Lord Rand already has one. An attempt on the life of the Amyrlin Seat. Verin and Ingtar were standing together, and thus also alone. The two men left knots of conversation in their path, soft murmurs too low for Rand to make out.
Perrin fingered his axe, and Hurin gripped the hilts of his weapons. However you want it, al'Thor. And here she was with her hair loose except for a ribbon. Cairhien, he agreed.
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