The Gathering Storm

bring the whole thing.' He turned Pips around. 'Come on.'

'Wait, Mat,' Talmanes said, reining in and following. 'What are we doing?'

'You're going to kindly take me up on my offer to go enjoy ourselves at the tavern,' Mat said. 'And while we're at it, we're going to resupply. If my luck's with me, we'll do it for free.'

If Egwene or Nynaeve had been there, they'd have boxed his ears and told him he was going to do no such thing. Tuon probably would have looked at him curiously and then said something that made him feel his shame right down into his boots.

The good thing about Talmanes, however, was that he simply spurred his horse forward, face stoic, eyes betraying just a hint of amusement. 'Well, I've got to see this, then!'

CHAPTER 21 Embers and Ash

Perrin opened his eyes and found himself hanging in the air. He felt a spike of terror, floundering in the sky. Black clouds boiled overhead, dark and ominous. Below, a plain of wild brown grasses rolled in the wind, no signs of humans. No tents, no roads, not even any footprints.

Perrin wasn't falling. He just hung there. He waved his arms reflex-ively, as if to swim, panicking as his mind tried to make sense of the dis-orientation.

The wolf dream, he thought. I'm in the wolf dream. I went to sleep, hoping to come here.

He forced himself to breathe in and out and still his flailing, though it was difficult to be calm while hanging hundreds of feet up in the sky. Suddenly, a gray-furred form shot past him, leaping through the air. The wolf soared down to the field below, landing easily.

'Hopper!'

Jump down, Young Bull. Jump. It is safe. As always, the Sending from the wolf came as a mixture of scents and images. Perrin was getting better and better at interpreting those—the soft earth as a representation of the ground, rushing wind as an image of jumping, the scent of relaxation and calmness to indicate there was no need to fear.

'But how?'

Times before, you always rushed ahead, like a pup newly weaned. Jump. Jump down! Far below, Hopper sat on his haunches in the field, grinning up at Perrin.

Perrin ground his teeth and muttered a curse or two for stubborn wolves. It seemed to him that the dead ones were particularly bull-headed. Though Hopper did have a point. Perrin had leaped before in this place, if never from the sky itself.

He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and imagined himself jumping. Air rushed around him in a sudden burst, but then his feet hit soft ground. He opened his eyes. A large gray wolf, scarred from many fights, was sitting on the ground beside him, and wild millet spread out in a broad plain around him, heavily mixed with stands of long, thin grasses that reached high in the air. Scratchy stalks rubbed against Per-rin's arms in the wind, making him itch. The grasses smelled too dry, like cut hay left in a barn over the winter.

Some things were transitory here in the Wolf Dream; leaves lay in a pile by his feet at one moment, but then were gone the next. Everything smelled just faintly stale, as if it weren't quite there.

He looked up. The sky was stormy. Normally, clouds in this place were as transitory as other things. It could be completely overcast; then, in a blink, it would suddenly be clear. This time, those dark storm clouds remained. They boiled, spun, and shot lines of lightning between different thunderheads. Yet the lightning never struck the ground, and it made no noise.

The plain was oddly silent. The clouds shrouded the entire sky, ominous. And they did not leave.

The hast Hunt comes. Hopper looked up at the sky. We will run together, then. Unless we sleep instead.

'Sleep?' Perrin said. 'What of the Last Hunt?'

It comes, Hopper agreed. If Shadowkiller falls to the storm, all will sleep forever. If he lives, then we will hunt together. You and us.

Perrin rubbed his chin, trying to sort through the Sending of images, smells, sounds, feelings. It made little sense to him.

But, well, he was here now. He'd wanted to come, and he'd decided that he'd get some answers from Hopper, if he could. It was good to see Hopper again.

Run, Hopper sent. His Sending was not alarmed. It was an offer. Let us run together.

Perrin nodded, and began to jog through the grasses. Hopper loped beside him, sending amusement. Two legs, Young Bull? Two legs are slow! That Sending was an image of men stumbling over themselves, tripping because of their elongated, silly legs.

Perrin hesitated. 'I have to keep control, Hopper,' he said. 'When I let the wolf take control . . . well, I do dangerous things.'

The wolf cocked his head, trotting beside Perrin across the grassy field. The stalks crunched and scraped as the two of them passed through, finding a small game trail, turning along it.

Run, Hopper urged, obviously confused at Perrin's reluctance.

'I can't,' Perrin said, stopping. Hopper turned and took a few bounds back to him. He smelled confused.

'Hopper, I frighten myself,' Perrin said, 'when I lose control. The first time it happened to me was just after I met the wolves. You need to help me understand.'

Hopper simply continued to stare at him, tongue hanging out the front of his mouth just slightly, jaws parted.

Why am I doing this? Perrin thought, shaking his head. Wolves didn't think like men. What did it matter what Hopper thought of it all?

We will hunt together, Hopper sent.

'What if I don't want to hunt with you?' Perrin said. Saying the words made his heart twist. He did like this place, the wolf dream, dangerous though it could be. There were wonderful things about what had happened to him since leaving the Two Rivers.

But he couldn't continue to lose control. He had to find a balance. Throwing away the axe had made a difference. The axe and the hammer were different weapons—one could be used only for killing, while the other gave him a choice.

But he had to make good on that choice. He had to control himself. And the first step seemed to be learning to control the wolf within him.

Run with me, Young Bull, Hopper sent. Forget these thoughts. Run like a wolf.

'I can't,' Perrin replied. He turned, scanning the plains. 'But I need to know this place, Hopper. I need to learn how to use it, control it.'

Men, Hopper thought, Sending the smells of dismissiveness and anger. Control. Always control.

'I want you to teach me,' Perrin said, turning back to the wolf. 'I want to master this place. Will you show me how?'

Hopper sat back on his haunches.

'Fine,' Perrin said. 'I will search out other wolves who will.'

He turned, striking down the game trail. He didn't recognize this place, but he'd learned that the wolf dream was unpredictable. This meadow with the waist-high grass and its stands of yew could be anywhere. Where would