I close my eyes,
Only for a moment, and the moment's gone
All my dreams,
Pass before my eyes, in curiosity

Dust in the wind
all they are is dust in the wind

The soft shuffling of his bare feet on the wooden floor was disproportionately loud in the pre-dawn light. Sloane had to convince himself that the Accepted in the room below him couldn't hear his pacing footsteps, but since nobody had complained and he had been at it since he returned to his room hours ago, he was under the assumption that he was fine.

Every so often the Aiel man would sit down, on his bed, at his desk chair, even on the floor, but only seconds later he would spring to his feet and the pacing would begin anew. He couldn't stop, anymore than he could stop breathing. He just walked the length of the room, over and over, making himself dizzy with the abrupt turns.

"Why?"

He had asked himself that over and over all night. Sometimes out loud, more often silently, in his head, as if it held the answers. Sometimes he would appeal to the Creator, demanding to know why now, and what had he done to achieve this. Since he had been delivered to his room in the early evening he had asked that, and now, nearly morning, he was tired of asking and not getting an answer.

If this had happened five years ago, he would have been thrilled. But five years ago he wasn't ready, which is why it hadn't happened. Five years ago he wasn't who he was today, and that's what made all the difference. He had wanted this for so long, but now that he had it…it was nothing.

You can't always get what you want, and when you do want it, half the time you don't want it anymore. Something one of the Wise Ones was fond of saying, and as usual, it was mostly true. Five years ago he wanted to be Aes Sedai and leave the White Tower to go back to the Waste. Even better would be if he had been sent away. Anything to be back in the waste with his wife and children. Of course he didn't get his wish. He hadn't finished his training and just wasn't ready for the responsibility of an Aes Sedai. Now he viewed the Tower as his home and knew he was different from the rest of the Aiel. Now he just wanted to stay in the Tower, without the responsibility of being Aes Sedai. Now that he had it he just didn't want it.

What happened? What changed? Hollow questions. Everything had changed. Nothing was the same. There were no sudden life altering events, at least, not in Sloane's eyes. Instead it had been so gradual that he didn't notice until now. Everything changes. We have to adapt. That's what makes us special.

Now that he had changed could he go back to living the simple life in the Waste?

"Three. Fold. Land. Not the Waste. It is the Three-Fold Land, where I was born and raised. My home. My home!" Sloane slammed a fist into his palm. "I am no wetlander to be calling it the Waste. The Waste is for those who cannot survive there. I did survive, and I can. I will!" His bare feet slapped the floor in an unconscious punctuation to his rising temper.

It's always the little things. Everything I did in this Tower led me to be who I am now. Even before the Tower. The Three-Fold Land is a shaping ground, and it truly aided in shaping me into the product that I am now.

Tired, Sloane slumped to the floor, leaning against the sturdy wood of the door at his back. "Every action has a reaction," he reminded himself with a bitter laugh. "Every decision we make shapes our path through destiny. From the time I was a child, my decisions ultimately led to this moment in time." He said softly, gazing at the window. From this angle Sloane could see the faint pinpoints of stars twinkling in the sky, and to one side the crescent moon shone down, casting as little light as the stars. Sloane found himself wondering if Medanny and Adem, deep in the heart of the Three-Fold Land were looking up at the same stars and the moon and thinking of him.

"Unlikely," he snorted derisively. "Klaudiya said that Medanny remarried. Adem calls him father and never asks about me. Adem doesn't even remember me. Nobody in the clan does, only Klaudiya. And even then she doesn't remember me. She came out of curiosity's sake. She just wanted to know who her father was, and got roped into staying as a novice."

Sloane sighed and dropped his head to his knees. "I failed as a father, and I'm going to fail as an Aes Sedai." Klaudiya's accusing tones rang through his memories, reminding him of what he had given up to come to the Tower.

"You have a daughter?" Aiyaela's slightly accented and very stunned voice broke the heavy silence that followed Sloane's shocking announcement. She toyed with the end of one of her many blonde braids, tilted eyes boring into Sloane with the intensity of an eagle. Sloane stared boldly back, amused at the comparison, because with her bold nose, she looked every inch the self-confident eagle queen that she should be.

"Yes, my daughter," Sloane said in such a way that implied Aiyaela was hard of hearing, "is here in the White Tower."

"And how long have you had a daughter? Why haven't you mentioned her before?" Aiyaela was eternally patient. She let neither insult not stalling affect her, instead patiently drawing every detail, one at a time, from her subject until they grew bored with the farce and admitted everything. It had become a very good tactic for dealing with novices. Though Aiyaela was a very newly raised Aes Sedai, she already possessed many of the traits of an older Aes Sedai, number one being how to deal with the novices.

"Aiyaela, you came to the Tower when you were nineteen, right? What did you do before that?" Sloane's lightning fast change of topic was not lost on Aiyaela.

"I wanted to be a merchant like my father. Oh!" She laughed ruefully at understanding what Sloane was getting at.

"And I was married and had two children. I went to Rhuidean to become a clan chief and instead was sent here. Klaudiya, the elder, was four when I left. Adem was two. I've been in the White Tower for twelve years now."

Aiyaela blinked blankly at Sloane for a moment. "Sloane, how old are you?"

She was completely unprepared for his chuckle. "I'm forty five summers, give or take a year."

"Oh." She said faintly. "Oh."

Why is my age such a big deal? Why does it surprise people to know I'm old enough to be their father? "Why does it surprise you, Aiyaela? Is there something wrong with me being old enough to be your father?"

Her laughter was like silvery bells, and it loosened the nervous tension in Sloane's shoulders, relaxing him against the inevitable. Klaudiya was here and there was nothing he could do about it. The Mistress of Novices had already signed her into the book and now the girl wouldn't be able to leave unless she was sent away by that same Mistress of Novices, or by reaching the shawl. Either way it would take years for her to reach either end.

"No, Sloane," Aiyaela responded to his question. "It's not a matter of you being old enough to be my father, or even your age. It's that you look to be my age, or only a few years older."

"Ahh." Sloane understood; his father was plagued by the same disbelief. His family was naturally very youthful looking, and add that to the slowing effect of using saidin, Sloane looked half his age, easily. He had some lines in the corners of his eyes, but many contributed that to sun damage, having lived nearly his entire life in the harsh sunlight of the Three-Fold Land. "I understand now. Though you don't look your own age either, Aiyaela."

Her tolerant smile met his words, casually deflecting them. "Of course not. I use the power too, you know." She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. "So how do you know Klaudiya's here?" Aiyaela was sitting on her bed, where she had been toying with a ter'angreal most likely when Sloane burst into her room, babbling about his daughter. He flushed, remembering the amusement in her eyes when he first entered, replaced by blank shock when she finally understood what he was saying.

Sloane, on the other hand, had remained on his feet the entire time he was in Aiyaela's room, pacing until he was sure he had made his friend dizzy.

"She's a novice. I don't know why. I mean, she can channel, so of course she's a novice. I didn't know she could channel. But she's here. She found me. She said I should be Aes Sedai now." Sloane threw his hands in the air, a gesture of exasperation. "I should be Aes Sedai. As if I haven't been trying! Light, why'd she come find me?" All of his frustration, at still being only Accepted, at Klaudiya's reappearance in his life, at the fact that he left the Three-Fold Land for this and where had he gotten? He growled to himself, frustrated at his inability to convey his frustrations.

"Sloane, you're babbling." Aiyaela said gently, reaching out and catching his hand as his pacing took him past her bed. He stopped, looking down at her heart-shaped face and allowed himself to be guided to sit beside her on the bed. "Now start at the beginning. Why is Klaudiya here?"

Sloane cradled his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth. "I didn't even recognize her. My own daughter, and I didn't recognize her." Aiyaela nudged him sharply in the ribs, guiding him back to her question. "She got curious about me. Apparently Medanny filled her head with stories about me. So instead of training to be a Wise One, she decided to come to the Tower to find me and meet me. Sort of, since she already knows me, even if she doesn't remember me.

"She found me at the Training Yards. Walked up to me, calm as an Aes Sedai, started making fun of me, then informed me that I was her father." Strong fingers touched the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles. "Aiyaela, what am I going to do?"

She was silent for a moment. "What did you do after she came and talked to you?"

Sloane was glad his back was to Aiyaela, because the heat that suffused his cheeks would have told all. "Um. I panicked." He finally admitted. "I told her I had to go, then I came to you."

Aiyaela lightly slapped Sloane on the ear. "Stupid! Now what must she think of you?"

"I know! That's why I asked you what to do now."

"Have you considered talking to her?" Her hands continued to knead the knots out of Sloane's shoulders. "All you have to do is talk."

