As Bair was getting to her feet, Melaine spoke, and strangely for her, she was hesitant. “I need... I must ask your help, Bair. And you, Amys.” The older woman settled back, and both she and Amys looked at Melaine expectantly. “I... would ask you to approach Dorindha for me.” The last words came out in a rush. Amys smiled widely, and Bair cackled aloud. Aviendha seemed to understand, too, and be startled, but Egwene was lost.
Then Bair laughed. “You always said you did not need a husband and did not want one. I have buried three, and would not mind another. They are very useful when the night is cold.”
“A woman can change her mind.” Melaine's voice was firm enough, but belied by the deep flush in her cheeks. “I cannot stay away from Bael, and I cannot kill him. If Dorindha will accept me as her sisterwife, I will make my bridal wreath to lay at Bael's feet.”
“What if he steps on it instead of picking it up?” Bair wanted to know. Amys fell back, laughing and slapping her thighs.
Egwene did not think there was much danger of that, not the way Aiel customs ran. If Dorindha decided she wanted Melaine for sisterwife, Bael would not have much say in the matter. It no longer shocked her, precisely, that a man could have two wives. Not exactly. Different lands mean different customs, she reminded herself firmly. She had never been able to bring herself to ask, but for all she knew, there might be Aiel women with two husbands. They were very strange people.
“I ask you to act as my firstsisters in this. I think that Dorindha likes me well enough.”
As soon as Melaine spoke those words, the other women's hilarity changed to something else. They still laughed, but they hugged her and told her how happy they were for her, and how well she would do with Bael. Amys and Bair, at least, took Dorindha's acceptance for granted. The three of them departed all but arminarm, still laughing and giggling like girls. Not before telling Egwene and Aviendha to straighten the tent, though.
“Egwene, could a woman of your land accept a sisterwife?” Aviendha asked, using a stick to push the cover off the smoke hole.
Egwene wished she had left that duty till last; the heat began to dissipate immediately. “I don't know,” she said, quickly gathering the cups and the honey jar. The staera went onto the tray, too. “I don't think so. Maybe if it was a close friend,” she added hurriedly; there was no point in seeming to denigrate Aiel ways.
Aviendha only grunted and began pushing up the side flaps.
Teeth chattering as loudly as the rattle of teacups and bronze blades on the tray, Egwene scurried outside. The Wise Ones were dressing unhurriedly, as though this were a balmy night and they in sleeping chambers in some hold. A whiterobed figure, pale in the moonlight, took the tray from her, and she quickly began searching for her cloak and shoes. They were nowhere among the remaining garments on the ground.
“I had your things taken to your tent,” Bair said, tying the laces of her blouse. “You will not need them yet.”
Egwene's stomach sank into her feet. Hopping in place, she flapped her arms in a futile effort for warmth; at least they did not tell her to stop. Abruptly she realized the snowyrobed figure bearing the tray away was too tall for even an Aiel woman. Gritting her teeth, she glared at the Wise Ones, who seemed not to care if she froze to death jumping up and down. To the Aiel women it might not matter that a man had seen them with no clothes on, at least if he was gai'shain, but it did to her!
In a moment, Aviendha joined them and, seeing her leaping about, merely stood there without any effort to find her own garments. She showed no more effect of the cold than the Wise Ones.
“Now,” Bair said, settling her shawl on her shoulders. “You, Aviendha, are not only stubborn as a man, you cannot remember a simple task you have done many times. You, Egwene, are just as stubborn, and you still think you can linger in your tent when you are summoned. Let us hope running fifty times around the camp will temper your stubbornness, clear your minds, and remind you of how to answer a summons or do a chore. Off with you.”
Without a word, Aviendha immediately began loping toward the edge of the camp, easily dodging dark shrouded tent ropes. Egwene hesitated only a moment before following. The Aiel woman kept her pace down so she could catch up. The night air froze her, and the cracked stony clay underfoot was just as cold, and tried to catch her toes besides. Aviendha ran with effortless ease.
As they reached the last tent and turned southward, Aviendha said, “Do you know why I study so hard?” Neither the cold nor running had made an impression on her voice.
Egwene was shivering so hard she could barely speak. “No. Why?”
“Because Bair and the others always point to you, and tell me how easily you learn, how you never have to have something explained twice. They say I ought to be more like you.” She gave Egwene a sidelong glance, and Egwene found herself sharing a giggle as they ran. “That is part of the reason. The things I am learning to do...” Aviendha shook her head, wonderment plain even by moonlight. “And the Power itself. I have never felt like that. So alive. I can smell the faintest scent, feel the slightest stir in the air.”
“It is dangerous to hold on too long or too much,” Egwene said. Running did seem to warm her a little, though now and again a shudder ran through her. “I've told you that, and I know the Wise Ones have, too.”
Aviendha merely sniffed. “Do you think I would stab my own foot with a spear?”
For a time they ran in silence.
“Did Rand really...?” Egwene said finally. The cold had nothing to do with her difficulty getting the words out; in fact, she was beginning to sweat again. “I mean Isendre?” She could not make herself say it clearer than that.At last Aviendha said slowly, “I do not think that he did.” She sounded angry. “But why would she ignore switchings if he has shown no interest in her? She is a milkhearted wetlander who waits for men to come to her. I saw how he looked at her, though he tried to hide it. He enjoyed looking at her.”
Egwene wondered if her friend ever thought of her as a milkhearted wetlander. Probably not, or they would not be friends. But Aviendha had never learned to worry if what she said might hurt someone; she would probably be surprised to learn that Egwene could even think of being hurt.
“The way the Maidens make her dress,” Egwene admitted reluctantly, “any man would look.” Reminded that she herself was in the open without any clothes, she stumbled and almost fell as she looked around anxiously. The night was empty as far as she could make out. Even the Wise Ones were already back in their tents. Warm in their blankets. She was sweating, but the beads seemed to want to freeze