree, getting out a spear and continuing to sharpen its head. The rasping of metal against metal accompanied Perrin’s thunk of axe against wood.
It felt good. Why was it that his mind worked so much better when he was doing something? Loial spoke much of sitting and thinking. Perrin didn’t think he himself could figure anything out that way.
He split another log, the axe cutting clear. Was it really true? Could his own nature be to blame for the way he acted, not the wolves? He’d never acted like that back in the Two Rivers.
He split another log. I always was good at concentrating my attention. That was part of what had impressed Master Luhhan. Give Perrin a project, and he’d keep working on it until he was done.
He split the halves of that log.
Maybe the changes in him were a result of encountering the outside world. He’d blamed the wolves for many things, and he had placed unnatural demands on Hopper. Wolves weren’t stupid or simple, but they did not care about things that humans did. It must have been very hard for Hopper to teach in a way that Perrin would understand.
What did the wolf owe him? Hopper had died during that fateful night, so long ago. The night when Perrin had first killed a man, the night Perrin had first lost control of himself in a battle. Hopper didn’t owe Perrin anything, but he had saved Perrin on several occasions—in fact, Perrin realized that Hopper’s intervention had helped to keep him from