Nervousness was not an emotion Sloane felt very often. He prided himself on his level of self-confidence that many called arrogance behind his back. He was sure of himself, proud of the life he had led, and tried very hard not to let other people intimidate him. Others quite often saw him as arrogant, egocentric, conceited, bossy, pushy and many other unflattering words. Sloane knew very little about this, though, because the gossips were careful not let word leak out where he could hear for their own self-preservation. He was one of the feared black-veiled Aiel, and in fact, one of very few men in the White Tower who was raised in the Three-Fold Land. Who knew what sort of irrational behaviour he would display when faced with vicious rumours? The fact that he was also among the biggest men in the Tower, both in height and muscles, lent weight to the decision not to gossip about him where he could hear.

Nervousness and anxiety were foreign emotions to Sloane, yet here he was, pacing again, though this time in his own room, sorting out why he was so...apprehensive about talking to Klaudiya. Not afraid, because Sloane was never afraid, but apprehensive. He didn't know what she thought of him, abandoning his family in the Three-Fold Land. She had made her feelings clear on the fact that he wasn't Aes Sedai yet. She didn't seem particularly happy to see him. And then he had to do the cowardly thing and run away.

"I'm not a coward!" Sloane growled out loud, patently ignoring the fact that running away from his own daughter was a cowardly action, no matter how he tried to look at it. He wasn't being cowardly when he left; he really did have something to do, and besides, Klaudiya caught him by surprise. After all he never would have dreamed that his daughter would have come to the Tower to find him and become a novice.

"So now what do I do?"

Should he embrace her as his long-lost daughter? He had missed too much in her developing life to pretend that he had always been there. Should he treat her like just another novice? But he couldn't bear the see the hurt in her eyes when he told her that he couldn't be her father. Should he, could he, there were too many shoulds and coulds. What about woulds? What would he do?

Would she even want to think of him as her father? Would the Tower let them resume their father-daughter relationship? Would she want to catch up in the father-daughter bonding they had missed out on?

"Aiyaela's right. I should just talk to her."

But would she talk to him?

The walk to the novice quarters was unbearably long for someone in Sloane's state of mind. Because he was stopped by nearly everyone he passed and asked question after question, and then had to ask his own questions, it took him twice as long. With each dragging footstep his courage faltered, and twice he turned around to go back the way he came, then, ashamed by his cowardice, he turned back, stubbornly determined to go on. The only thing that kept him on his course was the faint hope that she wasn't in her room and he wouldn't have to talk to her. That made him feel guilty, which just drove him even more to talk to her.

Light, she's my daughter! What's the worst that could happen? Sloane had to, and hated to, admit that he was in over his head when it came to children. But Klaudiya wasn't a child anymore; she was sixteen, the usual age for novices to join the White Tower, and in his few years as an Accepted he had taught many of the novices and learned how to deal with all sorts of adolescents. Why should Klaudiya be any different?

With that in mind, when he finally reached her door he only hesitated a moment before knocking. Heart pounding in his ears, he didn't hear her footsteps approaching the door. It was just suddenly opening and then she was standing there, silhouetted against the dim candlelight, suddenly looking very much like her mother did at her age.

"Yes?" She asked warily when he didn't speak at first, too absorbed as he was in staring at his beautiful daughter. His daughter! His!

"Klaudiya, I'm sorry I left so abruptly earlier. I was shocked. Never did I dream you would come to the White Tower. May I come in?" His words tumbled out in a rush; Sloane was afraid that if he didn't speak now he wouldn't be able to. Or he would run away again.

"At least you remember my name," she remarked casually. "Oh, all right. Come in." The door swung open wider to admit him, and Sloane, suddenly engulfed in nerves again, hesitated. Then Klaudiya looked at him, the same way Medanny, her mother, would when she caught Sloane doing something wrong, and all the nervousness drained away. This was his daughter; what did he have to be afraid of?

"Has anyone ever told you how much you look like your mother?" Sloane asked once they had seated themselves on the floor facing one another.

Klaudiya shot him a level look. "Actually, everyone in the clans tell me how much I favour you. Aside from my height and blonde hair, I look like you."

Sloane flushed dully under his tan. If he could see past her luxurious blonde hair, shared with her mother, then yes, he could see his blue-green eyes-Medanny's were almost violet, they were such a deep shade of blue-and his facial structure was more delicate and refined in her, but most definitely, and obviously, his. "Well, there's no doubt that you're my daughter," he said lightly, trying to turn her disapproval to some other emotion.

"I don’t doubt it, but do you?"

"Of course not!" Sloane snapped back, more sharply than he probably should have. "Klaudiya, I was there for your birth. I named you after your great grandmother, a fierce Roofmistress who would have been better suited to be Far Dareis Mai. I taught you to walk, and your first word was Duadhe, which you called me for a year. How could I doubt you are my daughter, or that Adem is my son?"

"You also disappeared when I was four years old, Sloane. Disappeared! I didn't know where you went, when you would be back. You never wrote or visited, or anything. How was I to know that you were still alive? Adem doesn't remember you, but I did. I asked Mother and she said you were going to come here. But you never told us if you arrived. Why?" The last was an anguished plea from the four year old he had left behind. "I now know why you couldn't visit, but you couldn't write?"

"I. Um." Sloane was speechless and completely taken aback by Klaudiya's pained words. Why didn't he write? "Klaudiya, I'm sorry. I honestly don't have a reason for why I didn't write. I just didn't. I thought the training would be faster. I thought I would have been home eleven years ago. But the time dragged on, and now, here I am, only an Accepted after twelve years of hard work. I don't know why I didn't write. I just didn't. I’m sorry."

"Adem doesn't remember you, you know. And mother rarely talks about you. At first she used to tell us stories about you: what you did, where you went, who you knew. But then when she met Yrl they tapered off, then stopped completely. Adem calls Yrl dad. I did too, when I realized you weren't coming back, but it felt wrong. Adem might not have remembered you, but I did.

"After you had been gone so long I started to wonder about you. Finally I went to the Wise Ones, begging for their help. They refused to accept me as an Apprentice, I was too young, but they told me to come to the White Tower. This was where you were, so I could find you there. And I did find you."

Sloane dared to reach out and pat Klaudiya's hand, lying motionless on her knee. "And you found me." He told her softly.

"I did." Rising to her knees, Klaudiya leaned across the gap and embraced her father. After a moment of shocked paralysis, his arms slowly went up and encircled the girl. Hugging her tightly he whispered, "You did." Ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks he hugged his daughter tightly, silently thanking the Light for bringing her back to him.

If Sloane thought really hard, he could probably remember the following month, but it was hard. He was engulfed in some sort of euphoria at having regained a link to his past life, the life before the Tower. As he had told Aiyaela, everyone had a life before the Tower. His family was his, and now here was a remnant of that family. In that Sloane was lucky; too many of his peers lost everything when they came to the Tower and for some even because they could channel. Aiyaela would never get a chance to be a merchant now. He would never get to be a clan chief. But Klaudiya found him, and so he could maintain that link to his past.

The first few days after their reunion they spent as much time together, learning about each other. Klaudiya learned Sloane's reasons for coming to the Tower, and why he had stayed. Sloane learned about Klaudiya's childhood, and more importantly, the status of his sept of the Clan. Sloane told her about lessons she'll have to take in the Tower, warning her of which teachers were good and which she should avoid at all costs. She told him about all about Adem. He taught her about wetlander customs, which she had to get used to, and she wistfully spoke of the life she wanted to live before she got the Tower involved.

Klaudiya never wanted to be Far Dareis Mai; she wanted to be married and a roofmistress one day, and in the meantime she would work at goldsmithing. She had already found the man she wanted to marry, and was making plans for her bridal wreath, but her mother had insisted she was still too young, so would she wait until she was eighteen?

Sloane and Klaudiya learned a lot about each other's personalities, as well. Klaudiya was very much like her mother, and had some mannerisms he wasn't familiar with, making him suspect her stepfather, but others were so much like him it was surprising. She was stubborn, like him, and proud. She had a mellow nature, though was prone to an explosive temper, and had a sharp-edged tongue. Within five minutes of their company, anyone could tell they were related, though some might be fuzzy on the details if they didn't know how old Sloane was.

And then, as things always do, everything changed.

Though Sloane was happy for his friend, he couldn't help feel a bit envious when Aiyaela was chosen to be Madeline Sedai's newest assistant. She was replacing two women, and so the added workload limited her already sparse time that she could spend with Sloane. She was so busy, even during mealtimes, that he rarely spoke with her. And now more than any other time was when he needed her the most.

Sloane had first met Daia when he taught her a channeling lesson, and had fallen head over heels for her. To him it was love at first sight, though she obviously didn't return the feelings. And sometime in the recent past she had been raised to Accepted, because she was suddenly in some of the classes he was taking, mostly those involving the Grey Ajah. Seeing her again induced all those feelings he had suppressed two years ago flared up as strong as ever.

He had learned that she and Aiyaela had once been friends, and so during one of their very infrequent meals together, Sloane asked Aiyaela about Daia. The little she told him was far from encouraging, and she warned him to stay away from the younger woman, who had a temper that rivaled Aiyaela's, and worse, Daia held grudges. You're was too nice for her, he was told.

