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chiefdefendofcherryblossom · 3 years

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NABC Writer’s Challenge

Good evening my fellow writers! I’m sorry I wasn’t able to post earlier, it’s been stressful and hectic. How’d your 1000 word ramble go? Here’s mine:

My demon probably wasn’t going to agree.

“I’m going, Barney.”

The spirit hovering by me glowered. “Don’t call me that! How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Barnabus! And I will not let you!”

“Barnabus,” I grumbled under my breath as I shoved things into my suitcase. “A lovely name for a lovely young demon.”

Barnabus’s aura didn’t darken like it did when he was really ticked at me. Instead, he sighed. “I’m your guardian angel, Dern. No demon.”

“Really? Well, you might want to take a refresher course in angelic qualities. You don’t even remotely bring angel to mind, let alone angelic guardian.”

I probably shouldn’t taunt the powerful being like I did. But he was being annoying, so I was going to be annoying back.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Think about it! I can test the first real-life time machine. The pay will set us up for years. And I already bought the ticket.”

I glanced around. I’d packed everything, hadn’t I?

“You want to know why they pay so well? To attract idiots like you to be lost forever in time! How’d you like to live out your life stuck in the 1100s? And think about me, Dern! This really makes it very hard to keep you safe. It’s better to not go.” he nodded, as if he’d settled the matter.

I grabbed my suitcase and walked to the door, putting on my coat. I ran through my mental list. Keys, ticket, wallet, check.

“Well, Barney, you can stay if it makes you all that happy.” I opened the door and let myself out, smiling tauntingly.

Grumbling, he floated to my side. “I knew you’d change your mind,” I said, locking the door to my one-bedroom apartment shut. “Boy, am I glad to leave this place.”

“And you expect certain death to be better?” Barnabus demanded.

I grinned. “There’s no death in the contract, let alone certain. And even that’s got to be better than what we’ve got. If life were food,” I explained nonchalantly as we walked to the car, “Mine would be that bland, awful oatmeal mush that Dad used to make, and yours something that’s making the fridge smell like mold. Compared to that, even McDonalds would be good.”

I slid into the driver’s seat of my blue truck. “Which means that death, even if it isn’t certain, is an upgrade! If we don’t die, it’s still a win-win.”

Barnabus rolled his eyes. His spheres of angelic sight must be loose, they’d fall out of his head soon. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so cranky - he wouldn’t be able to jump at shadows at every corner. Or maybe, he’d be even worse, because with no sight, all you’d see was shadows, right? So maybe I didn’t want to go there after all. “Need me to fix that?” I said.

Barnabus frowned. “What?”

“Looks like a few of your screws are loose,” I told him, spinning the wheel for a right turn. “Wouldn’t want those eyes to fall out and make you even more cynical.”

Barnabus’ only response was, “I can’t believe I still like you, Dern.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’m a charmer, huh? A bad influence, too. Double points for me.”

I adjusted my rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of my reflection.

Tall, lanky boy with thick, unruly blond hair, smirking at the empty space where Barnabus’ reflection should be.

“What makes me so special that I get my own demon?” I asked. “Or does everyone get a demon and nobody knows? That doesn’t seem like it’d work so well.”

Barnabus paused.

“Well, when your mother died…”

I swallowed. “Yeah?”

“She, well, wanted me to look after you.”

“Why didn’t she come do that herself?” My tone had more bite than I meant it to.

“That’s not how it works, Dern. She...she’s busy.”

“Busy? She’s dead. She should have plenty of time for me now.” I scoffed. “Even dead, I’m second priority.”

I readjusted my mirror, so I couldn’t see Barnabus’s expression and flustered hand movements. Why did it irritate me so much?

“Anyways...most people don’t have one specific guardian assigned to them. You’re a special case, Dern.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled, turning left. “So I’ve always been told.”

It’s not bad, Dern. You’re just...special.

Us? We’re the disabled kids. Otherwise known as ‘special.’

Would you cut it out, Dern? You always act as though you’re so special!

I’m here to help your...special case.

When will you start acting like a normal child?!

“So special.” I murmured, flicking off my blinker.

Barnabus sighed. “I’m sorry, Dern.”

