552A CROWN OF SWORDS Thera! the sharp-faced woman with half her head shaved barked suddenly. A tall fellow, handsome in his embroidered silk vest except for a rather oily grin, bent to take Nynaeve's shoulders. She instructed me to make an inquiry, Sealed to the Flame. Indirian and one-eyed Mandelain might have been thinking of something else, except that their unblinking gazes followed her.
Laughing, Sammael tossed away the bag, still holding a few of those useless bits of stone. Both knees out of her breeches, and another tear in the seat that her coat covered, thank the Light, though one sleeve hung by a few threads. Your lands will know soon enough anyway. Better the window than falling into some snare.
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