More spikes had been driven into his eyes to hold his head up. In the clearing amid the hilltop thicket where they had made their camp, Rand worked the forms with his sword. No matter, Nynaeve said calmly. We'll never get close to it again ourselves.
The way back will come but once. Muttering glumly to himself, he took Spray into the harbor, shepherded by her great Seanchan watchdog. The fire's there again, Lord Rand, and bigger than ever. He thought I was Aiel, Rand thought sourly.
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