I stared at the picture that I’d taped next to my speedometer. Clara had her dark red hair tied in a messy bun, tongue wagging, left arm draped over my shoulders. I was laughing. Everything’s easier if you laugh, she’d told me.

I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Few people can be like I can.”

Reporting to the lab was exciting. Even Barnabus didn’t complain, taking in the movie-like surroundings. Pristine office, official workers buzzing around. I walked up to the counter and flashed my ticket. “Dern Reddcunt. I’m here to test the time machine?”

The short lady at the desk looked me over disapprovingly. “Uh-huh...one moment.” She clicked away on her computer for a few minutes, long enough for me to get bored, which, granted, wasn’t very long. I blew into Barnabus’s face, and he crackled lightning into mine.

I looked up as a little kid pushed through the doorway and looked over the lady’s shoulder.

“A kid?” Barnabus whispered. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with Metallica on it. His black hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a month, there were dark circles under his green eyes, and he held a huge cup of what I assumed was coffee. Despite all this, there was that wiry grin that most tweenagers have, and he seemed rather energetic.

“So this is my guy, huh, Ariel?”

The lady nodded. “Dern Reddcunt.”

I frowned. “Your guy? But you’re -”

The boy grinned, raising his mug. “A dweeby kid?”

I nodded. “Exactly. And you don’t look like you belong...here.” I glanced over my surroundings of white lights, whiter walls, crisp business suits - and back at him. Nope, he definitely didn’t match.

His eyes looked like static electricity trapped in a bottle. He smirked. “I’m Alistair Sheldon, and I invented the time machine. And I’ve just employed you to test it.”

He glanced back at the desk lady. “See ya, Ariel.” he winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Come on, kid.” he pulled open the door to what looked like a broom closet.

“Kid?” I grinned at his snark, jumping after him.

He shrugged. “People always called me that. Now I can do it to you.”

“And is this your...cleaning closet?”

Alistair laughed. “It used to be! Now it’s updated and renovated and made holy,”

I raised an eyebrow. “By what?”

His grin was so cocky. Oh, this kid was begging to be taken down a notch. “By my presence,” he said simply, and marched into the room.

I walked after him. Barnabus huffed. “Rude child.” he floated down the stairs.

“Whoa,” I breathed. “Some broom closet.”

It had been taken down into the whole basement level. Inset lights made up nearly the whole ceiling, and the place was divided into what looked like at least 50 different cubbyholes, a large room in the center. Heavy rock and deep classical blared at each other, fighting for eardrum breaking dominance. The walls had family pictures taped to them, and random colorful stains. Tools, trash, paper, oil, and various things lay strewn all over the place. Alistair smiled genuinely. “My favorite place in the world,” he spread his arm, indicating the whole place. “My lab.”

I nodded. “Not bad for a twelve year old.”

Alistair raised a finger. “Uh, I’ll have you know that I’m fourteen.”

“Sure.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me while I get your paperwork. In case you die or something. For legal status.” He turned away from me. “DAD! THE GUY IS HERE!”

I thought it was funny, if nothing else. Send me yours, I’d love to read them!

There are several key components in writing that I have found. Prose/narrative, dialogue, description/setting, and characters, which is a HUUUGE element. Anyway, today I want you to write three paragraphs - a minimum of 10 sentences, in deeply descriptive writing. Make me be able to feel, smell, see, touch, and hear everything. Let me know what characters look like and what vibe they’re putting off. Just make sure that as you write it, you get completely submerged into your setting, so the same thing can happen for your reader.

Here’s mine. I tried two different examples. The first is with my character Vienna, the second with my friend Kasv.

"Please...don't."

The tears roll down my face like wet beads, even as I try to suppress them. I rub at them with my sleeve, but the cloth is rough, and it irritates my raw skin.

"Get over it, you do this every day," I hiss to myself, scratching the scabs on my eyelids.

I curl in tighter to myself, huddling against my own body. "But it doesn't usually hurt like this, it doesn't!"

I feel a twinge of empathy for myself. "I know, I know. But you don't want to die, do you?"

My eyes are shut so tight that they start to hurt, bright spots flashing in odd ways. "No," I admit in a whimper. "But I - I - " I choke on my tears and convulse softly, the fear physically seeming to squeeze my lungs. "I don't want to."

