Golden tongs and a hot coal in a golden bowl of sand provided the means for lighting. Siuan clapped hands sharply, and the two women bounded to their feet, scrambled to untie a pair of shaggy wagon horses from the picket line. Therava's, Rhiale's, others'. Removing plumes and pin, she tucked them into the saddlebags, put the hat on her head and tied the ribbons beneath her chin.
There's a flaming big rusted lock on the door, but I'll bet a thousand crowns to a kick in the bottom, your Bowl is behind it. It was a plain room aside from that and the captured banners that lined the walls high beneath the ceiling, age-tattered and worn. From any other sisters, at least, who were not just as likely to be sent to fetch another's dustcloak if the wind rose. A Darkfriend who had been hunting Rand and him.
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