Five shapes, it seemed, only half a mile distant, a bare thousand paces at most, and coming in thirty-foot bounds. There are plenty of Aes Sedai here for you to moon around, now. Every time it was different, but it was me. The wild cries Mat wrung from the Horn echoed in the fog, and the drumming of hooves as the horses picked up speed.
Mat muttering, fearful. You are shaking. Yes, Lord Rand, and then again no, as you might say. It makes me try to put the best face on what I see.
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