The murmur of conversation picked up once more, and the juggler spun his hoops again in a narrow loop that almost reached the worked plaster ceiling, a good four spans up. The few people who still live here don't have to worry about Trollocs this far south, but there are plenty of human brigands. Over his armor, the young man wore a cloak of Domani cut, trimmed with blue, not the white cloak of the Children. She held it out warily, obviously ready to leap if Egwene tried anything.
She thought she heard him murmur, I love you, and then he was firmly unwrapping her arms, gently moving her away from him. He's tall, and sometimes he wears his sword on his back. The way back will come but once. The halls had been empty except for a few servants doing late chores; the way had been clear.
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