Ingtar waved, and Rand and the others rode up to join the Shienarans. Shaking her head, Nynaeve pushed into the inn. A manner ingrained growing up in the Royal Palace of Cairhien had been heightened, not submerged, by still more years as an Aes Sedai. Min held her breath; under the table, her fingers were knotted.
She wiped rain from her face, seemed to realize for the first time that her hood had slipped, and pulled it back up absently. The Wheel of Time weaves the Pattern of the Age, using the lives of men for thread. There would be no unseen eye here. He felt rough stone under his cheek, and his hands.
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