[ Later, Moiraine will be certain the fact that she chose the Martyr's shrine to go to first is no coincidence. At the moment, though, she's merely hoping that perhaps she might find someone she knows. Not expecting -- she's never been gifted in Foretelling -- but hoping. Lan, perhaps -- though if he were here she'd feel it. Maybe--
A shock of Aiel-red hair catches her peripheral vision even in the dimness of the cavern; she turns, heart in her throat, and sees Rand -- and with him, another man she recognizes. ]
Rand!
[ In the cavern with its high ceilings, her voice carries without effort. She closes the distance between them in a few swift strides, glancing over Rand briefly just to be sure he isn't visibly injured; reassured that he's not, her attention turns to Amos. Explanations will have to wait.
When she'd first arrived, after the Achamites had forced the Kenoma down all their throats and she'd been ill for a week, after they'd already spent two weeks in the forest and perhaps an equal amount of time on the road there -- Moiraine had looked much different then, clad in nothing more than a white shift that had gotten progressively dingier over time, unable to do so much as bathe in a pond or a stream. Last Amos had spoken to her, she'd been genuinely exhausted and unwell, unable to touch saidar for even the simplest of weaves.
Things are very different now. She's dressed simply, but in clean clothing: dark-colored trousers and sturdy boots and an unadorned plain weave blouse in the deep sapphire blue of her Ajah because yes, of course, even here. What matters more is her bearing -- all straight-backed poise, confident and calm.
Moiraine interposes herself one step between Rand and Amos, lifts her chin to look Amos in the eye. There's no flicker of disappointment this time; she's hardened herself to the idea that this man is her enemy now. She won't -- can't -- harm him unless he tries to kill her, but if he saw any of her fight with Childe (more accurately, Childe trying to pick a fight with her), he'll know some of what she can do and, if he's smart, he'll think better of it. ]
Amos. [ Coolly, with no inflection at all. ] Let him go.
your one woman rescue party has arrived
A shock of Aiel-red hair catches her peripheral vision even in the dimness of the cavern; she turns, heart in her throat, and sees Rand -- and with him, another man she recognizes. ]
Rand!
[ In the cavern with its high ceilings, her voice carries without effort. She closes the distance between them in a few swift strides, glancing over Rand briefly just to be sure he isn't visibly injured; reassured that he's not, her attention turns to Amos. Explanations will have to wait.
When she'd first arrived, after the Achamites had forced the Kenoma down all their throats and she'd been ill for a week, after they'd already spent two weeks in the forest and perhaps an equal amount of time on the road there -- Moiraine had looked much different then, clad in nothing more than a white shift that had gotten progressively dingier over time, unable to do so much as bathe in a pond or a stream. Last Amos had spoken to her, she'd been genuinely exhausted and unwell, unable to touch saidar for even the simplest of weaves.
Things are very different now. She's dressed simply, but in clean clothing: dark-colored trousers and sturdy boots and an unadorned plain weave blouse in the deep sapphire blue of her Ajah because yes, of course, even here. What matters more is her bearing -- all straight-backed poise, confident and calm.
Moiraine interposes herself one step between Rand and Amos, lifts her chin to look Amos in the eye. There's no flicker of disappointment this time; she's hardened herself to the idea that this man is her enemy now. She won't -- can't -- harm him unless he tries to kill her, but if he saw any of her fight with Childe (more accurately, Childe trying to pick a fight with her), he'll know some of what she can do and, if he's smart, he'll think better of it. ]
Amos. [ Coolly, with no inflection at all. ] Let him go.