Rand nodded. Hurin woke with a start, then leaped to his feet, jumping like a flea on a hot rock to look this way, then that. damane (dah-MAHN-ee): In the Old Tongue, Leashed Ones. The packhorses, loaded and on their lead line, stamped impatiently, but everyone stood by his mount and waited.
Someone in the outer room raised a cry for litters. Sometimes it worked, this channeling, and sometimes not, but it worked often enough. She hoped very much that Nynaeve was not just being certain again. Rand whirled his horse, ready to see charging Trollocs, but Hurin was pointing back the way they had come, at nothing.
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