Your horse, Lord Perrin. His face went redder than Nynaeve's had thought of. Except that it appeared to have delivered her from Therava. Glancing across the table at the Aes Sedai, she sighed.
Next she would be spouting the Sanche woman's nonsense about the Forsaken being loose. The Mistress of the Ships might be insulted if we didn't send the strongest of us. Perhaps four years older than Rand, he was intent on earning the silver sword of the Dedicated. The Dark One was touching the world, and their only hope a boy who was running wild.
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