Running fast enough to keep still

Nynaeve knew, when the door returned, that she'd be going back to chaos, to war, and to a desperate uncertainty about whether there would be a tomorrow to plan for.

But with Cadsuane getting her nose in everyone's business, that twice bloody and light-blinded fool Logain lurking around (why ever she Healed the man, she doesn't know), and Rand retreating from humanity almost faster than Nynaeve can catch up--

Well, it's no wonder that she's losing sleep. It's nothing to do with worrying about Lan. She's not the time to worry about her man, or Myrelle, or what it means that the Golden Crane rides again. There'll be time for that later.

She pauses in her brisk pace, running quick fingers over her skirts, twisting her braid around one hand. Then she squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and prepares to confront Semirhage.

Someone has got to advise Rand on what to do, and it may as well be someone who considers his survival her highest priority. The rest of the blasted world (save Lan, always save Lan) can bloody well go hang.

Running fast enough to keep still

Nynaeve knew, when the door returned, that she'd be going back to chaos, to war, and to a desperate uncertainty about whether there would be a tomorrow to plan for.

But with Cadsuane getting her nose in everyone's business, that twice bloody and light-blinded fool Logain lurking around (why ever she Healed the man, she doesn't know), and Rand retreating from humanity almost faster than Nynaeve can catch up--

Well, it's no wonder that she's losing sleep. It's nothing to do with worrying about Lan. She's not the time to worry about her man, or Myrelle, or what it means that the Golden Crane rides again. There'll be time for that later.

She pauses in her brisk pace, running quick fingers over her skirts, twisting her braid around one hand. Then she squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and prepares to confront Semirhage.

Someone has got to advise Rand on what to do, and it may as well be someone who considers his survival her highest priority. The rest of the blasted world (save Lan, always save Lan) can bloody well go hang.

Tarmon Gai'don

She's heard talk of the calm before the storm, but there's no calm here. It's one front after another thudding against the shore, dumping its load of rain and wind and terror down on them just in time for the next to roll in. She can feel it in the air, and it makes her sick to her stomach.

Nynaeve has a moment, fast and fleeting as sheet lightning, to wish that Lan were here, that she could see him one last time--

Then the world goes to hell--as some in Milliways would say--and all Nynaeve can do is try to keep abreast of it. She's got a brief moment to be grateful for the angreal and ter'angreal on her wrist and fingers; without them she'd likely be overwhelmed already. Moghedien is somewhere about, not to mention the rest of the thrice-damned Forsaken, and Nynaeve can't afford to die yet. Or to lose sight of Rand. Or to--

She grits her teeth, channeling a complex mass of Fire and Air to protect herself from incoming fireballs, then darts after that bloody fool of a sheepherder. He lacks the sense the Creator gave a horse, and Light knows those are some of the most bloody fool creatures on the planet.

Now, if only their plan to lure some of the weaker Forsaken out into the open works--

The Kin are holding steady, Sisters and Asha'man interspersed among them. It's good to see, but Nynaeve is already shifting position so that she can keep an eye on Rand. And Logain. And--

Blood and bloody ashes!

"Rand!"

Nynaeve is readying the Weave for balefire almost before she's aware of it and--Moghedien? Semirhage? Demandred? (does it even matter now? will the knowledge help her harm them before Rand himself is destroyed?)--

Light help us all

The battle is joined.

Tarmon Gai'don

She's heard talk of the calm before the storm, but there's no calm here. It's one front after another thudding against the shore, dumping its load of rain and wind and terror down on them just in time for the next to roll in. She can feel it in the air, and it makes her sick to her stomach.

Nynaeve has a moment, fast and fleeting as sheet lightning, to wish that Lan were here, that she could see him one last time--

Then the world goes to hell--as some in Milliways would say--and all Nynaeve can do is try to keep abreast of it. She's got a brief moment to be grateful for the angreal and ter'angreal on her wrist and fingers; without them she'd likely be overwhelmed already. Moghedien is somewhere about, not to mention the rest of the thrice-damned Forsaken, and Nynaeve can't afford to die yet. Or to lose sight of Rand. Or to--

She grits her teeth, channeling a complex mass of Fire and Air to protect herself from incoming fireballs, then darts after that bloody fool of a sheepherder. He lacks the sense the Creator gave a horse, and Light knows those are some of the most bloody fool creatures on the planet.

Now, if only their plan to lure some of the weaker Forsaken out into the open works--

The Kin are holding steady, Sisters and Asha'man interspersed among them. It's good to see, but Nynaeve is already shifting position so that she can keep an eye on Rand. And Logain. And--

Blood and bloody ashes!

"Rand!"

Nynaeve is readying the Weave for balefire almost before she's aware of it and--Moghedien? Semirhage? Demandred? (does it even matter now? will the knowledge help her harm them before Rand himself is destroyed?)--

Light help us all

The battle is joined.