Mave dreamed. As she often did her dreams took her back to the terrible night she had passed through the arches. Naked and shivering, her novice dress left behind and the trials ahead of her. The trials had been hard on her. She could remember them only in dreams, but she had stumbled from the final arch bleeding from dozens of cuts. She would certainly have died if the Aes Sedai hadn’t been there ready to heal her. For weeks afterwards she slept only in snatches and work screaming. Her room mate had been moved to a different chamber and another Accepted had not taken her place. Wakefulness cae back to her in stages. First there was a dim awareness of warmth, welcome after hours spent in the mountain cold. Then the memory of the three bandits came back to her and she sat up with a start, snatching at Saidar as unconsciously as she drew the blankets up to cover herself. After a moment it became clear to her that she was in no bandit camp. The room was small but lovingly built out of dark wood. She lay upon a bed beneath several cheap but clean blankets. There were several chests along the wall and a book shelf that contained some bound volumes that she recognised: The Travels of Jane Farstrider, The Legend of Brigette and several other stories on the same general theme. A hand full of toys, whittled from wood or simple peddlers craft were propped on a shelf, momentos rather than items of everyday use. Her chest and arms were scraped but clean, something that must have been done to her after she lost consciousness. Vaguely she remembered crashing into a traveler on the road. It must have been he who had bought her her. Foolish, she should have killed all three men and been on her way. The thought made her vaguely queasy. She had never killed anyone before but she could still feel the blood of the man whose throat her weave had cut pulsing over her. The Three Oaths were not to be transgressed lightly, she might never have a chance to win her shawl, she certainly wouldn’t if she couldn’t prove she had been right to run away, but she didn't want to be stilled. The thought of life without Saidar was too much to bear. Reluctantly she climbed out of bed. Her dress was hopelessly torn and she hadn’t bought any changes in her flight from Caemlyn. Reaching into her pouch she touched her great serpent ring and the fateful map and felt relief that she hadn't realised had been waying on her. Holding her ripped dress up she stood up and moved to the rooms single doorway and looked through into a warm farmers kitchen. Burnished copper pots hung besides drying ropes of garlic and other herbs. A few bowls of spring berries were set out on the counter, probably the first forage after a long winter on stored food. A young man was slumped against the doorway, his dark wavy hair rumpled and messy. He looked to be in his early twenties but Mave was herself no judge of such things. He looked up at her and froze as though he had been bought face to face with a ghost. She froze too, uncertain as to what she should do or say. After a moment she cleared her throat. “Ah, thank you sir, for taking me in. I am uhh sorry to have put you to any bother.” It seemed like the mother of all understatements, but what else could she say?