Quietly making sure that every sister in the Tower understands the truth of what the Reds did with Logain. She might be just eighteen and well short of a true Amyrlin's grandeur, but she was no fool. Fled Andor, some of them, according to rumor. The alley was hardly as smooth as a paved square much less a palace floor.
Not the cool of someone channeling nearby—maybe they were still at it below, but that was too far off—just the cool of silver. His deep, rich voice was always a shock, coming from that gaunt face. Elaida would expect her to be hard at work, personally penning orders for the Amyrlin's signature and seal—but which of those orders were actually to be carried out had yet to be decided. I know you are welts from shoulders to knees.
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