Aiyaela's warnings did nothing to extinguish his strong emotions for the younger woman, though he did remember what she said about Daia. Daia was shy and nervous around men; it was understandable, based on her past. So Sloane decided to take it slowly with her; not pressure her too much. Unfortunately that idea backfired, and so he made two new friends: Daia and her best friend Tual.

Sloane quickly learned another of Klaudiya's personality traits, when he started spending more time with Daia. Tual had virtually disappeared, and Daia and Sloane grew close as they spent more and more time together. The more time he spent with Daia, the less he could with Klaudiya, and she reacted in a surprising fashion: she was jealous.

"Klaudiya, why are you acting like this?" Sloane demanded after his daughter had once again stormed away from a study session with him and Daia. Neither he nor Klaudiya had mentioned that Klaudiya was his daughter, each for their own separate reasons, Klaudiya's becoming rapidly apparent.

"Why do you care?" Klaudiya shouted back, red-faced with anger. "Shouldn't you be with Daia? She's the one you'd rather spend time with, not me!"

"Klaudiya, that's enough!" Light, now Sloane was shouting! Rumours of this argument would spread like wildfire through the Tower. "I was studying with both of you, wasn't I? Daia is my friend. You are my daughter. I can spend time with both of you if I want."

"But you'd rather be with her than with me! It's rather obvious that you're in love with the wetlander!"

"I never said that! You are my daughter, and I love you as my daughter. How I feel about Daia has nothing to do with you, and I wish you would stop acting so childishly. I am your father and you should respect my decisions for my own life."

Klaudiya snorted. "You may be my blood father but you had nothing to do with raising me. You are no more my father than you're Daia's!"

Sloane felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. "You know my reasons for coming to the White Tower. If I could have taken you and Adem and your mother, I would have. But I couldn't, so I can at least content myself with the fact that you came looking for me, your father."

Klaudiya looked Sloane straight in the eye, matching stormy blue-green eyes glaring at one another in a contest of wills. "Get. Out." She said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said get out! Leave my room now!" She shrieked.

Sloane finally had to do as she demanded when she started throwing things. Light she had a strong arm and good aim!

"Dad, when are you coming back to the Three-Fold Land?" Klaudiya's whispered question made Sloane jump as it broken the reverent silence of the library.

Neither had mentioned the argument from three days before; Klaudiya had found Sloane at breakfast the next day, her usual effervescent self, and Sloane didn't want to mention anything for fear of starting another argument. She was being completely irrational when it came to Daia, and Sloane didn't know how far her jealousy extended. Best to let sleeping gara lie. If it should come up again, he'd deal with it then and not a moment sooner. Now Sloane would just enjoy the comfortable relationship he had with his daughter.

They were by themselves in the library. Daia had a class, though she promised Sloane she'd catch up to him later, and so Klaudiya and Sloane were studying in a companionable silence until she spoke.

"I hadn't really thought about that, Klaudiya." Sloane finally admitted when the silence stretched out longer than was polite. "I mean, I will go back eventually. But I have to earn the sash first."

Klaudiya's eyes were pitying. "How long have you been here? Do you really think you'll reach the sash?" Since Sloane had been thinking the same thing earlier that morning, he winced at the pain those simple words caused. Would he actually reach the sash? How could he know? He wasn't particularly strong in the power for a man. What if he wasn't strong enough? She continued, oblivious to his feelings. "I don't have to stay here; I'd rather be trained by the Wise Ones now that I can embrace saidar You said yourself you thought you'd only be here a year. So why are you still here?"

"I haven't been raised to Aes Sedai," he said patiently, "and I haven't been sent away either. Therefore I'm still at the White Tower, and I will stay here until either of those occur." Light hope it was the former, and not the latter. "I don't know when they will happen. I just have to be patient and see." Sloane pointedly dropped his gaze back to his notes he was studying, a blatant sign that he was finished with the conversation.

Klaudiya obviously hadn't taken the hint, though. "You belong in the Three-Fold Land, though!" Her plaintive voice rose above the level of sound normally reserved for the library. "You don't belong here. You belong in the Three-Fold Land with Mother, Adem and me! Not here, playing at being Aes Sedai." She slammed her books closed and stormed out of the library, ignoring the Aes Sedai in charge who was furiously shushing her.

Sloane stared after her, bewildered at her sudden display of temper. And why oh why did he feel like she was telling the truth?

Five days and twice as many arguments later, each and every one of them on the same topic, and Sloane was at his wit's end with Klaudiya. It had gotten to be so much that he went to Aiyaela for help.

"Sloane, I don't know what you think I can do about Klaudiya," Aiyaela admitted after hearing Sloane's story. "She's a woman. A young woman. Young women tend to have unbalanced emotions and react accordingly. She's going through an especially difficult adjustment period right now. You just need to be patient."

Sloane eyed Aiyaela uncertainly. "Are you sure? Because these...jealous outbursts are too much for me to handle. I don't know what to say or do when she gets so upset."

"Just be patient," Aiyaela repeated, "and don't let her get to you. She'll cool down quickly enough. Sloane, do you remember how much adjustment you had to deal with when you came to the Tower? All the 'wetlander' customs, the look of the 'wetlands' and everything else? Even the food was completely different."

Sloane reluctantly nodded.

"So add all that to the usual emotional upsets of a young woman," Aiyaela continued, "and you get a volatile package indeed So just be there for her; she'll adjust soon enough. You told me yourself that she's only been here a month. It takes a lot longer to get used to all the changes in the lifestyle. Come high summer she'll be used to most of it, though the seasons might still confuse her. I have to admit, I'm worried about her reaction to winter; she may get sick because she's not used to the cold. As it is, she's not in the best of health."

"How do you know that?" Sloane pounced on Aiyaela's last words.

She looked at him pityingly. "Sloane, she told me. I am Madeline Sedai's assistant, and Klaudiya knows that I'm your friend. She talks to me and asks about you. You intimidate her a bit, you know."

"Oh." Sloane said faintly. "Thank you, Aiyaela. I'll get out of your hair now."

She smiled. "Anytime, Sloane." As the door shut behind him, her smile faded into a wistful frown. "Anytime."

Rather than search out Klaudiya right away, Sloane went back to his room, deep in thought. He couldn't shake the feeling that, while Aiyaela was telling the truth, it wasn't what was affecting his daughter. He had been dealing with girls of all ages since he had come to the White Tower, and none had been as volatile as Klaudiya. Except for Aiyaela, Sloane reminded himself. But she was Saldaean so it was to be expected, the way those women were raised. While Sloane had to admit that Klaudiya had a tumultuous childhood, it was far from unusual and there were many girls at the Tower who were much worse off than her. Daia, for starters, had been homeless since she was a baby, spent the first eight years of her life as a slave then ran away and lived on the streets of Caemlyn and Cairhien before finding sanctuary in the Tower, and she turned out fine. More than fine!

Sloane's face softened into a small smile as it always did when he thought of Daia. She was so beautiful, his petite Atha'an Miere. Whenever he saw her all he wanted to do was hold her close and bury his face in her luscious dark curls, effectively shutting away the rest of the world. He had never felt this way about anyone before, not even Medanny. But he loved Medanny, didn't he? Didn't he miss her when he came to the Tower?

Medanny was familiar. She was always there. I loved her, but not this way. The way he felt about Daia was exciting; he always experienced a tingle down his spine at the thought of seeing her. Mealtimes were his sanctuary from his increasing dislike of the White Tower in general. He felt like a prisoner now, though just being around Daia made everything worthwhile.

Unable to sit still anymore, Sloane leapt to his feet and started pacing, as he always did when he was agitated. He had spent entirely too much time pacing this last month than was healthy, in his opinion.

"Why am I so unhappy here now? I've been here twelve years or so already, so why am I so unhappy?"

The answer, and he knew it, was Klaudiya. For the first time in twelve years, Sloane had a link to his old life, which brought back all the homesickness he thought he had long buried. He missed the hot dry air, the constantly blue sky, the red sands that named his sept. He missed Medanny and Adem and all of his friends and extended family. He missed being able to hunt whenever he wanted, the scouting, the being outdoors all the time. He missed his old life, the life he had before Rhuidean.

And how long am I stuck here? He thought bleakly. How long am I trapped in this Tower?

He had to talk to Klaudiya; maybe she was right.

Sloane knocked on the door to his daughter's room, smiling ruefully at the memory of a time only a month ago when he was nervous performing this simple action.

Light, things can change.

"Dad!" Klaudiya exclaimed with delight when she opened the door. "I thought you had a class?" How strange that sounded to his ears. Dad and class should not be together in the same sentence, yet they were and Klaudiya didn't seem bothered by it.