I rub my shoulder. "I know, honey. I know. Let's do it quickly, alright?"

"I - " a hiccup stops my voice, and a large tear drips off my nose. "I don't want to!"

"Enough," I tell myself authoritatively. "You're going to live, I won't let you die. It'll only hurt for a few minutes."

Even as I sob and slide away, pushing against the hard wall, suddenly feeling my bruised tailbone, I nod. I don't want to die, not yet.

I stared at the figure retreating.

A feeling of blankness. Things this dramatic, they don't happen in real life. They are for stories. For heroes.

But it has just happened. To me. I am no hero. I am a wretch of a human that has lost the best thing to ever happen to them.

My eyes burn. I know I shouldn’t cry; boys don't cry.

I cry.

The tears hurt, each one feeling like a new weight that I’ve procured for myself.

Hate. Hate hate hate.

A part of me wishes to cry out in anger, hurt, and confusion. It comes out in a sad warble.

My soul is splitting inside me. It hurts. Living hurts. I hurt. I am hurt and I hurt others. I hurt.

Again, the wretched warble tries to push its way through my lips.

A shoulder shoves past, knocking into me.

Reality comes flooding back. I am in the train station. I need to do something. I cannot stay here and become a spectacle.

A heavy breath. I want to go after them.

No. I am not that weak.

...but I am.

I push through the others in the station, forcing my muscles, suddenly weak, to assist me.

The fluorescent lights are both harsh and not bright enough. I can’t tell where they have gone.

No! I can’t lose them!

Good luck, work hard, and have fun!

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neuxue · 7 years

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 3

In which Aviendha is confused.

Chapter 3: The Ways of Honour

Wow, it’s been a while since we had an Aviendha PoV. Not since The Path of Daggers, I think. It seems like that would be the hardest for an incoming writer to pick up from – if there are lots of existing PoV chapters, you at least have a solid base to work from. If there are none, then you have a bit more of a blank slate, depending on how established the character is. But if there are just a scattering of viewpoint chapters or sections here and there, it may not be enough to comfortably match tone, but it’s enough to potentially get it noticeably wrong. So…no pressure?

Anyway, she’s in Arad Doman, which is unsurprisingly not a particularly happy and thriving nation at the moment.

Aviendha did not fear death, but there was a very big difference between embracing death and wishing for it.

Would you care to share that wisdom with some characters in dire need of it, Aviendha?

If those refugees had been accustomed to travel and had learned to use their own feet, rather than relying on horses as wetlanders so often did, then it would not be so difficult for them to leave their towns.

Alright, let’s try not to blame the victims here, okay? Not their fault they don’t come from a desert wasteland.

Turns out she feels sorry for the refugees but can’t figure out why she feels sorry for them because they’re not her problem.

There was ji in caring for those who could not care for themselves.

Well hello Stormlight Archive, fancy seeing you here!

(I don’t actually have a problem with this line, I just find it amusing).

But she wasn’t a Maiden any longer, and she had accepted that. She now lived under a different roof. She was ashamed that she had resisted the change for so long. But that left her with a problem. What honour was there for her now? No longer a Maiden, not quite a Wise One. Her entire dientity had been wrapped up in those spears, her self forged into their steel

One of the interesting things about Aviendha’s character development is how so much of it has happened…not quite off-screen, but off-viewpoint and slightly out of focus. We get bits and pieces of it from her perspective, but most of her arc is seen through the eyes of other characters. Yet it still comes through, and we’ve watched her try to find her way along this path, while she and her entire people are having to change. She doesn’t know where she fits in, and it’s made even harder by the fact that her home and people and society are changing all around her.

And it’s been interesting to watch that largely from an outsider perspective, because it sort of mirrors the way the Aiel are shown – there are two books that deal with them fairly closely, but otherwise they are a strong presence and yet most often just out of focus. Yet their entire existence is changing – as it has been changing since the Breaking of the World – and there’s an undercurrent of that in nearly every scene they’re in, even when it’s not the direct focus.

But the ending is drawing close now, and Aviendha needs to take whatever her final step(s) is/are going to be, so it’s time to focus back in on her. And possibly on the Aiel as well? We have seen their past and their journey of constant and difficult change, and we’ve seen their present of accepting their prophecied destruction while fighting for everything they can save and still changing always changing, but what does their future hold? What final steps must they take to meet the ending, and whatever comes after?

