By the time she had given the shaggy mare a pat, and arranged her skirts, the palanquin was already moving toward the open gates, its horses stepping without rein or lead. Born on the slopes of Dragonmount. Different, but the same. Egwene looked longingly at the door.
Mat's appetite was as healthy as ever, despite the feverish flush to his face, and the way he shoveled food into his mouth made it look like his last meal before dying. The ceiling above him groaned. He's dead, Rand insisted. It had its face uncovered.
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