"It was cancelled," he explained, crossing the room to sit on the floor and lean against the bed. Klaudiya closed the door then sat down across from him, eyes thoughtful. She didn't say anything, though, she just watched him, blue-green eyes murky with emotion.

"Klaudiya. Do you really want to leave the White Tower and go back to the Three-Fold land?"

The question caught the girl off guard, Sloane could see. She mastered her expression to stony indifference. "I do. I miss the dry, hot sun, the skies, the land. I miss the people. I miss everything about it."

"But don't you see advantages to learning about different cultures from here in the Tower? Don't you think that there is some good to staying in the Tower until they deem you ready to leave?"

Klaudiya violently shook her head, blonde hair flying. "Of course not! What we, the Aiel, need to know we learn in the Three-Fold land. We don't need to learn wetland customs. Wetlanders are weak. What do they know about survival?"

Thinking of Daia, Sloane smiled. "You'd be surprised at what some of these wetlanders do know. Some of them are tougher than us, you know."

Klaudiya's snort indicated she thought it very unlikely. "What would make you think that?"

"We pride ourselves on being an honourable people. Not everyone has the respect for others that we do. Most wetlanders can't even begin to comprehend ji'e'toh. Most wetlanders are selfish and greedy, thinking only of themselves."

"So what makes you think they're better than us?" Klaudiya interrupted Sloane.

"Don't interrupt me," he admonished her, then continued, "most wetlanders are selfish and greedy. But there are others who have to rise above that, and beat those odds. Several of your fellow novices lived on the streets of various cities where they were at the hands of the depraved lunatics who would rob them, rape them, hurt them, even kill them. One girl, an Accepted, was a slave before she ran away from the 'orphanage' her Darkfriend parents left her in when she was a year old. She was living on the streets of Caemlyn and Cairhien before she claimed sanctuary in the White Tower. She escaped numerous people who would have harmed her in as many ways as there are people in the world.

"She was the only one to escape the orphanage in its entire history. She survived, Klaudiya! She survived and even thrived. It was because she lived on the streets, using her Talents to keep herself alive that she wound up in the Tower.

"She is the most selfless person I know. Not only did she survive physically, but mentally as well. She could have turned into one of those lunatics who would harm her, but instead she learned from their mistakes and has become a better person because of it.

"I never said that the wetlanders are better than us, though some of them are. I said that some of them are tougher than us, and that, my dear, is the truth."

Klaudiya leaned back, digesting this little lecture she had received from her father. "I guess I see what you mean..." she said slowly, "but I don't agree. We are the stronger, physically, mentally and emotionally. We have been put through hell in the Three-Fold Land, and look at us. It is because of that that we are an honourable people, and we respect each other. The Three-Fold Land sets us apart from the wetlanders, and shapes us into a stronger, better people. We are the superior people here.

"You don't belong here, Dad," Klaudiya's tone was scornful, "They are turning you into one of them. Neither of us belongs here. We should be in the Three-Fold Land. With our people. The Aiel. Because we are Aiel. That’s where we belong."

Sloane couldn't sleep; Klaudiya's words echoed in his skull, rattling around making it impossible for him to sleep. She was right, damn her, and everything she said was true. For twelve years he had fooled himself into thinking that he belonged in the White Tower, that it was his home. He tried to make hit his home by turning his back on everything he once knew. All he had succeeded in doing was hurting his family.

If he had kept contact with Medanny would she have remarried? Would Klaudiya have come to the Tower to find him, or would she have contented herself with being a goldsmith and getting married? She wouldn't have been nearly so curious if he had kept contact with the family. She would have known about her father, if not known him personally. Would he have stayed at the Tower this long if he hadn't shut everything out? Would he wear the sash? Would he have been sent away? He could have taken advantage of the Acceptance testing and refused the three times. Then he could have gone home. After three times they sent you away, didn't they? He could have gone home years ago. If he had kept contact with Medanny.

Everyone makes mistakes, he chided himself. But does everyone bungle their lives the way I did?

What had he learned at the Tower? How to channel. Granted, now he was safe and wouldn't run the risk of burning himself out, but if he had never learned to touch saidin wouldn't he have been safe?

What would have happened if he had gone to the Black Tower? Where would he be now?

What if, and Sloane's breath caught in a gasp as he realized the implications of this, what if he was wrong about his choice? When he came out of Rhuidean all he knew was that he had to make a choice: Black or White. What if it didn't pertain to the Towers, as the Wise Ones had guessed? What if it had a completely different meaning altogether?

Sloane moaned at the thought of all the past years wasted because of one tiny error. In which case shouldn't he just go home? Back to the Three-Fold Land?

He closed his eyes, trying to picture what Medanny would look like, and Adem. He was tall, Klaudiya said, with red hair and blue eyes. He had freckles, like Sloane and Klaudiya both did, but the bone structure in his face looked more like his mother. Medanny would look older, Sloane decided. She was, after all, in her early forties. Though Sloane closed his eyes and used his vivid imagination, he couldn't see Medanny any older than the day he left.

Rolling onto his back, Sloane pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes. "What happens," he wondered aloud, "if I do go back?"

Medanny had remarried; what's to say she would take him back when he returned? She must be happy with this new man. Why would she take Sloane back? Why should she take him back? He left her. She had a right to find another man and remarry. Sloane didn't begrudge her that. And even if she would take him back, could he go back to her? Knowing what he knew about himself concerning Daia, could he convince himself to settle for Medanny? Twelve years changed a person more than you could imagine. He had lived life so long away from Medanny, could he continue his life with her?

Adem didn't care about him at all. Why should he barge into Adem's life, upsetting whatever balance the boy had found? He was fourteen, a touchy age. What right did Sloane have to go storming back into Adem's life, taking him away from the man he called father, just because of a blood relation? That was being as selfish as a wetlander. And Sloane didn't even know his son. Why should he ruin Adem's life because some decision he made ruined his?

What would he do if he went back to the Three-Fold Land? He wouldn't be clan chief. They had found someone to go into Rhuidean and take over. Sloane couldn't just swoop in and take that from him. He couldn't lead a scouting group either. He would be relegated to being just one of the scouts, and have to work his way up all over again. He was old, now, with slower reflexes. How soon before he was killed in a raid and dumped in an unmarked grave? Would anyone mourn his death? Would anyone care?

Faced with the reality of the facts, Sloane had to admit that he wasn't as eager as he thought he was to go back to the Three-Fold Land. He had made a life for himself here at the White Tower, so why should he throw it away to go back and try to live a life that ended the minute he set foot on wetland soil? People changed, times changed, everything changed. Nothing was static. If he went back he would be going into a something completely different from what he remembered and what he wanted.

What future did the Three-Fold Land hold for him at all? It wasn't his home anymore. The White Tower was.

Sighing, Sloane rolled over onto his side and tried to fall asleep.

Though Sloane eventually fell asleep, it was a light, restless sleep, and he rose with the dawn feeling as though he had been awake all night. He knew what he had to do, though, and if that was any comfort, it was overridden by the apprehension of what he had to tell Klaudiya. And the sooner he told her, the better everything would be.

He found her in the kitchens, his sleep hazed mind weakly reminding him that she had mentioned the previous day that she was on kitchen duty for a week for fighting with another novice. His daughter could be a right hellion when she wanted, and could do it effortlessly. Sloane felt sorry for whoever had crossed Klaudiya. Obviously they hadn't known she was Aiel or else didn't believe what they were told.

"I need to borrow Klaudiya, if I may, Mistress Laras?" Sloane asked the Mistress of the Kitchens, bowing humbly to her considerable bulk. He knew full well the effect his handsome face and courtesy had on Laras, and she didn't even hesitate in bringing Klaudiya to him. She did take a second, harder look when she saw their faces side by side but didn't say anything beyond, "I'll be expecting you back here after breakfast, girl." Klaudiya, Sloane noted, paled slightly under the Mistress of the Kitchen's gaze, and she curtsied as deeply as if Laras was Aes Sedai. Whatever the woman had said obviously had some sort of an effect on his daughter.

"Let's go to the gardens, we can talk there." Sloane said, leading the girl out of the kitchens. She eyed him curiously but let him lead her there, trusting that he would tell her what he had to say when he would and not a moment sooner. Was there also a triumphant look in those eyes? Did she think she had succeeded in convincing him that he should take her back to the Three-Fold Land? That would explain his tired eyes and heavy voice. If she was half as arrogant as Sloane suspected, then Klaudiya would think she had won.

His slippered footsteps took him across the dew-laden grass. Sloane inhaled deeply, holding the crisp, damp air in his lungs. He could smell the moisture in the air-it must have rained overnight-and the sweet smell of crushed grass. How could he leave this for the dead smells of the Three-Fold Land? To never see rain again, or green grass? Not brown, sere plants, or dark greyish green foliage, but vibrant green, emanating life? The Three-Fold Land was tired, Sloane realized. It was hot and tired and lifeless. He had always thought it animated in it's own way, but compared to this, it was dead. And it had it's own curious beauty in reds and browns and greys, but never had he seen such a rich colour palette. How could he throw this away?