She would have served her clan and sept until the day when she finally fell to the spear, bleeding her last water onto the parched earth of the Three-fold Land.

But she is no longer a Maiden, no longer holds a spear. She is no longer in the Three-fold Land, and there is a vast lake where once there was nothing but desert there. So much has changed, not to mention the fact that their duty and honour is now tied up in facing the end of the world, rather than anything remotely familiar.

She didn’t trust change. It couldn’t be spotted or stabbed

Don’t trust something you can’t stab.

I do find this opening part of the chapter thus far to be a bit…awkward, I guess. Sanderson tends to be more direct and straightforward when writing characters’ thought processes and emotional states and important turning points or characterisation moments – it’s not necessarily a bad thing; in his own books and with his own characters and style I think it often works, and he creates some really impactful scenes that way – but it stands out here, a bit. I think a lot of it is the removal from context – Aviendha begins by glancing at and thinking about the refugees, but the prose very quickly moves away from that and spends what feels like a little too much time in blank headspace.

And maybe I’m being unfair to Sanderson here. This is the frustrating part, where I don’t want to complain about every tiny little difference, and so then I end up wondering if I would even be bothered by something like this if Jordan had written the whole thing, or if it just stands out because I’m expecting it to. But then, there were a few noticeable differences in Rand’s most recent chapter, and those didn’t really bother me because they felt like they fit with where he is at the moment, more or less.

No doubt there is an element of bias here; I’m trying very hard not to let that colour all of my impressions, but if I’m writing my honest thoughts and impressions, that’s just going to be a part of it sometimes I guess.

No author is perfect, but I think it’s going to take a bit of time to adjust to a new and different set of authorial imperfections within a single story.

Aviendha really hates cities. Cities, apparently, are the root of all evil. As a Londoner, I’m going to have to wholeheartedly disagree and also agree.

The nearest [cities] were too distant from this location to make it a good spot for a wetlander farmstead.

Yeah, well, no one ever bothered to tell the Two Rivers that.

She remembered the scent of him – wetlander soaps, which smelled of oil, mixed with that particular earthy musk that was all his own.

So Jordan goes for fanfiction-cliché eye descriptions, and Sanderson apparently opts for fanfiction-cliché scent descriptions. I’m torn between cringeing and laughing.

(Descriptions of how people smell are also just a weird pet peeve of mine, even when written well. Maybe because I do not ever pay attention to what a person smells like unless it’s particularly unpleasant and I cannot think how I would describe the scent of a single person I know. But that’s just me.)

I’d suggest saving the wedding plans until after the apocalypse, if I were you. Though as far as she knows that would mean necrophilia so...maybe not.

Couldn’t he understand that a woman must bring honour to a marriage? What could a mere apprentice offer?

Aviendha. Please. You give him far too much credit. Rand al’Thor is a woolheaded sheepherder who understands approximately nothing of how romantic relationships work, despite having stumbled (or jumped through ice, or fallen out of a tree) into three. I hear communication is supposed to work wonders, though.

He must not have understood. She did not think him cruel, only dense.

Well you are not wrong. (What is the density of steel, exactly?) (I realised as I typed that that I actually know the answer, which is just downright sad).

She would come to him when she was ready, then lay the bridal wreath at his feet. And she couldn’t do that until she knew who she was.

It’s a fair point, but then you remember that Rand is having his own identity crisis of epic proportions and Aviendha, you can probably cut yourself some slack.

So Aviendha’s being punished rather than taught by the Wise Ones, and she can’t figure out why, or what she has done to lose so much honour in their eyes.

Until she sorted out this problem, she would remain an apprentice

Is this some kind of final test?

She would find honour again

Never let her meet Zuko.

And she would marry Rand al’Thor before he died at the Last Battle.

Okay but…why? They’re already joined by the Warder bond, they’ve slept together, they’ve declared love for each other…why is marriage so important? (Then again, this is a question that puzzles me in real life as well, absent things like tax benefits, so I guess I can’t really judge).

