The Gathering Storm

Mat nodded. "How are we on rations?"

"Low," Talmanes said.

"We'll buy what we can at the village," Mat said. "We've got coin coming out our ears, after what Roedran gave you."

A small village wasn't likely to have enough to supply the whole army. But, according to the maps, they'd soon be entering more populated lands. You'd pass a village or two every day in those areas, traveling with a quick force like the Band. To stay afloat, you scavenged and bought whatever little bit you could at each village you passed. A wagonload here, a cartful there, a bucket or two of apples from a passing farmstead. Seven thousand men was a lot to feed, but a good commander knew not to turn down even a handful of grain. It added up.

"Yes, but will the villagers sell?" Talmanes asked. "On our way down to meet you, we had a savage time getting anyone to sell us food. Seems there isn't much to be found these days. Food is getting scarce, no matter where you go and no matter how much money you have."

Bloody perfect. Mat ground his teeth, then grew annoyed at himself for doing so. Well, maybe he was a little on edge. Not because of Tuon, though.

Either way, he needed to relax. And that village ahead—what had Vanin called it? Hinderstap? "How much coin do you have on you?"

Talmanes frowned. "Couple of gold marks, pouch full of silver crowns. Why?"

"Not enough," Mat said, rubbing his chin. "We'll have to dig some more out of my personal chest first. Maybe bring the whole thing." He turned Pips around. "Come on."

"Wait, Mat," Talmanes said, reining in and following. "What are we doing?"

"You're going to kindly take me up on my offer to go enjoy ourselves at the tavern," Mat said. "And while we're at it, we're going to resupply. If my luck's with me, we'll do it for free."

If Egwene or Nynaeve had been there, they'd have boxed his ears and told him he was going to do no such thing. Tuon probably would have looked at him curiously and then said something that made him feel his shame right down into his boots.

The good thing about Talmanes, however, was that he simply spurred his horse forward, face stoic, eyes betraying just a hint of amusement. "Well, I've got to see this, then!"

CHAPTER 21

Embers and Ash

Perrin opened his eyes and found himself hanging in the air. He felt a spike of terror, floundering in the sky. Black clouds boiled overhead, dark and ominous. Below, a plain of wild brown grasses rolled in the wind, no signs of humans. No tents, no roads, not even any footprints.

Perrin wasn't falling. He just hung there. He waved his arms reflex-ively, as if to swim, panicking as his mind tried to make sense of the dis-orientation.

The wolf dream, he thought. I'm in the wolf dream. I went to sleep, hoping to come here.

He forced himself to breathe in and out and still his flailing, though it was difficult to be calm while hanging hundreds of feet up in the sky. Suddenly, a gray-furred form shot past him, leaping through the air. The wolf soared down to the field below, landing easily.

"Hopper!"

Jump down, Young Bull. Jump. It is safe. As always, the Sending from the wolf came as a mixture of scents and images. Perrin was getting better and better at interpreting those—the soft earth as a representation of the ground, rushing wind as an image of jumping, the scent of relaxation and calmness to indicate there was no need to fear.

"But how?"

Times before, you always rushed ahead, like a pup newly weaned. Jump. Jump down! Far below, Hopper sat on his haunches in the field, grinning up at Perrin.

Perrin ground his teeth and muttered a curse or two for stubborn wolves. It seemed to him that the dead ones were particularly bull-headed. Though Hopper did have a point. Perrin had leaped before in this place, if never from the sky itself.

He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and imagined himself jumping. Air rushed around him in a sudden burst, but then his feet hit soft ground. He opened his eyes. A large gray wolf, scarred from many fights, was sitting on the ground beside him, and wild millet spread out in a broad plain around him, heavily mixed with stands of long, thin grasses that reached high in the air. Scratchy stalks rubbed against Per-rin's arms in the wind, making him itch. The grasses smelled too dry, like cut hay left in a barn over the winter.

Some things were transitory here in the Wolf Dream; leaves lay in a pile by his feet at one moment, but then were gone the next. Everything smelled just faintly stale, as if it weren't quite there.

He looked up. The sky was stormy. Normally, clouds in this place were as transitory as other things. It could be completely overcast; then, in a blink, it would suddenly be clear. This time, those dark storm clouds remained. They boiled, spun, and shot lines of lightning between different thunderheads. Yet the lightning never struck the ground, and it made no noise.

The plain was oddly silent. The clouds shrouded the entire sky, ominous. And they did not leave.

The hast Hunt comes. Hopper looked up at the sky. We will run together, then. Unless we sleep instead.

"Sleep?" Perrin said. "What of the Last Hunt?"