Like Slayer, the ter’angreal was here from the real world. And like a person, it could be broken and destroyed here. Above them, the violet dome had vanished.

Slayer growled, then stepped forward and kicked Perrin in the stomach. His chest wound flared. Another kick followed. Perrin was growing dizzy.

Go, Young Bull, Hopper sent, his voice so weak. Flee.

I can’t leave you!

And yet…I must leave you.

No!

You have found your answer. Seek Boundless. He will…explain…that answer.

Perrin blinked through tears as another kick landed. He screamed, raggedly, as Hopper’s sending—so comforting, so familiar—faded from his mind.

Gone.

Perrin screamed in anguish. Voice ragged, eyes stained with tears, Perrin willed himself out of the wolf dream and away. Fleeing like an utter coward.

Egwene awoke with a sigh. Eyes still closed, she breathed in. The battle with Mesaana had left her mind feeling strained—indeed, she had a splitting headache. She had quite nearly been defeated there. Her plans had worked, but the weight of what had happened left her feeling contemplative, even a little overwhelmed.

Still, it had been a great victory. She would have to do a search of the White Tower and find the woman who, when awakened, now had the mind of a child. She knew, somehow, that this was not something Mesaana would recover from. She’d known it even before Bair had spoken her words.

Egwene opened her eyes to a comfortably dark room, making plans to gather the Hall and explain why Shevan and Carlinya would never awaken. She spared a moment to mourn for them as she sat up. She’d explained to them the dangers, but still she felt as if she’d failed them. And Nicola, always trying to go faster than she should. She shouldn’t have been there. It—

Egwene hesitated. What was that smell? Hadn’t she left a lamp burning? It must have gone out. Egwene embraced the Source and wove a ball of light to hang above her hand. She was stunned by the scene it revealed.

The translucent curtains of her bed had been sprayed red with blood, and five bodies littered the floor. Three were in black. One was an unfamiliar young man in the tabard of the Tower Guard. The last wore a fine white and red coat and trousers.

Gawyn!

Egwene threw herself from the bed and knelt beside him, ignoring the pain of her headache. He was breathing shallowly, and had a gaping wound in his side. She wove Water, Spirit and Air into a Healing, but she was far from talented in this area. She worked on, in a panic. Some of his color returned and the wounds began to close, but she couldn’t do nearly enough.

“Help!” she yelled. “The Amyrlin needs help!”

Gawyn stirred. “Egwene,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering open.

“Hush, Gawyn. You’re going to be fine. Aid! To the Amyrlin!”

“You…didn’t leave enough lights on,” he whispered.

“What?”

“The message I sent….”

“We never got a message,” she said. “Be still. Help!”

“Nobody is near. I yelled. The lamps…it is good…you didn’t…” He smiled dazedly. “I love you.”

“Lie still,” she said. Light! She was crying.

“The assassins weren’t your Forsaken, though,” he said, words slurring. “I was right.”

And he had been; what were those unfamiliar black uniforms? Seanchan?

I should be dead, she realized. If Gawyn hadn’t stopped these assassins, she’d have been murdered in her sleep and would have vanished from Tel’aran’rhiod. She’d never have defeated Mesaana.

Suddenly, she felt a fool, any sense of victory completely evaporating.

“I’m sorry,” Gawyn said closing his eyes, “for disobeying you.” He was slipping.

“It’s all right, Gawyn,” she said, blinking away tears. “I’m going to bond you now. It’s the only way.”

His grip on her arm became slightly more firm. “No. Not unless…you want…”

“Fool,” she said, preparing the weaves. “Of course I want you as my Warder. I always have.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear it. I swear that I want you as my Warder, and as my husband.” She rested her hand on his forehead and laid the weave on him. “I love you.”

He gasped. Suddenly, she could feel his emotions, and his pain, as if they were her own. And, in return, she knew that he could feel the truth of her words.

Perrin opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He was crying. Did people cry in their sleep when they dreamed normal dreams?

“Light be praised,” Faile said. He opened his eyes and found that she knelt next to him, as did someone else. Masuri?

The Aes Sedai grabbed Perrin’s head in her hands, and Perrin felt the icy cold of a Healing wash across him. The wounds in his leg and across his chest closed.

“We tried to Heal you while you slept,” Faile said, cradling Perrin’s head in her lap. “But Edarra stopped us.”

“It is not to be done. Wouldn’t work anyway.” That was the Wise One’s voice. Perrin could hear her in the tent somewhere. He blinked his eyes. He lay on his pallet. It was dim outside.

“It’s been longer than an hour,” he said. “You should have left by now.”

“Hush,” Faile said. “Gateways are working again, and almost everyone is through. Only a few thousand soldiers remain—Aiel and Two Rivers men, mostly. You think they’d leave, you think I’d leave, without you?”

He sat up, wiping his brow. It was damp with sweat. He tried to make it vanish, as he had in the wolf dream. He failed, of course. Edarra stood by the far wall, behind him. She watched him with a measuring gaze.

He turned to Faile. “We have to get away,” he said, voice ragged. “Slayer will not be working alone. There will be a trap, probably an army. Someone with an army. They might try to strike at any moment.”

“Can you stand?” Faile asked.

“Yes.” He felt weak, but he managed, with Faile’s help. The flap rustled and Chiad entered with a waterskin. Perrin took it gratefully, drinking. It slaked his thirst, but pain still burned inside of him.

Hopper… He lowered the waterskin. In the wolf dream, death was final. Where would Hopper’s soul go?

I must keep going, Perrin thought. See my people to safety. He walked to the tent flaps. His legs