“The clans are uncertain what Rand al’Thor wishes of them. […] His intentions are not clear. He asked for us to restore order. Are we then to be like wetlander city guardsmen? That is no place for the Aiel. We are not to conquer, so we do not get the fifth. And yet it feels very much like conquest, what we do. The Car’a’carn’s orders can be clear yet ocnfusing at the same time. He has a gift in that area, I think.”

I like the parallel drawn here between Aviendha’s uncertainty of her place as an individual, and the Aiel’s uncertainty of their place as a people. Something is expected of them but they do not know exactly what, or what it entails, or how to define and quantify what they are meant to do, because the rules of honour and obligation have shifted in the face of new duty, or so it seems. They are facing change yet again, and so the story held in the glass columns continues. But if seeing it is enough to break many of them, what will living it do? Their past was hard enough to face, but what of their future?

Her arc is - and has been - really nicely paralleled with the Aiel’s arc as a whole, and I’m very much looking forward to seeing where exactly that goes.

As Rhuarc said, the Car’a’carn had sent them to Arad Doman to ‘restore order’. But that was a wetlander concept; Aiel brought their own order with them. There was chaos to war and battle, true, but each and every Aiel understood his place, and would act within that place.

Until something changes, of course, and then one is left alone on a wind-scoured hillside, veiling his face from the ones who once called him family, calling out desperately that ‘I am Aiel!’

I’m reminded of the approach to Cairhien, in TFoH. Rand gave them the right to take the fifth, then, but demanded other concessions to a different sort of order. Now, the fifth is no longer theirs, and the instructions are even more alien to them. It’s rather ironic how instructions to ‘restore order’ can cause such uncertainty and potential chaos in the people sent to do the restoring.

“How many Wise Ones went with Rhuarc to scout this refugee train?” “None but me,” Aviendha admitted. “Oh, and are you a Wise One now?” Bair asked. “No,” Aviendha said, quickly, then shamed herself further by blushing. “I spoke poorly.” “Then you shall be punished,” Bair said. “You are no longer a Maiden, Aviendha.”

...huh. I think maybe I see where this might be going.

Did they think she had grown soft by spending time with Elayne?

Pretty sure that’s not it. Though the fact that she thinks they think that, and that she herself thinks it, is very likely part of the problem, I think.

So she’s running with Amys now, who asks for an analysis of Rhuarc’s conversation with the Wise Ones, and seems to approve of Aviendha’s answers. Definitely a test.

“And al’Thor himself?” Amys asked. “What do you think of him?” “I love him,” Aviendha said. “I did not ask Aviendha the silly girl,” Amys said curtly. “I asked Aviendha the Wise One.”

Aviendha the Wise One. It was Aviendha herself who responded to Bair’s question in the negative, and I think perhaps that question was less rhetorical than Aviendha thought. Is she being punished for doubting herself, then?

“He is a man of many burdens,” Aviendha said more carefully.

Including at least one mountain.

“I fear that he makes many of those burdens heavier than they need be. I once thought that there was only one way to be strong, but I have learned from my first-siste that I was wrong. Rand al’Thor…I do not think he has learned this yet. I worry that he mistakes hardness for strength.”

This is definitely going to come to a head soon; it’s come up in Rand’s chapter, Egwene’s chapter, and now Aviendha’s chapter already. And Rand is rapidly approaching a breaking point, perhaps in a rather literal sense. Something is going to snap, or shatter, and I’m…really looking forward to seeing how that plays out.

Marriage, Min, sisterhood, etc. Amys is like ‘seriously what is going on with the lot of you’ and Aviendha’s like ‘WE’LL MAKE IT WORK, OKAY?’ Best of luck to you all.

But she was just an apprentice, and while she could not be forced to speak

So you could say that apprentices have the right to…take the Fifth?

Regardless, the viewing was a comfort. But it was also bothersome. Aviendha loved Rand al’Thor because she chose to, not because she was destined to.

It’s all well and good to say that, but it would have been better if this were actually shown throughout the development of the relationship(s) in the earlier books. Even something as small as Min’s viewing showing that Rand would fall in love with the three of them as well as the three of them falling in love with him, rather than just the latter, would have helped. It’s not that the women aren’t given agency, exactly, because on an individual level they do all choose how to act upon their feelings and they do all genuinely love him, and he loves them, and it’s all fine (well, except for the impending doom). But narratively it still feels like they have to fall in love, whereas he gets to. Prophecied love really doesn’t do it for me, basically, and I’ve never felt that this instance of it was executed particularly well.

