Run. Run fast. Run until exhaustion came!
I had to go to Rand. I had to. But in doing so, I failed her!
To the Two Rivers in a flash. Back out, along the river. The Waste, then back, a long run toward Falme.
How could I be expected to hold them both, then let one go?
To Tear. Then to the Two Rivers. A blur, growling, moving as quickly as he could. Here. Here he had wed her.
Here he howled.
Caemlyn, Cairhien, Dumai’s Wells.
Here he saved one of them.
Cairhien, Ghealdan, Malden.
Here he had saved another.
Two forces in his life. Each had pulled at him. Young Bull finally collapsed near some hills somewhere in Andor. A familiar place.
The place where I met Elyas.
He became Perrin again. His thoughts were not wolf thoughts, his troubles not wolf troubles. He stared up at the sky that was now, after Rand’s sacrifice, empty of clouds. He had wanted to be with his friend as he died.
This time, he would be with Faile where she had died.
He wanted to scream, but it would do no good. “I have to let go, don’t I?” he whispered toward that sky. “Light. I don’t want to. I learned. I learned from Malden. I didn’t do it again! I did what I was supposed to, this time.”
Somewhere nearby, a bird cried in the sky. Wolves howled. Hunting.
“I learned…” A bird’s cry.
It sounded like a falcon.
Perrin threw himself to his feet, spinning. There. He vanished in an instant
, appearing on an open field he did not recognize. No, he knew this field. He knew it! This was Merrilor, only without the blood, without the grass churned to mud, without the land blasted and broken.
Here he found a tiny falcon—as small as his hand—crying softly, with a broken leg pinned beneath a rock. Its heartbeat was faint.
Perrin roared as he woke, clawing his way out of the wolf dream. He stood up on the field of bodies, shouting into the night sky. Searchers nearby scattered in fear.
Where? In the darkness, could he find the same place? He ran, stumbling over corpses, through pits made by channelers or dragons. He stopped, looking one way, then another. Where. Where!
Flowery soap. A hint of perfume in the air. Perrin dashed toward it, throwing his weight against the corpse of an enormous Trolloc, lying almost chest-high atop other bodies. Beneath it, he found the carcass of a horse. Unable to truly consider what he was doing, or of the strength it should have required, Perrin pulled the horse aside.
Beneath, Faile lay bloodied in a small hollow in the ground, breathing shallowly. Perrin cried out and dropped to his knees, cradling her in his arms, breathing in her scent.
It took him only two heartbeats to shift into the wolf dream, carry Faile to Nynaeve far to the north and shift out. Seconds later, he felt her being Healed in his arms, unwilling to let go of her even for that.
Faile, his falcon, trembled and stirred. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
The other heroes were gone. Birgitte remained as evening approached. Nearby, soldiers prepared Rand al’Thor’s pyre.
Birgitte could not stay much longer, but for now… yes, she could stay. A short time. The Pattern would allow it.
“Elayne?” Birgitte said. “Do you know something? About the Dragon?”