The heat inside him went to white-heat, and beyond, to a shimmer that would have melted stone and vaporized steel and made the air burst into flame. The Child, set to recite, swallowed before he began. Empty your thoughts of everything but a flower bud. You're my friend.
Gray eyes from his mother doesn't make him an Aiel, Mat said. Still south. Egwene's voice was unsteady. They moved about the room as in a dance, and their music was steel against steel.
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