Disclaimer: The Wheel of Time is not owned by me, nor am I making a profit. Light, I hate writing these things. The song is also not mine. It's a traditional folk song from Quebec that I have to sing for choir.

Paendrag: That's why I covered my butt with the AU label. ;-) For this plotline to work, it had to be AU, an alternate spin of the wheel. It'll also help explain my "fixing" of certain perceived flaws. ^-^

Digichick: Thanks for pointing that out, I read that about two hours after I posted the last chapter. *blushes* Oops. I'll get that fixed (eventually). Thanks for pointing it out! ^-^

As always, reviews appreciated!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Amy was more then thankful when Egwene woke her for breakfast. She was slightly less thankful to see the stains on her blouse, and the least thankful for the dress in Egwene's arms.

"I thought you may want to blend in Melime. Most women here do not wear… breeches."

Amy blushed. She should have known that. What was wrong with her lately? Yelling at people for being polite, lying, and not thinking? Light, she hadn't even noticed the stares half the villagers had given her! Next time she ended up in a fantasy realm, she was making sure she packed her brain.

"Of course, I should have been paying more attention. Thank you."

~*~*~*~

Egwene's tour of Emond's Field was surprisingly different then Dav's the day before. She stopped at seemingly every house, talking to the goodwife or playing with one of the children.

"Some days, I cannot wait until I have my own family," she confided to Melime as they slowly meandered down one of the few side streets in the village.

Meliem felt a surge of guilt, thinking of how unlikely any dreams Egwene had would ever come true, at least the way she hoped.

"Who would be the father?"

She gave a giggle, and then blushed a deep red. "Rand al'Thor."

"There are worse choices to make, I suppose," Melime managed, before a grin split her face. "Much worse choices."

~*~*~*~

"Greetings, Melime. I have arranged archery lessons with Abell Cauthon for you, if you still wish for them." Bran's face clearly illustrated the fact that he was hoping she had changed her mind.

"Thank you, Master al'Vere."

The innkeeper gave quick directions to the Cauthon home, and Melime left quickly. This was an experience and a half, that was for damn sure.

It proved easy to find. A young woman greeted her from the door, introducing herself as Bode. She said her father was in the barn, and expecting her.

Abell took her into a small field behind the barn, grabbed two bows and stuck a hay target up.

"Watch," he instructed, releasing an arrow in one swift movement.

Melime's attempts were feeble at best. It took three tries to have the arrow move, and then it landed two feet ahead of her. She sighed, but just nocked another arrow.

"Like this," he said, moving her hands.

This time it went almost half the distance, and Melime gave a small smirk of satisfaction. She would do this.

~*~*~*~

Rand allowed himself a small smile as he stopped Bela in front of the Winespring Inn. Today was Bel Tine, and he could barely suppress his excitement. The winter has been worse then usual, though not as bad as it had been before. Spring, at least, had come on schedule.

"Rand, lad, take Bela to the barn," Tam ordered. "That's a good lad."

Some days his father seemed to think he was a child, though he was seventeen. Well old enough to marry, if the urge took him. Not that he had eyes for anyone but Egwene al'Vere since he was a child, and even that he admitted only to himself.

He was approaching the barn when he first heard the voice. It was gentle, and carried a hint of tragedy. He didn't recognize the tune, or the language.

"Un Canadien errant,
Banni de ses foyers,

Parcourait en pleurant
Des pays étrangers…"

The singer was in one of the stalls, brushing down an unfamiliar horse. She was dressed for Bel Tine in a dark blue gown, and he wondered what she was doing in the barn.

"Excuse me."

She started, but didn't turn around.

"Hello."

Even speaking her voice was sad. He recognized her now though. The woman that had arrived the week earlier. The one who wore those breeches. At least she seemed to have gained some sense.

"You know, Master al'Vere has men to look after your horse."

"I know. It's just that I needed to get away. I needed to think things through, and Sashaw here is the only thing left from home."

"I think I understand. That song you were singing?"

"Un Candien Errant? My grandfather taught it to me. It fit my mood."

"I couldn't understand it."

"Of course not. I doubt anyone around here could, or anywhere else for that matter. Would you like a translation?"

He tried to think about the best response. She had sounded so sad…

"I would very much."

There was a pause before she responded, trying to gather her thought.

" A wandering Canadian,
banned from his hearths,
travelled while crying
in foreign lands

One day, sad and pensive,
sitting by the flowing waters,
to the fleeing current
he addressed these words:

If you see my country,
my unhappy country,
go tell my friends
that I remember them.

O days so full of charms,
you have vanished
And my native land, alas!
I will see it no more.

And my native land, alas!
I will see it no more.

"There's a bit lost in translation, but that's about it."

"Gloomy. But I am sure you will return home after your traveling is done, Melime. Now come, it is a time of celebration."

She turned, and her red eyes betrayed her tears. But a smile was beginning to form on her face.

"Maybe I am home, Rand al'Thor."