A Gnarled Old Branch Dulls The Blade

Sandar Came To Stand Beside Him, Frowning Down At The Crumpled High Lord. "he Does Not Look So Mighty Lying There," He Said Wonderingly. "he Does Not Look So Much Greater Than Me.

You Didn't Listen To Me," Lan Whispered. One Last Lesson. The Hardest. Demandred Struck, And Lan Saw His Opening. Lan Lunged Forward Placing Demandred's Sword Point Against His Own Side And Ramming Himself Forward Onto It. "i Did Not Come Here To Win," Lan Whispered, Smiling. "i Came Here To Kill You. Death Is Lighter Than A Feather." Demandred's Eyes Opened Wide, And He Tried To Pull Back. Too Late. Lan's Sword Took Him Straight Though The Throat.

Love Is An Odd Thing. As Odd A Thing As There Is.

A Warder Once Told Me Trollocs Call The Aiel Waste 'the Dying Ground.' I Mean To Make Them Give That Name To The Two Rivers.

I Always Get What I Want In The End. And I Think I Want...ornamental Ironwork. For The Windows Of My Bedchamber.