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Summary
She sees flickers of saidar, coils of silver unspooling from her soul, drifting upward, dissipating in the merciless heat like dew under the morning sun on a meadow.
No, no, no. Light, no.
There is a keening wounded animal screaming Siuan’s name into the dessert.
That wounded animal sound is coming from herself, Moiraine realises.
Or: Moiraine has to fight a Forsaken, a probably fatal gut wound, and intense grief.
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