Hold on, Rand. Not many strangers come here, except traders up from the capital to buy oats and barley. With a vague, distant wondering, Rand saw Loial, still on hands and knees, backing away from the closing gates. Wives always say no man should be allowed Outside until he's settled enough to control his temper.
Min, find your horse. I must rotate them; they grow stale after too long watching men swing picks and shovels. With a curse, the soldier leaped back, looking surprised. What if Ingtar lost them? Then the Darkfriends have the Horn of Valere forever, and Mat dies.
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