The taint slid off onto him, soiling him, but there was no flow of light inside him. Amalisa straightened in slow, stiff jerks, as if she had been bound hand and foot for hours. Nynaeve was insisting on handing around the pole-lanterns and lighting them; Liandrin was acceding with a bad grace, apparently insisting on speed. She felt only a vague sadness as she stepped toward the creature; the deep crooning that drew her closer suppressed feeling.
I had a dream. They like to pretend the war never happened, or at least that they won it. He was born, lived, and died an Aiel. They could not hold together, the Ogier replied.
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