The Gathering Storm

"I want you to teach me," Perrin said, turning back to the wolf. "I want to master this place. Will you show me how?"

Hopper sat back on his haunches.

"Fine," Perrin said. "I will search out other wolves who will."

He turned, striking down the game trail. He didn't recognize this place, but he'd learned that the wolf dream was unpredictable. This meadow with the waist-high grass and its stands of yew could be anywhere. Where would he find wolves? He quested out with his mind, and found that it was much more difficult to do here.

You don't want to run. But you look for wolves. Why are you so difficult, cub? Hopper sat in front of him in the grass.

Perrin grumbled, then took a leap that launched him through the air a hundred yards. He landed with his foot falling to the grass as if it had been a normal step.

And there Hopper was ahead of him. Perrin hadn't seen the wolf leap. He had been in one place, and now in another. Perrin gritted his teeth, questing out again. For other wolves. He felt something, distant. He needed to push harder. He concentrated, drew more strength into himself, somehow, and managed to push his mind farther.

This is dangerous, Young Bull, Hopper sent. You come here too strongly. You will die.

"You always say that," Perrin replied. "Tell me what I want to know. Show me how to learn."

Stubborn pup, Hopper Sent. Return when you aren't determined to poke your snout into afireasp's den.

With that, something slammed against Perrin, a weight against his mind. Everything vanished, and he was tossed—like a leaf before a storm—out of the wolf dream.

Faile felt her husband stir next to her as he slept. She glanced at him in the dark room; though she lay beside him on the pallet, she hadn't been sleeping. She'd been waiting, listening to his breaths. He turned onto his back, muttering drowsily.

Of all the nights for him to be restless . . . she thought with annoyance.

They were a week out of Maiden. The refugees had made camp—or, well, camps—near a waterway that led straight to the Jehannah Road, which was only a short distance away.

Things had gone smoothly these last few days, though Perrin had judged the Asha'man too tired still to make gateways. She had spent the evening with her husband, reminding him of several important reasons why he'd married her in the first place. He'd certainly been enthusiastic, though there was that odd edge to his eyes. Not a dangerous edge, just a sorrowful one. He had grown haunted while they were apart. She could understand that. She had a few ghosts of her own. One could not expect everything to remain the same, and she could tell that he still loved her—loved her fiercely. That was enough, and so she didn't worry on it further.

But she was planning an argument that would pull his secrets from him. She would wait a few more days for that. It was good to remind a husband that one would not sit content with everything he did, but it wouldn't do to make him think she was unappreciative to have him back.

Quite the opposite. She smiled, rolling over and laying her hand on his chest, furred with hair, her head on his bare shoulder. She loved this burly, tumbling avalanche of a man. Being back with him was sweeter, even, than the victory of her escape from the Shaido.

His eyes fluttered open and she sighed. Love him or not, she wished he'd remain asleep this night! Hadn't she tired him out enough?

He looked at her; his golden eyes seemed to glow just faintly in the darkness, though she knew it was a trick of the light. Then he pulled her a little closer. "I didn't sleep with Berelain," he said, voice gruff. "No matter what the rumors say."

Dear, sweet, blunt Perrin. "I know you didn't," she said consolingly. She'd heard the rumors. Virtually every woman she'd talked to in the camp, from Aes Sedai to servant, had pretended she was trying to hold her tongue, yet spilled the same news. Perrin, spending a night in the First of Mayene's tent.

"No, really," Perrin said, a pleading tone entering his voice. "I didn't, Faile. Please."

"I said I believed you."

"You sounded ... I don't know. Burn it, woman, you sounded jealous."

Would he never learn? "Perrin," she said flatly. "It took me the better part of a year—not to mention considerable trouble—to seduce you, and then it only worked because there was a marriage involved! Berelain hasn't the skill to handle you."

He reached his right hand up, scratching his beard, seeming confused. Then he just smiled.

"Besides," she added, snuggling closer, "you spoke the words. And I trust you."

"So you're not jealous?"

"Of course I am," she said, swatting his chest. "Perrin, haven't I explained this? A husband needs to know his wife is jealous, otherwise he won't realize how much she cares for him. You guard that which you find most precious. Honestly, if you keep making me spell things out like this, then I won't have any secrets left!"

He snorted softly at that last comment. "I doubt that's possible."

He grew quiet, and she closed her eyes, hoping he'd go back to sleep. Outside the tent, she could hear the distant voices of guards chatting on patrol and the sound of one of the farriers—Jerasid, Aemin or Falton— working late into the night, pounding out a shoe or nail to ready one of the horses for the next day's march. It was good to hear that sound again. The Aiel were useless when it came to horses, and the Shaido had either released the ones they captured or turned them into workhorses. She had seen many fine saddle mares pulling carts during her days in Maiden.