To never see trees and rivers again was unthinkable. To never sit in the grass again, running your hands over the velvet carpet as he was right now? Unthinkable.

"Da, you're going to get your pants wet," Klaudiya said dubiously, eyeing the damp ground with distaste.

Sloane beamed up at his beautiful daughter. "Sit, Klaudiya. Feel the damp ground under your knees. Touch the grass. Smell the earth. Would you not miss this if you went back to the Three-Fold Land?"

Her eyes were pitying. "No, I wouldn't. This is the wetlands. I miss the dry air, the red sands, the sunbaked land. I don't like this green and trees and rivers everywhere. It's not right. It doesn't belong in the Three-Fold Land like we do. You belong there."

"No, Klaudiya." Sloane replied gently. "I belong here. This is my home now. I have nothing to go back to. I made the decision to come to the wetlands, and while I didn't know exactly what it would entail, I made the decision. I'm happy with my decision. I'm staying here."

"You are Aiel. Aiel don't belong in the wetlands, they belong in the Three-Fold Land! The wetlands have changed you; they've softened you. You're as bad as one of them." Rising, Klaudiya brushed at the grass stains on her white skirt, a futile gesture. "I'm almost ashamed to call you my father."

Huh. And with those simple words the pieces fell together into a discernible whole. Suddenly Sloane knew exactly where he was and what he needed to do. "Then don't."

"I beg your pardon?"

He had to crane his neck to look up at Klaudiya, but he refused to stand. "Don't call me your father. Face it: I'm not your father. I may be your birth father, but you were right. I left you. It was my decision and I left. Your father is the man who raised you. The one who dedicated his life to his people and his family. I will be Aes Sedai one day; that's what I've been dedicating my life towards for the past twelve years. We've been so caught up in our relation that we've missed the big picture. I will be Aes Sedai, and that won't change. Whether it's five years from now or fifty, I will be Aes Sedai eventually, and I won't stop trying until I get there.

"I think it's best if we forget that there's any relation between us. If you stay you will call me Accepted Sloane and I will call you Novice Klaudiya. To me, you are just another novice, and to you, I'm just another Accepted. I hope you understand."

Klaudiya stared at Sloane, completely dumbfounded. "So that's it, then. You won't come back to the Three-Fold Land. You won't call yourself my father. You won't call me your daughter. What's the point, then? Why did I come here?" Without waiting for an answer she stormed off, but it didn't matter. There was no answer.

Eventually Sloane went inside, but not after he spent a long while sitting in the grass in the middle of the gardens. That time of the morning there were very few about, but those few who saw him ignored him, content to leave him deep in thought. Occasionally his hand would brush lightly against the grass, and it seemed to reassure him.

And as the rising sun cast its golden rays on his face, Sloane closed his eyes, absorbed in the caress of the sunlight, the velvet grass under his hands, and the scent of rich, damp earth, thick in his nostrils. For a little while he didn't have to be anyone, he could just be himself. And so he was.

Nobody was more surprised than Sloane when he was called to Symoane Sedai's apartment in the Brown Ajah quarters two weeks after being raised to Accepted. The pair tried to keep their distance from each other, not from the dislike that many of their peers assumed, but because of their love for each other. In a world where gossip and rumour were the fodder of the novices and Accepted, Sloane and Symoane managed to hide the fact that they were twins. In a world where competition was everything, neither could risk their positions for suspected favouritism, not that there would be any. Symoane had come to the White Tower when they were sixteen and was raised to Aes Sedai long before Sloane showed up. For all that they had been inseparable during their childhood, the long years apart had sundered their close relationship and now the best they could be called was acquaintances. Too many years had passed by and too many changes had occurred. No, there was no danger of favouritism between Sloane and his twin sister.

"So why would Symoane want to see me?" Sloane fiddled with the piece of paper that had been handed to him by the novice messenger. His tablemate, Aiyaela, shrugged her shoulders, frantically chewing a mouthful of food. She had run into breakfast late and claimed she only had five minutes to eat before she had to teach yet another class. The novice, staring fearfully at the large Aiel Accepted, didn't react at all, so entranced he was in his fear. Sloane bared his teeth in what could be called a smile if he was asked at the novice, snarling in his head at the stupid Cairhienin's reaction. The novice had to be Cairhienin for that sort of reaction. He was too short and scrawny, with an amazing mop of curly black hair, to be anything else.

Letting out a squeak, the boy ran off, tripping over his own feet on the way. Sloane sighed, ignoring Aiyaela's distorted giggle as she took another bite of her bread. Instead, Sloane looked at the piece of paper in his hand, wondering again what his sister wanted. She had practically ignored him since he came to the White Tower. Understandable, seeing how she had been there for so long while he was still in the Three-Fold Land. His sister had changed, as had he, and now they were practically strangers.

Her note didn't even say anything important: it was just a summons to her room. Why?

"Sloane, rereading it won't change what it says," Aiyaela pointed out between mouthfuls, "just finish your breakfast and go. Symoane Sedai's really nice; she's taught me some classes on the Aiel. I think she said she was Daryne Aiel too. Did you know her?" Leaping to her feet, Aiyaela snatched up her dirty dishes and ran off, unaware that her innocuous comment set Sloane to choking on his own breakfast. A few curious novices and Accepted glanced his way, but nobody got up when they realized he would be okay.

Blushing furiously, Sloane looked once more at the slip of paper before crumpling it up into a tiny ball and throwing it into his porridge bowl. Even though he had barely eaten he wasn't hungry anymore. He just wanted to get this meeting with his sister the Aes Sedai over with. So, after cleaning up his dirty dishes, he hurried from the dining hall and up to the Brown Ajah quarters to find Symoane's room. He had only been there a handful of times since coming to the White Tower, and though he had a good memory for trails and tracks through the Three-Fold Land, the corridors of the White Tower were frighteningly similar and it was easy for him to get lost in them.

Luck was with him; he found Symoane's room easily through fragmented memories and guesswork. She let him in with a cool smile, no acknowledgement that her brother was visiting her. "Thank you for coming so promptly," was all she said as she held the door open. Making a face at his sister's unresponsive back, Sloane proceeded to try to make himself comfortable in the sitting room while she prepared something in the tiny kitchen area.

Standing in the middle of the sitting room, he stared around in abstract horror at the furnishings in the room; there was a table. And chairs! This was not the Aiel way. Where were the bright cushions that used to be scattered across the floor? What happened to the draping wall hangings that decorated the walls? This room had nothing Aiel about it; it was pure wetlander.

"Sloane?" Finally there was some expression in Symoane's voice. Too bad it was surprise. "Why aren't you sitting?"

Sloane turned an incredulous look on his sister. "On one of those?" His eyes cut to one of the overstuffed armchairs arranged in a square around the low slung table that she was now setting a tray with a teapot and two cups on.

"Yes, on one of those," she replied. "What's wrong with using a chair?"

Sloane gaped. "What's...what's wrong with a chair? Are you kidding me? Chairs are the wetlander way! You're Aiel, Symoane. Aiel don't use chairs."

"I'm Aes Sedai, Sloane. Not Aiel. Not Aiel, not wetlander. I'm not from the Waste, the Sea Folk Islands, Andor or Tarabon. I'm Aes Sedai now, and that means I have to cut my ties to my past, as you will. Now sit."

Stubborn, Sloane sank down onto the floor beside one of the chairs, refusing a cup of tea. It wasn't even Aiel tea; it was something the Wetlanders drank. For all that his sister wore the cadin'sor, she was no longer Aiel.

"I want to congratulate you on your raising," she began between sips of her hot tea, "as Aes Sedai to a pupil. That is all there is between us, Sloane. I had hoped you had realized that. But as we both have to let go of all ties to our past, that also means we have to forget familial ties. I can't be accused of favouring you, and you can't be accused of using the fact that I'm your sister to better yourself. So it's best if we forget our relationship, at least for now."

Sloane was speechless; whatever it was he had been expecting, it certainly wasn't that. Symoane called him to her study to tell him that they could no longer be brother and sister? It was absurd!

"That's not why I asked you here, though. I didn't realize I had to tell you until I saw you again. Sloane, I arrived here when I was sixteen, and oh how I missed you then, but I learned that it just couldn't be. I never expected to see you again. Then you show up and you're a novice. I was already Aes Sedai. How could we go back to our old relationship? We had spent more time apart than together, anyhow. For all that we were born at the same time to the same mother, we don't have the bond that most twins have, and I'm content to leave it that way."

Sloane made a face at Symoane for echoing those thoughts he had less than half an hour before. Why did she have to be right? But it was true; he barely knew his sister.

