Find the void. That was what Rand al'Thor always said. Focus on the flame in the void. Nothing but the flame, nothing but the void. Moiraine tried to find saidar through the flame in the void, once, but she could feel nothing. To her, fire could never be a focus of concentration and calm; fire was a weapon, a lesser extension of balefire which could destroy the entire Pattern. Fire was a thing to be feared, respected, and twisted to one's own uses – not to meditate upon.
Her gaze shifted from staring at her book to Lan. His eyes flicked to hers for a moment before darting away again, all his effort going into hauling wood to the fire. Moiraine calmly watched him drag wood, his occupation disguising the royal blood flowing through his veins. Silent as rock, stoic as an Ogier, and sometimes as kingly as Artur Hawkwing, Lan was a fearsome Warder to have and she knew the Pattern had dealt her a lucky hand in allowing their paths to cross.
Moiraine could see Rand shivering slightly from the cold. He obviously tried to disguise it, but to an observant eye it was easy to read his body language. He leant close towards the fire, seemingly staring into it, lost in a trance. Moiraine hated the fact that he used fire as a way to hide all his problems – but she had to accept that all power needed fuel.