Silent feet walked over the dirt path, careful to make no sound so as not to arouse notice from the infrequent passer biers. They approached the window sill, ever closer. 3 steps more, 2, 1, "NOW" thought Mat Cauthon as he jumped from the shadows, deftly grabbing the fresh baked pie from the windowsill, a broad smile blooming upon his face.
However, his moment of triumph was short lived. For at the moment his greedy fingers wrapped around the heated covering of the pie; as if by divine intervention, an enraged Nynaeve al' Meara stepped into view.
"Blood and bloody ashes" thought Mat as he turned away from the flaming eyes of the Wisdom and started sprinting as hard as his legs would allow towards the woods.
"Matrim Cauthon, if you do not get back here I will strap you so hard that you wont be able to sit until you have gray in your hair!" screeched the enraged woman as she jumped into hot pursuit of the thief.
Shortly after he began running, Mat knew that he was in trouble. True, he was fast, but he had never claimed that he could outrun a madwoman. Also he had just eaten an enormous lunch, and thought that if he kept this pace up, he would surely be seeing it again, and the overwhelming smell of his recently stolen pie was certainly doing nothing good for his roiling stomach. As he did his best to control his rising stomach, Mat sprinted around the corner of the next building he passed, not bothering to read the sign hung on the door, gently swaying in the breeze.
"Just another few seconds, and I'll be out of the village, and then, to enjoy my lovely prize" thought Mat. He felt another uncomfortable shift in his stomach, "well, maybe a nap instead." The boy, or man depending on who you asked, was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he no longer noticed where he was going. And so, it was a great surprise to him when he tripped on piece of wood, and an even greater one when his hard won pie flew from his wildly flying hands right into the face of a bewildered Tam al' Thor. An exhausted Mat looked up from where he was sprawled on the ground, and saw Nynaeve flying towards him. When she finally pulled level with his pathetic looking body, he looked up, and threw up his lunch all over her dress.
"Four more barrels" groaned an exhausted Rand al' Thor. "It feels like I've been doing this all day". Unloading barrels, carrying them down winding stairs, and finally putting the heavy burdens down, Only to realize that he had to do it all again.
With a weary sigh, he stepped out of the Inn and slowly plodded his way to the hated wagon. Looking up to get a glance of the village, Rand saw something that he was undoubtedly not expecting. An infuriated Wisdom and a frightened Mat, who was somehow, despite his obvious fright was amused by the scene before h
His father, Tam, was covered in a red squishy substance. It was the color of the inside of an apple pie. With a laugh Rand walked up to his father as he wiped some of the apple pie off of his face.
"Well hello Matrim, it is nice to see you too".
It was too much for Rand, he couldn't contain the laughter. In seconds he was rolling around on the ground, hands clenched to his sides and laughter erupting from his mouth. After what seemed like hours, he got up and tuned into the conversation that his laughter had previously blocked out. What he heard almost made him want to start laughing again. There stood a short little woman, hardly as high as his chest, yelling at a man nearly a foot taller that her while the taller man stood there trying to defend himself from her ever sharpening tongue.
"MATRIM CAUTHON! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! NOT ONLY DID YOU STEAL MISTRESS AL' VERE'S PIE, BUT YOU SAW FIT TO GO THROWING IT INTO MASTER AL' THORS FACE! YOU ARE GOING TO GET THE STRAPING OF YOUR LIFE! AND TO THINK, YOU, A GROWN MAN, WHY I NEVER!"
The Wisdoms rant continued on like that for some time. However most of it was lost on Rand when he noticed the horrible looking substance on Nynaeve's dress. It was a good thing that he had the prospect of carrying barrels down to the cellar of the Inn to somber his mood, or Rand may have gone into a third round of hysterical laughter right then and there.
It had been three days since Mat had gotten strapped for what was now called, "The pie incident". And news of his endeavors and punishment had reached every ear in the village. Yet that was not what was causing the huge commotion across the village. News so great that it made even Mat Cauthon's "pie incident" seem insignificant. Tonight was Winternight, one of the greatest days of the year! Villagers ran around, trying, and failing, to get everything together in time for the great event. Laughter could be heard echoing across the village green deep into the woods, almost unabated, weather it be the giggling of children, or the deep throated laughter of half drunken men. All seemed well in the village. Everyone exited for what the night would bring everyone except for one person.
Nynaeve al' Meara had been listening to the wind. Long and hard had she strained to hear the tiniest whisper of what the morrow would bring. This in itself was not unusual, as she always did this to see if the festivities must be postponed due to bad weather. But the difference between this time, and all of those other times, was that no matter how hard she stained her ears she could not hear the wind. Not a single word. And this scared her.
Another person was not fully feeling the joy that should have come from the approaching festivities. Tam al' Thor wandered the streets in a daze, not hearing the shouts and peals of laughter that seemed to be following him like birds intent on their prey. Tam himself did not understand his nervousness. The boys, he rationalized, were probably just seeing things, hallucinations brought upon by the prospect of the approaching night. But despite all he could do, Tam could not quell the feeling that something was horribly wrong. Finally making up his mind Tam began to search down his son. They were headed home for the night.
Rand was extremely angry with his father. What right did he have to drag him home on the eve of the greatest day of the year? It was so unfair, so wrong. But Rand did not voice these thoughts aloud. He feared that if his father heard them he would not let him go to the festivities tomorrow. So Rand continued with his work on the farm, feeding the sheep, who for some reason were quite fidgety, pulling up weeds, feeding Bella and doing everything else that needed to be done. It was probably the animal's behavior affecting him, but for the whole time he worked, he never let his longbow out of his sight.
Three hours later Rand sat next to the fire, his bow and quiver leaning against the wall behind him, starring with obvious awe at the magnificent sword his father had just brought downstairs.
"How had a Sheepherder ever gotten a weapon like that" Rand thought.
"I paid for it, and far too much I think" replied Tam to Rand's unintentionally asked question.
The two lapsed into companionable silence for a while, each reading a thin wood bound book. An hour had pasted before a thundering knock on the door broke the silence.
"Now who could that be" Rand thought aloud, as his father picked up his sword and started walking to the door.
"Probably Joel Coplin asking for sugar again" Tam replied with a forced laugh as he slowly approached the door.
Another thunderous boom emitted from the still unopened door.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming" shouted a now aggravated Tam.
But it appeared the door did not want to wait a second longer, for as soon as the shout left Tams mouth the door flew open, the wood breaking off the metal hinges. There before the two al' Thor men stood a beast. This creature was unlike anything either of them had ever seen before. It had no feet, but rather hooves similar to those of a goat; instead of a helmet it wore horns of an unidentifiable origin. And yet despite all of the horrendous details of the creature, the most horrifying thing about it was that the two men could give it a name.
With a horrifying battle cry, Tam leaped at the monster, sword already unsheathed and flying around in formidable looking patterns. With a snarl of disgust, the Trolloc raised its sword.