"Now, I asked you here because of my research. As you know, all Browns have an area they study. Mine is Talents and their relation to Elemental strengths and weaknesses. The Mistress of Novice asked me not long after I started my research to start matching up Accepted with possible Talent lessons. Not only can I guess what sort of Talents you have because of your Elements, but because you and I have identical strengths and weaknesses, I think we will have similar Talents. My Talents are Spinning Earthfire and Earthsinging, and I think you could be proficient in either or both of those Talents.

"I took the liberty of clearing your schedule for today. Instead of your regular classes you will go on a field trip to the Black Tower to take place in a Spinning Earthfire lesson. When you get back, I'd like for you to come tell me whether or not it is one of your Talents, okay?"

"Um. Yes, Symoane." Rising, Sloane bowed to his sister-who-was-no-longer-his-sister. "Thank you. I think."

"Be in the Traveling Yards in a quarter of a candlemark; your escort will meet you there."

"Yes, Symoane." Still dazed and confused, Sloane took his leave of Symoane Sedai's room , not even saying goodbye. He felt as though his world had been turned upside down, and in a way it had been. Shaking his head, Sloane headed down to the Traveling Yards, still trying to figure out why his twin sister had disowned him.

"You're my escort?" Sloane was hardpressed to keep the incredulous scorn out of his voice, and unfortunately for him, he didn't succeed.

The blonde woman raised an eyebrow. "Asha'man Jadsia. Aren't you a little old to be a newly raised Accepted?" She crossed her arms over her chest, daring him to say something.

Sloane grit his teeth but didn't take the bait. He was older than normal to be a White Tower initiate, but he had good reason. Technically he should never have come to the Tower. This woman, though, looked nothing like what Sloane expected from an Asha'man. He was very tall, especially to the wetlanders, but this woman was definitely short for a wetlander. She just barely came up to his shoulder. Her blonde hair was quite short and slicked back in a bit of a cap, looking like Aiyaela's did, though Aiy's was longer. And she was young; Sloane doubted she was even twenty. He knew that women started channeling much earlier than men, but to be Asha'man when you weren't even twenty? It was absurd. The only thing at all soldier like about her was her blue eyes: they were cold and hard, used to seeing battle and not caring. Sloane met her eyes once and then refused to again. He would not like to face her on the battlefield.

"Very well," she said, and Sloane could feel the tingle that indicated a when a woman was channeling. He barely noticed it now, having spent so long in the Tower where he was surrounded by women who could and did channel practically day and night, but he hadn't been in such close proximity for a while. After several long moments a gateway snapped open revealing Sloane's first glimpse of the Black Tower. You mean it isn't actually a Tower? Directly in front of him was a barren field where clusters of black clad figures were scattered, and Sloane assumed they were channeling. He couldn't tell from here, but that must have been what they were doing.

He stepped through the gate, ignoring Jadsia's snicker when he had to duck to safely cross. Once on the other side he turned a wary eye to his surroundings, wondering what life would have been like if he had been sent here rather than the White Tower. A long grassy patch to his left, several buildings to his right and beyond those a faint glitter in the trees that must be the lake he had been told about by Aiyaela, and behind him…Sloane's stomach rebelled violently at the sight of what was hanging from the branches of what could only be the Traitor's tree. There were only a few, but even so, seeing and smelling any number of heads in various states of decay was beyond disturbing. And I am glad I never came here.

"Wait here. Your teacher will be along soon." Jadsia turned and marched away, leaving Sloane suddenly alone and strangely vulnerable in the middle of the Travelling Yards.

Knowing that wasn't the smartest place to be, he moved to the edge where he'd be less likely to get sliced in half by an opening gateway. He'd seen what happens to anything in the path of one of those windows and would rather not become one of those objects. Once he was out of the way, Sloane took the opportunity to study his view of the Black Tower, however badly named it was, because he knew he'd have very few chances.

The most depressing thing about the Black Tower, he decided, was the unrelieving black that everyone wore. At least there was colour once an initiate reached Acceptedhood. As it was, now he felt that he stuck out like a sore thumb, a dove amidst a flock of ravens. Even the man with sandy brown hair approaching him wore the pitch black uniform, though at least he had a red enameled dragon on his collar, like the woman did.

"Accepted Sloane?"

Sloane bowed low to the man. "Yes, Asha'man?"

"I am Asha'man Khonnor, Asha'man to the likes of you. Symoane Sedai asked me especially to teach you a private lesson on Spinning Earthfire, and I agreed because I respect her. But listen here, you will not get any flaming special treatment because you are a bleeding Accepted, you hear? You are here to bloody work, and you will work hard, am I clear?"

"Yes, Asha'man." Sloane stared hard at the man with muddy brown eyes, wondering exactly why Symoane had asked him to teach Sloane a private lesson. Judging from what the Asha'man had said, it didn't normally happen.

Khonnor moved off towards the green that Sloane had noticed, calling over his shoulder, "good. And no flaming backtalk. You look like her. Anyone tell you that?"

Sloane stumbled slightly at the mention of the resemblance. That was the second time someone had commented today. He didn't think they looked that much alike, but then to the wetlanders, all Aiel look alike. "She's Aiel, too. And we're from the same Clan." She couldn't possibly get mad at Sloane for mentioning that. After all, she was Symoane of the Red Sands sept of the Daryne Aiel; there was no doubt they were from the same sept, let alone clan.

"No more bleedin chitchat. Now you're here to work." Khonnor had stopped on the edge of another barren field, but this one was deserted. "These are the Blasting Grounds. You're flaming lucky that nobody else is holding classes out here. Makes it three times as dangerous." Khonnor's face stretched into a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "This is blasted dangerous stuff you'll be learning, so you listen to every flaming word I say and nobody gets hurt, understood? I can't be held responsible if you make a ruddy mess of everything and get yourself killed. Blood and ashes, I don't know why I agreed to teach a bleeding Accepted here in the bloody Black Tower, but I agreed, now I have to flaming live with it." That last bit was muttered to himself, but Sloane's keen ears caught most of it.

"Yes, Asha'man," Sloane replied, ignoring the insult to his honour. His honour was touchy, as were all Aiel, but since his Accepted raising he was even more sensitive and saw insult in the simplest things. Here he knew it would be his death if he reacted at all to any insult, real or imagined, against an Asha'man. So Sloane held his temper, a talent he learned in the Three-Fold Land many years before, and followed the Asha'man across the field to where a pile of rocks lay in a tumbled down heap.

"So you're Talented in Spinning Earthfire, hey? It's a fairly common Talent, one of the most common offensive Talents and one that prevails in the Black Tower. I-"

Sloane quickly interrupted him before Khonnor could continue, a boldly foolish move. "I don't know if I'm Talented, sir."

"Blood and bloody flaming ashes! Don't you ever interrupt me boy!" Khonnor roared at Sloane, shocking the poor Accepted. His face was turning purple and his eyes were popping out of their sockets, he was so mad. Sloane carefully took a step or two away from the Asha'man, in case he started swinging. Sloane could hold his own against this slightly pudgy man in a physical fight, but when it came down to offensive weaves with saidin he was truly at a disadvantage. On that note, stepping away from the Asha'man wouldn't help against the One Power; it might even make the man madder.

"I'm sorry, Asha'man, but it's unknown if I'm truly Talented in Spinning Earthfire, sir. My sister is and she seems to think I will be too." Light pray that I am Talented. I'd hate to see what he thinks if I'm not and his time is wasted. "She wants me to learn regardless, but I may not have the Talent."

"Fine." Khonner snapped. "You might be Talented, you might not. But you will not leave the Black Tower until you have flaming learned the secrets to Spinning Eathfire, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"And never, ever interrupt me again."

"Yes, sir."

"Now. What is spinning Earthfire?"

Sloane gaped at the Asha'man. Wasn't that why he was here? "To tell the truth, sir," he responded cautiously, "I don't know. I have no idea what it is or what it does, just that it's an offensive weave that has something to do with Earth and Fire, I'd assume." He held his breath, waiting for the explosion that was sure to come.

Khonnor stared at Sloane for several heartbeats, face expressionless. "Your bloody sister sent you to the Black Tower to learn how to use a Talent you may not even flaming have and have no idea what it is? Is your sister bleeding stupid or something? Or maybe she flaming wants you dead. Hah!" The Asha'man laughed, a surprisingly infectious sound that had Sloane chuckling too.

"That's rich, flaming rich. Well, you won't die today unless you're so bloody stupid I kill you myself, understood?" Sloane nodded. "Spinning Earthfire is a devastating battle weave, whether or not you're Talented. In Talented hands, one can draw molten rock out of the earth. In untalented hands it can still be bleeding dangerous: one can melt rocks and melt the earth around the enemy. The stronger the Talent and channeling abilities, the deeper one can draw from, bringing hotter and less viscuous magma to the surface."

"Oh..." understanding dawned on Sloane. He had seen this practiced near the Training Yards by Accepted when he was a novice, way back before the two Towers started mixing lessons. He hadn't known what it was called, back then, and it was a rare Talent to be taught in the White Tower, understandably since it was an offensive weave. Now that the alliance with the Black Tower extended to lessons as well, almost all lessons using offensive weaves were taught in the Black Tower.