“Very well, then,” Amys said, watching the path ahead of her. “Let us discuss today’s punishment.” Aviendha relaxed slightly.

Ha. It does make this chapter fit nicely with the previous one, which in turn fit very well against the one before it. Like Egwene, Aviendha is being punished daily. There’s also a…not quite a parallel but at least a degree of overlap in their aims, in that Egwene is trying – amongst other things – to be seen as Amyrlin, while Aviendha is trying to become or be seen as a Wise One. They’re both trying to claim their place. But so much else is different, and the punishments themselves are very different, but both relate to the issue of understanding, it would seem.

All in all it creates a lovely sequence from Rand to Egwene to Aviendha, with the various parallels and overlaps smoothing the edges between the rapid PoV changes.

Wetlanders often seemed confused by Aiel ways with punishment, but wetlanders had little understanding of honour. Honour didn’t come from being punished, but accepting a punishment and bearing it restored honour.

Take what you want, and pay for it. It’s not about atoning so much as it is about accepting consequences, it seems. And here again it sort of links back to what Egwene realised, about understanding being the key to embracing pain. It isn’t enduring a punishment that makes it effective, and it isn’t enduring pain that gives strength. Instead, it is about understanding the pain or the punishment or the greater aim, and about understanding and accepting consequences.

Amys, rightly, wouldn’t tell Aviendha what she had done wrong.

Well, no, because that would entail communication. Though in this case there is a certain logic to it – having to figure out for yourself what you’ve done wrong can be more effective than simply being told, and here we are back at the issue of understanding. In this case in particular, I think part of Aviendha’s ‘test’ is figuring out why she’s being punished.

“My time in Caemlyn threatened to make me weak.” Amys sniffed. “You are no more weak than you were when you carried the spears, girl. A fair bit stronger, I should think.”

There’s a compliment in there somewhere. It’s true, though; Aviendha has grown so much from who she was when we first met her. She may have felt more certain then, but it was the certainty of limitation. She knows and has seen and has experienced and has begun to understand far more now, and wisdom does not always mean certainty. Lan said it well –“You can never know everything, and part of what you know is always wrong. Perhaps even the most important part. A portion of wisdom lies in knowing that. A portion of courage lies in going on anyway.” Aviendha has learned much of both.

When Dorindha and Nadere had come for her, they had said she needed to continue her training as an apprentice. Yet in the time since the Aiel had departed for Arad Doman, Aviendha had been given no lessons.

So her training is finished, then? This definitely seems like a Final Test, and I like that she has to work out not only what it is, but that she is being tested in the first place. It seems fitting, for her and for the Aiel way of things.

It was almost as if the punishment was the thing the Wise Ones wanted her to learn, but that could not be.

Except I think it kind of is. It’s as if she’s being punished for…doubting herself, basically. She’s trying to figure out who she is and where she fits, but she is the only one who can do that.

Sorting seeds by colour. Ouch. It’s like what Melaine made Cowinde do, to try to get her to admit that she was no longer gai’shain. Which means it’s pretty harsh, by the Aiel way of measuring punishment.

But this…this was useless work! It was not only unimportant, it was frivolous. It was the kind of punishment reserved for only the most stubborn, or most shameful, of people. It almost…almost felt as though the Wise Ones were calling her da’tsang! “By Sightblinder’s eyes,” she whispered as she forced herself to keep running. “What did I do?” Amys glanced at her, and Aviendha looked away. Both knew that she didn’t want an answer to that question. She took the bag silently. It was the most humiliating punishment she had ever been given.

Poor Aviendha. I think I get what’s going on, but she clearly doesn’t yet, and it has to hurt. She’s already feeling lost and uncertain of where she belongs – and has been dealing with that for a long time now – and then this. Punishment that, by her culture, is utterly humiliating and usually reserved for those who are despised. So that’s fun. You can figure this out, Aviendha, I believe in you!

That only meant she had to be more determined.

Well…sort of. Know who you are, Aviendha, and make them see.

Next (TGS ch 4) Previous (TGS ch 2)

#there should probably be an a:tla 'HONOUR' gif in here somewhere #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

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