The Eye of the World

Three of the blankets he wove around and between the shafts cut from the cart, contriving a makeshift litter.

The same black mail the others wore rasped against leather trousers

He jumped convulsively at a nighthawk's reedy cry, then sagged against a tree, shaking.

until he realized he was grappling with the new hoe handle Tam had been shaping.

Short quillons, worked to look like braid, flanked the hilt.

with a bronze heron on the black scabbard and another on the long hilt

some shirts to be darned made a heap on a chair

And the third unfamiliar horse, a rangy, slab-sided gelding of a dusty brown, fit Thom Merrilin perfectly.

At that moment the door of the inn opened and the Village Council trundled out, Nynaeve in their midst.

Then his eyes fell on the wagon in front of the inn, standing alone now, with its shafts on the ground.