Robert Jordan - The Eye of the World

Near the sheep-pens, she stopped to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Her bucket was lighter, now, and no trouble to hold with one hand. She eyed the nearest dog cautiously. Standing in front of one of the pens, it was a large animal with a close, curly gray coat and intelligent eyes that seemed to know she was no danger to the sheep. Still, it was very big, almost waist-high to a grown man. Mainly the dogs helped protect the flocks when they were in pasture, guarding against wolves and bears and the big mountain cats. She edged away from the dog. Three boys passed her, herding a few dozen sheep toward the river. All five or six years older than she, the boys barely gave her a glance, their full attention on the animals. The herding was easy enough-she could have done it, she was sure-but they had to make sure none of the sheep had a chance to crop grass. A sheep that ate before being sheared could get the gasping and die. A quick look around told her that none of the other boys in sight was anyone she wanted to speak to. Not that she was looking for a particular boy to speak to, of course. She was just looking. Anyway, her bucket would need refilling soon. It was time to start back toward the Winespring Water.

This time she decided to go by way of the row of trestle tables. The smells were tantalizing, as good as any feastday, everything from roast goose to honeycakes. The spicy aroma of the honeycakes filled her nose more than all the rest. Every woman who cooked would have done her very best for the shearing. As she made her way down the tables, she offered water to the women setting out food, but they just smiled at her and shook their heads. She kept on, though, and not just because of the smells. They had tea water boiling on fires behind the tables, but some of them might want cool water from the river. Well, not so cool, now, but still …

Ahead of her Kenley was slouching along beside the tables, no longer trying for every inch of height. If anything, he seemed to be trying for shorter. He still carried his bucket in one hand, but from the way it swung, it must have been empty, so he could not be offering water to anyone. Egwene frowned. Furtive was the only word to describe him. Now, what was he … ? Abruptly his hand darted out and snatched a honeycake from the table. Egwene’s mouth fell open indignantly. And he had the nerve to talk to her about children? He was as bad as Ewin Finngar!

Before Kenley could take a second step, Mistress Ayellin descended on him like a stooping falcon, seizing his ear with one hand and the honeycake with the other. They were her honeycakes. A slim woman with a thick gray braid that hung below her hips, Corin Ayellin baked the best sweets in Emond’s Field. Except for mother, Egwene added loyally. But even her mother said Mistress Ayellin was better. With sweets, anyway. Mistress Ayellin handed out crusty cakes and slices of pie with a free hand, so long as it was not near mealtime or your mother had not asked her not to, but she could deal heavily with boys who tried to filch behind her back. Or with anyone else. Stealing, she called it, and Mistress Ayellin did not abide stealing. She still had Kenley by his ear and was shaking a finger at him, talking in a low voice. Kenley’s face was all twisted up as if he was about cry, and he shrank in on himself till he appeared shorter than Egwene. She gave a satisfied nod. She did not think he would try to give orders to anyone any time soon.

She moved further from the tables as she walked on by Mistress Ayellin and Kenley, so no one would suspect her of trying to filch sweets. The thought had never entered her head. Not really, anyway, not so it counted.

Suddenly she leaned forward, peering between the people moving back and forth in front of her. Yes. That was Perrin Aybara, a stocky boy taller than most his age. And he was a friend of Rand. She darted through the crowd without noticing whether anyone motioned for water and did not stop until she was only a few paces from Perrin.

He was with his parents, and his mother had the baby, Paetram, on her hip, and little Deselle clinging to her skirt with one hand, though Perrin’s little sister was looking around with interest at all the people and even sheep being herded past. Adora, his other sister, stood with her arms folded across her chest and a sullen expression that she was trying to hide from her mother. Adora would not have to carry water until next year, and she probably was anxious to be off playing with her friends. The last person in the little group was Master Luhhan. The tallest man in Emond’s Field, with arms like tree trunks and a chest that strained his white shirt, he made Master Aybara look slight instead of just slender. He was talking with Mistress Aybara and Master Aybara both. That puzzled Egwene. Master Luhhan was the blacksmith in Emond’s Field, but neither Master Aybara nor Mistress Aybara would bring the whole family to ask after smithing. He was on the Village Council, too, but the same thing applied. Besides, Mistress Aybara would no sooner open her mouth about Council business than Master Aybara would about Women’s Circle business. Egwene might only be nine, but she knew that much. Whatever they were talking about, they were almost done, and that was good. She did not care what they were talking about.

“He’s a good lad, Joslyn,” Master Luhhan said. “A good lad, Con. He’ll do just fine.”

Mistress Aybara smiled fondly. Joslyn Aybara was a pretty woman, and when she smiled, it seemed the sun might bide its head in defeat. Perrin’s father laughed softly and ruffled Perrin’s curly hair. Perrin blushed very red and said nothing. But then, he was shy, and he seldom said very much.

“Make me fly, Perrin,” Deselle said, lifting up her hands to him. “Make me fly.”

Perrin barely waited to sketch a polite bow to the grownups before turning to take his sister’s hands. They moved a few steps from the others, and then Perrin begin to spin around and around, faster and faster, until Deselle’s feet left the ground. Round and round he spun her, higher and higher in great swoops, while she laughed and laughed in delight.

After a few minutes, Mistress Aybara said, “That’s enough, Perrin. Put her down before she sicks up.“But she said it kindly, with a smile.

Once Deselle’s feet were back on the ground, she clung to one of Perrin’s hands with both hers, staggering a little, and maybe not too far from sicking up. But she kept laughing and demanding he make

her fly some more. Shaking his head, he bent to talk to her. He was always so serious. He did not laugh very often.

Abruptly Egwene realized that someone else was watching Perrin. Cilia Cole, a pink-cheeked girl a couple of years older than she, stood only a few feet away with a silly smile on her face, making calf eyes at him. All he needed to do was turn his head to see her! Egwene grimaced in disgust. She would never be fool enough to make big eyes at a boy like some kind of woolhead. Anyway, Perrin was not even a whole year older than Cilia. Three or four years older was best. Egwene’s sisters might have no time to talk to her, but she listened to other girls old enough to know. Some said more, but most thought three or four. Perrin glanced toward Egwene and Cilia and went back to talking quietly to Deselle. Egwene shook her head. Maybe Cilia was a ninny, but he ought to at least notice.

Movement in the limbs of a big wateroak beyond Cilia caught her eye, and she gave a start. The raven was up there, and it still seemed to be watching. And there was a raven in that tall pine tree, too, and one in the next, and in that hickory, and … Nine or ten ravens that she could see, and they all seemed to be watching. It had to be her imagination. Just her-.

“Why were you staring at him?”

Startled, Egwene jumped and spun around so fast that she banged herself on the knee with her bucket Agood thing it was nearly empty, or she could have hurt herself. She shifted her feet, wishing she could rub her knee. Adora stood looking up at her with a perplexed expression on her face, but she could not be more puzzled than Egwene.