"You see?" Khonnor had a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Sloane suddenly had the irrational desire to punch the man, but he managed to hold his temper in check, though barely.

"Yes, sir. I know what you're talking about now."

"Good." Bending down, Khonnor made a show of selecting a rock from the pile at his feet. Sloane couldn't see anything about the rock that made it different from the rest, but he took it on faith that Khonnor knew what he was doing. "Here." Khonnor tossed the rock at Sloane. "Now melt that."

"Um. Sir?" Sloane was confused; he had no idea how to go about melting a rock. It wasn't as simple as adding Fire, was it?

Khonnor sighed, rolling his eyes, then went back to sorting through the rocks. He pulled out a few other likely candidates, then straightened with the largest still in his hand. "Melt the rock. No, not in your flaming hand, you fool! Weave a platform of Air, rest the bleeding rock on it, then melt it!"

Sloane eyed the Asha'man dubiously. "By adding Fire?"

"Yes! Do I have to flaming show you?"

"It would help, sir," Sloane admitted.

"Bleeding idjit," Khonnor muttered under his breath. "You make the platform first, yes?" He looked up and saw Sloane's rock floating in place, just below eye level for the Accepted, which was over Khonnor's head. He knew how to make platforms of Air; he learned those as a novice, in one of his first channeling lessons.

"Smartass." This time the comment wasn't muttered. "First, shield the rock or you'll get liquid rock everywhere and that's bloody messy, not to mention painful if you get it on you."

Seizing, Sloane created a bubble of Spirit about twice the size of the rock and wrapped it around the floating stone. Mindful that Spirit was not one of his strengths, he examined the shield very carefully, checking for any holes, before turning back to the Asha'man.

"Now you melt it." Sloane watched the weaves Khonnor made with hungry eyes, drinking in the knowledge with an eagerness that surprised him. Maybe it was how the Talent was presented to him, or Khonnor's attitude, or even his bloodthirsty Aiel heritage, but right this very moment he wanted nothing more than to be Talented for this. He would be unstoppable if he could master this particular lesson.

"Now you do it," Khonnor interrupted Sloane's train of thought. Now it was the Asha'man's turn to study the weaves his pupil was forming with all the intensity Sloane was watching with just a moment ago.

Gazing at the rock in an abstract way, seeing but not seeing if such a thing was possible, Sloane gently encased it in a wrapping of Fire and Earth with little dashes of Spirit spread out. Once it was complete, the weave sank into the rock, just under the surface. Khonnor was waiting for that moment, because as soon as the weave had disappeared from sight he looked up at Sloane. "Well, boy? Are you Talented?"

Sloane frowned. How was he supposed to know? "I don't know. Am I?"

Khonnor rolled his eyes yet again. "Do you feel the bleeding rock, you flaming moron?

"Oh." Sloane looked at the rock again, and the weaves that had disappeared deep inside. He could feel something, a sort of gritty feeling he associated with Earth. Letting the weaves dissipate, Sloane rewove them and settled them into the rock once more. Yes, there it was. That gritty feeling and a oneness, like he was the rock, or a part of it.

"Yes, I am Talented," he stated with a dumb grin on his face. "Symoane Sedai was right, I guess."

"Fine. Now melt the rock. All you have to do is thicken those strands of Fire until the rock melts. Whatever you do, do not draw the Fire out of the rock when you want to cool it. Let it dissipate naturally or you can cause the rock to shatter or explode. I won't let myself be injured by a flaming Accepted's stupidity."

"Yes, sir." Sloane slowly thickened the strands of Fire within the rock, feeling the changes as the lump slowly softened, working its way from the inside out. He could see the orangey glow first, and then the outside sort of crumbled, and then it was a puddle on the bottom of his shield. "Wow," he whispered, hoping the Asha'man wouldn't hear him.

"Good. Now let it harden."

Sloane did so, letting the Fire dissipate on its own but holding the Earth and Spirit stable. Then it was a hard half-sphere, turned back to it's original greyish brown colour.

"Now shape your shield into something and melt the rock so that it takes the shape of the shield. This time your shield has to be the exact size of the rock so you don't have any air pockets."

"Yes sir." Sloane was getting rather tired of all this sir-ing; he would never be able to survive at the Black Tower for long. He turned back to his shield, momentarily at a loss for what he should make. Maybe I should melt the rock first. Then it would actually fit.

Luckily for him, Khonnor didn't catch his near slip. He just watched the Accepted, expressionless, while Sloane carefully reformed his shield into the shape of a soaring hawk. He had always teased Symoane about being a hawk and even called her little hawk when they were younger, before she had left for the Tower. She'd appreciate this.

Once again he slowly cooled his little statuette, and when it was cool enough to handle, gave it to Khonnor for inspection. "Well, sir?" He asked with a bow.

Khonnor inspected Sloane's hawk statuette with far more scrutiny than Sloane thought it warranted, but didn't complain, knowing he'd just get yelled at again. He'd never realized how much the White Tower coddled him. They were full of praise every time something went right and encouragement for each failure. Here at the Black Tower it seemed that success was expected and failure was scolded or punished. And is Khonnor this way because of how he was trained, or is it natural? Sloane knew he couldn't base his opinions on his meeting with just Khonnor, but instinctively he knew this was the Black Tower. Yet another reason that he was glad he had chosen the White.

"Good enough," Khonnor finally muttered to Sloane. Sloane guessed that he should be pleased; Khonnor didn't seem the type to offer praise lightly. He just couldn't muster the enthusiasm, though. His day at the Black Tower was slowly draining him. Maybe it was seeing all the black clad bodies that he knew were considered disposable by their leaders and the powers that be, or maybe it was using saidin in what he knew was one of the more destructive ways.

"Now you get to learn the fun part of this flaming Talent," Khonnor smiled at Sloane in a very sadistic manner. Sloane refrained from grimacing and managed to aim a sickly smile in Khonnor's direction, who didn't see it. "This bloody talent isn't about making pretty rock formations. It's about destruction. About defeating the enemy." Sloane stared at Khonnor in horror; was the man insane? When did he start channeling? It must have been before the cleansing. Nobody should be born with the Talent to destroy. It wasn't in nature for destruction. Wave Dancing could be used for destruction, yes, but it was a matter of controlling the waves in the ocean. You could destroy or create with it. Nothing should be pure destruction.

Balefire. Sloane reminded himself bleakly. That was one weave that was designed for pure destruction. But it wasn't a Talent, just a weave, as warped as the mind of the person who created it. Talent was an ability born into someone. Nobody could be born with such a destructive personality. Could they?

"Spinning Earthfire is controlling molten earth. Those who are truly Talented can draw it up from deep inside the flaming earth's crust and manipulate the bloody stuff once it's within reach. Much can be done with this part of the bleeding Talent, if you have the flaming balls for it."

Do I? Sloane watched Khonnor form the weaves for reaching deep into the earth to summon the magma, as he called it. They seemed simple enough, if on a scale much larger than he was accustomed to. But if it was a Talent for him like Khonnor said, then these types of weaves would be easier than he thought. He hoped.

Khonnor stopped suddenly in midweave, eyeing Sloane cautiously. "I don’t have to explain any of this bleeding stuff to you, do I? You know what magma flaming is, I hope, and all the rest about this Talent?"

"Yes, sir." Sloane responded even though he knew very little on the subject. He figured rather than face the wrath of Khonnor, he'd just research it when he made it back to the White Tower. In the meantime he'd glean as much as he could from observing the mouthy Asha'man. It hadn't been hard so far, anyway; how much harder could it be? As long as Khonnor showed him how to do it, he'd be fine.

Eyeing the weaves-they were more complicated that he had originally thought-Sloane seized saidin. He would not fail, especially not for the satisfaction of this Asha'man. Though they were difficult, the weaves weren't impossible. They would just require more time and care in constructing them.

Face taut with concentration, Sloane began to emulate Khonnor's weaves and nearly dropped them, saidin and all, at his shout. "Are you trying to get us bloody killed? Make a flaming shield, you blasted moron!"

Oops. Switching the goal of his weaves, Sloane built a shield around the pair, then went back to his painstaking creation of the weaves that would hopefully summon magma. Down it coiled, a thick spiral a pace in diameter made up of Earth, Spirit, Air, and most importantly, Fire. Sloane followed the spring down into the earth, feeling for what Khonnor was describing as he wove it. He could sense the rushing flow of liquid fire, and adjusted the weave to dip into it. Pulling, Sloane brought himself back to the real world and waited to see if it worked.

