Liandrin bit the words off. Mistress Madwen's glance flickered to Rand's sword; the bronze herons were plain on scabbard and hilt. ent on what they did; when they glanced at the sky or the river, they tore their eyes away with low mutters. That, he knew, was where you set the fire.
He bounded to his feet. Your Lady is not down yet. Rand swallowed and wished he had not asked; it was never pleasant to think on how Trollocs fed. Driven through the palm of each hand, right in the center, was a long black thorn.
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