#ragan

This chapter begins with the ravens icon because it features gratuitous abuse of corvids.

The land seemed to be waiting. Waiting for something to burst.

The land and Rand being one and all, presumably it's waiting for Rand himself to snap and go on a solo adventure.

He sniffed the wind without thinking. The smell of horse predominated, and of men and men’s sweat. A rabbit had gone through those trees not long since, fear powering its run, but the fox on its trail had not killed there. He realized what he was doing, and stopped it.

I really "enjoy" how we jump from Perrin whining about Moiraine holding things up and having a tight grip to Perrin holding up his own character arc with a vicegrip. I do feel like our boy will be making subtle progress this book, at least.

They were not as tall as he, nor as big—years as a blacksmith’s apprentice had given him arms and shoulders to make two of most men’s—but he had begun shaving every day to stop their jokes about his youth. Friendly jokes, but still jokes. He would not have them start again because he spoke of a feeling.

I would think the best way to avoid accusations of youth would be to keep your facial hair but maybe Perrin's still in that patchy phase. You can really see just how tightly strung he is that even friendly jokes from dudes he's been traveling with for months get to him.

“It has to report. To a Halfman, usually.” In the Borderlands there was a bounty on ravens; no one there ever dared assume any raven was just a bird. “Light, if Heartsbane saw what the ravens saw, we would all have been dead before we reached the mountains.”

Of course, if the Halfmen were at all clever about their shadow jumping then they'd be able to significantly narrow the delay in response times. That said,

“Too long for horseback,” Masema sneered. The triangular scar on his dark cheek twisted his contemptuous grin even more. “A good breastplate will stop even a pile arrow except at close range, and if your first shot fails, the man you’re shooting at will carve your guts out.”

It's good to see that months of hanging out have done absolutely nothing to make Masema more likable. Fain's handiwork is alarming with how well it sticks.

The Shienarans knew how far he could see, but they seemed to take it as a matter of course, that and the color of his eyes, as well. They did not know everything, not by half, but they accepted him as he was. As they thought he was. They seemed to accept everything and anything.

Their open acceptance of Perrin and his talents really only makes his reticence all the more frustrating. It's not like he's among the Aes Sedai who might try to gentle him or among the Whitecloaks who'd try to kill him. Dude has possibly the best support network in the world and he still tries to bury everything.

Ragan’s topknot waved as he shook his head. “A Tinker wouldn’t be mixed in this. Either she’s not a Tinker, or she is not the one we are supposed to meet.”

Okay I guess the Shienarians aren't completely perfect, since even the nicer ones are a bit biased against the Traveling People. As Uno points out though, it's very impressive that she's come all this way.

The raven, Perrin thought. Stop looking at that bird and come on, woman. Maybe you’ve brought the word that finally takes us out of here. If Moiraine means to let us leave before spring. Burn her! For a moment he was not sure whether he meant the Aes Sedai, or the Tinker woman who seemed to be taking her own time.

I can't help but feel that despite everything, Perrin might actually be the least patient and even-headed of the boys. He plays a good stoic on the outside - usually - but it's difficult to see early!Rand having this kind of thought process.

She was not young—gray showed thick in her hair where it was not hidden by her cowl—but her face had few lines, other than the disapproving frown she ran over their weapons. If she was alarmed at meeting armed men in the heart of mountain wilderness, though, she gave no sign. Her hands rested easily on the high pommel of her worn but well-kept saddle. And she did not smell afraid.

She's not long for this book, but I do respect Leya quite a bit. This should be quite terrifying.

Leya shrugged and answered hesitantly. “I . . . knew that if I came this way, someone would find me and take me to her. I . . . just . . . knew. I have news for her.”

One wonders what Moiraine is doing to pull off this effect. It might just be that her eyes-and-ears are entirely mundane and simply under instruction to play things up as magical influence; I certainly can't think of any magic in the series that Moiraine would have access to at present that could do this... but it's still early enough in the series that this might be the remnant of some idea of Jordan's that never came to fruition.

“It is possible to oppose evil without doing violence.” Her voice held the simplicity of someone stating an obvious truth.

This feels like a lesson Perrin was meant to learn along the way but of course he never quite does, does he? Even at the end, when his dreamwalking could open him up to non-violent courses of action, he's still pretty much just locked in battle with Slayer and Lanfear. I can't even fully blame Sanderson for this because it's not like Jordan had any better ideas.

She gave him a penetrating look. “And yet you are not happy with your weapons.” How did she know that? He shook his head irritably, shaggy hair swaying. “The Creator made the world,” he muttered, “not I. I must live the best I can in the world the way it is.” “So sad for one so young,” she said softly. “Why so sad?”

For such a peaceful people, they sure do love annihilating their opponents with words. Perrin's got no argument... and again, he won't ever find that better way.

In the distance, the side of a mountain had been carved into the semblance of two towering forms. A man and a woman, Perrin thought they might be, though wind and rain had long since made that uncertain. Even Moiraine claimed to be unsure who they were supposed to be, or when the granite had been cut.

Perhaps King Eawynd of Safer and his queen - or perhaps even him and Mabriam, to celebrate the Compact of the Ten Nations. Perhaps King Aedomon to celebrate his battles against Manetheren. Probably no one we've heard of though.

When he looked over his shoulder, she was casting worried glances up the steep slopes to either side. Scattered trees perched precariously above them. It appeared impossible they would not fall. The Shienarans rode easily, at last beginning to relax.

Maybe it's just that I've been taking a break for a month, maybe it's changing the program I'm using for the ebooks, but I feel like this book has a bit more environmental description than the last one did. It makes it a bit harder to comment - Jordan's descriptions are all quite good so what is there to say - but it really builds up the isolation of this strange mountain camp.

A four-legged serpent scaled in gold and scarlet, golden maned like a lion, and its feet each tipped with five golden claws. A banner of legend. A banner most men would not know if they saw it, but would fear when they learned its name.