At first there was nothing, then a faint rumbling of the ground. Sloane glanced at Khonnor, who nodded at him as the rumbling grew louder. Accompanying the rumbling was a shaking, much like an earthquake. Then, with a loud crack, the ground just outside the shield ruptured and a geyser of molten rock flew up into the air, three times Sloane's height. "Whoa..." Sloane breathed, amazed at the sheer power the magma exuded in its flight. Then it turned and crashed back to the ground, cooling as it fell so that rocks, rather than droplets, bounced off the shield encompassing Sloane and Khonnor. Sloane was thankful he thought to make a bubble shaped shield rather than just a wall of Air, but he had the feeling if he hadn't completely enclosed the pair, Khonnor would have yelled again. He had the habit of doing that.

Sloane continued to hold the shield, waiting until he was sure the magma was cool enough. He didn't get to wait, though, because from behind him Khonnor growled for him to put it back. "Excuse me, sir?" Sloane didn't think he had hear the Asha'man properly.

"You heard me. Put it back. In the bloody ground. In other words, clean up the flaming mess you made."

"Yes, sir." Whipping out tendrils of Fire, Sloane heated the hardened magma until it glowed cherry red and moved like honey. Determined to prove something to the Asha'man, Sloane didn't wait for Khonnor to tell him what to do. He scooped up the liquified rock with Air, forcing it back into the hole it came from. He could feel it as it slid down, back into the river. And then all sign of the lesson was gone, except for the shiny piece of rock plugging the hole and the blackened circle of ground where the magma had landed. Dropping the shield, Sloane turned to Khonnor. "Now what, sir?"

Sloane had hoped and hoped that it was the end of the lesson. After all, he knew how to mold rocks, he knew how to summon magma from deep under the ground and return it. What else was there to know about this Talent? Judging from Khonnor's smirk of pure evil, there was something else.

"Now we go on a trip." Grabbing Sloane'e elbow, Khonnor practically dragged the Accepted back the way he had come, to the Travelling Yards. Though Sloane was much taller than the Asha'man he nearly had to run to keep up with Khonnor's ground eating strides. Entering the Travelling Yards, Khonnor barely slowed, seizing saidin and weaving a Gateway then plowing through it the minute it opened. Off balance, Sloane had to duck to get through the opening or risk getting beheaded. Not a pleasant fate under any circumstance, and especially not because of an over-eager Asha'man.

The world on the other side of the gateway was as different from the one Sloane and Khonnor had just left as night and day. Blistering heat enveloped the pair, though Khonnor seemed not to notice, and the sun pounded blindingly down onto a barren landscape. Sloane looked around with watering eyes, not from the bright light or heat but in reaction to the overwhelming wave of emotions that crashed down on him. He was home. He took a deep breath, the hot, dry air searing his lungs in welcome familiarity. Though it hurt it was a good hurt, because it was what home smelled like. Sloane had finally returned to the Three-Fold Land.

"Sir, why are we here?" Sloane knew that he would probably get yelled at for questioning his teacher, but he was curious; he didn't see the point of coming to the Three-Fold land. After all, the lesson was over, wasn't it?

"You didn't think the lesson was over, did you?" Khonnor voiced Sloane's very thoughts. It was eerie the way the man perpetually did that. Was he using some trick of the power or was Sloane really being so predictable? He shook it off, vowing not to let the Asha'man surprise him again. He had the feeling that it wouldn't be very long before he was shocked once more, though.

"Here" was a barren plain in the north of the Three-Fold Land. When Sloane took another deep breath he could taste the taint of the Blight at the back of his throat, so they must be at the far northern reaches, on the Blight border itself. Sloane had only been this far north a handful of times, and none of those times stirred up pleasant memories. So why was he here now?

"Look," Khonnor was pointing to the north where, if Sloane squinted, he could see a dark line moving. "We've been tracking Trolloc raids across the borderlands. Reliable information told us they would be here today, at this time. Because of your bloody thickheadedness, we almost missed them. As it was, I had to flaming alter the destination so that we wouldn't arrive in the middle of the blasted fist."

"Trollocs?" Sloane forced himself to sound casual. "We're facing Trollocs? Again, why are we here?"

Khonnor rolled his eyes. "You really are thick, aren't you? Bloody flaming Accepteds. We are here so that you can exercise your newfound flaming talent. We are here for you to destroy them. You have the blasted Talent, don't you? Then use it. Folding his arms in front of his chest, he fixed an eagle-eyed glare on Sloane. "I won't do anything to save us. It's all you. So you'd better do something blasted soon, don't you flaming think?

I 'flaming think' that you and you bloody, blasted flaming Black Tower should rot in Shayol Ghul under the watchful eyes of the Dark Lord! Of course, Sloane didn't say this. He did want to survive to make it back to the White Tower in one piece, after all. Instead he cast a wary eye on the moving black line that represented his opponents. Though they were still very far away, they were moving closer at very rapid speed and it would only be a few minutes before they would overtake the pair. And Khonnor claimed he wouldn't do anything to save his life? Licking his lips, Sloane asked the Asha'man, "They really are Trollocs? Not an Illusion? And you really won't do anything to save your life?"

"Oh, I would save my life; just not yours. If you want to flaming survive, you have to make it so. And they really and truly are bloody Trollocs. You'd be able to see the Illusion if it was cast by a man and feel the tingle if it was by a woman. Those really are bloody living Trollocs and they've seen us." This was all delivered in a conversational tone, not something you'd expect from someone who was about to be trambled by a herd of Trollocs and intending on leaving his companion behind. "A hint: take out the blasted Myrddraal first. There will be at least one."

"Right," Sloane mumbled under his breath, fixing the rapidly approaching line with a critical eye. He'd never fought Trollocs before, so he had no idea what to expect. He didn't even know where the Myrddraal would be: did they lead from the head of the line, or the back of the army? He couldn't wait too long to identify it; they would be trampled if he did that. Since the line was long rather than spread out, Sloane didn't have to make too big of a weave. He did wish he'd had more practice with it, though.

A deep breath and saidin was his. With all of his senses sensitized and enhanced he could see the individual faces on the Trollocs that were approaching, the ugly mish-mash of man meets beast. It was completely random, too. One had ram's horns on an eagle beaked head, another looked all human except for his wolf muzzle and-of all things-rabbit ears. And in front of them all, the only figure on horseback that he could see, was the Myrddraal. "I don't really know what to do...I don't know a whole lot about this stupid Talent." Sloane muttered to himself, thankfully out of Khonnor's hearing. At least, Khonnor didn't react as though he had heard at all. Sloane didn't want to underestimate the psychotic Asha'man.

Sloane watched the Trollocs approach for a few seconds to gauge their speed. Once he felt confident that he knew how fast they were moving he moved with lightning speed; the net of Fire, Earth and Air plunged through the ground like a hawk after its prey. Then he pulled and a gout of magma flew high in the air, hovered for a split second, then swooped down on the advancing army like that same hawk. For a fleeting moment Sloane knew only the satisfaction of a job completed. Then the screams began and the reality of what he just did sank in.

With saidin enhanced vision Sloane searched through the flaming wreckage for any survivors. There were only a few but their pain-filled shrieks voiced the pain of the many who could no longer scream. Those few survivors, had he wanted to save them, were beyond salvation. Their skin blistered and oozed, he could see it from here, and some were even burning. Not smouldering, but actually burning, the flames audibly crackling over the screeches. Even at such a distance Sloane could feel the heat and it was a wonder his own skin wasn't blistering.

The wind shifted, bringing the scent of smoke and burning flesh. That, and the realization of the slaughter he had instigated, was too much. Tumbling to his knees, Sloane choked and gagged, his empty stomach emptying itself further repeatedly until he was nearly too weak to move. His eyes, filmed over with tears, still stared in horror at what he had done. Another wave of nausea gripped him and it took all of his willpower to hold it back. Closing his eyes did nothing; he could still see those faces, contorted in agony as screams were ripped from throats raw with previous pain-wracked shrieks. Eyes opened or closed, it didn't matter. Sloane could see them, hear them and smell them.

What was worse was that he felt for them. They were monsters, they would kill him, they would kill, torture, rape, eat innnocents, and that's why he had to stop them. But it was slaughter. It wasn't a fight where they had an equal chance to kill him. Okay, more than equal since there were a lot more of them than he, but they had no defense against the One Power. None at all. The injustice of it shocked him. Was this how they trained their fighters at the Black Tower? Was this what the Black Tower did? "Justice." Sloane mumbled under his breath.

Surprisingly strong hands lifted him from behind, settling the Accepted back on his feet and an equally surprisingly gentle voice said, "You just saved thousands of innocents. What is the point of getting yourself killed when you're trying to save those innocents? If you die, who will protect them? Sloane, it is justice because you saved those people. Let's go home now."

All Sloane could think, beyond the fact that Khonnor was wrong, it was not justice and he must have been brainwashed by his beloved Black Tower of Homicidal Maniacs, was that that was the longest thing the Asha'man had said without cursing.

OOC: Lyrics credits: Dust in the Wind ~ Kansas