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Rain, rain on Winternight, shut your doors and windows tight. That was Tam’s saying, and Rand wished he had taken his own advice. The whole past week, since Tam had taken two bales of wool and the cart down to Deven Ride, it had been pouring, beating down the fields and clogging up the roads. Tam ought to have been back by now, but Rand supposed he was still stuck down there. At 16, Rand was more than capable of handling the farm by himself, but it was lonely, and he hoped his father would be back before Bel Tine.
Rand angled his book closer to the candle, trying to catch the next few sentences in its light. But, just as he did, the door rattled, and he nearly dropped it into the flame. Burn him, could that be thunder? It was so near, and there hadn’t been any all day. And he could just peep the shadow of boots at the gap. What mad fool was out in this weather?
He set down his book, marking the page, and opened the door a crack. It was Mat - who else? - soaked through, without even a cloak. His sodden hair was straight and long as a girl’s, and his birdlike collarbones pressed against the thin fabric of his shirt. Even his eyelashes glinted with droplets.
Mat met Rand’s eyes through the cracked door. “Well?”
Rand started back. Mat pushed through the door, dripping onto the threshold. After what felt like too long, Rand said, “I feel like I ought to ma you. Tell you to stop dripping on my floors, ask you what you’re thinking, being outside in this weather, offer a blanket and some hot tea…”
“No need,” Mat ignored everything but the last part. “It's plenty warm out, even with the rain.”
“Mat…”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Right. Well, the rain’s been keeping the flowers from growing in the fields, and the women can’t find enough to top the Spring Pole for tomorrow.”
“And?”
“And Egwene sent Perrin and me out to find some.”
“And?”
“And I know you have a window box.”
Rand stared. Mat flipped his hair and flashed him the smile that could get a kiss and a cuddle with nearly every girl in the Two Rivers - why flash it at him, Rand didn’t know. “Mat, did you really come all this way, in the rain, for my window box?”
Mat glanced at the ground. “Sorry about the mud,” he said. “I know Tam likes it clean around holidays.”
“I’ll clean it up before he gets back.” Rand opened the shutters. It really was warm outside, and the air smelled sweet. His flowers were getting just enough rain to blossom well, pale blue and shiny in the wet. Rand drew a line down the middle of the dirt. “Take what you want from that side.”
Mat did as he said without question. He knew well enough that Rand would leave the rest of the flowers on his mother’s gravestone the next morning. Once the flowers were gathered, Mat asked, “When will you be down tomorrow?”
“Not sure I can get away if Tam’s not back. But I’ll try.”
“He’ll be back soon. Ma always says, ‘Rain, rain on Winternight, everything will be alright.’”
“That’s… very nearly the opposite of what Tam says.”
Mat grinned. He gathered up the flowers closed to his chest and rose to the balls of his feet. He swayed his hips, dancing for all the world like one of the girls at the Spring Pole. The candlelight made stars of the raindrops on his cheeks. Rand felt himself grow warm, until Mat said, “Besides, if you don’t come down, who’s going to dance with Egwene?”
“Egwene’s not going to dance around the Spring Pole,” said Rand. “Fourteen’s hardly marriageable age.”
“Egwene is thirteen.”
“She’ll be fourteen soon.”
“Sure, come Tammaz.”
Rand moved to punch Mat in the arm, but Mat spun into his arm, drenching his sleeve from wrist to elbow. “Ach,” Rand pouted.
“You could use a bath anyway, sheepherder.”
“Because you smell like daisies.”
Mat pivoted on his toes again, spinning around to face Rand again. He stared somewhere near Rand’s chin, then declared, “I think this will be the year Nynaeve finally dances. I’m going to get a kiss from her.”
Rand laughed. “Nynaeve would sooner kiss a goat than you - or dance around the Pole.”
“Well, if she does dance, I’ll manage it.”
“How?”
“By being handsomer than a goat.” Rand ducked his head and smirked. “You can’t deny that, at least.”
Rand shook his head. His cheeks were warm with mirth – just mirth. Nothing else.
Abruptly, Mat stopped his mad dancing. He thrust the bouquet of flowers into Rand’s hands and said, “Carry these with me into town. I insist.”
“I can’t leave the farm, truly. And it's still raining.”
“The sheep will be fine without your minding for a few hours. And it's lightening up.”
“Mat…”
Mat grabbed Rand’s free hand. “Walk with me to the edge of the farm, at least.” He wound their fingers together.
Rand sighed, but Mat flashed that smile again, and there was little he could do to say no. “Fine,” he said.
They stepped outside, hand in hand.
“It is not lightening up,” Rand said.
“‘Rain, rain on Winternight, everything will be alright,” Mat quoted. Rand raised an eyebrow. “Eventually.”
“Eventually.”