The smile returned in an instant, though, and she raised her voice a little. Golden tongs and a hot coal in a golden bowl of sand provided the means for lighting. They'll go free, now, won't they? I mean, Rand is free. I am the Coramoor.
Falion directed a smile at Nynaeve; it made a blizzard warm by comparison. She channeled, and the scrawny cutpurse doubled over, clutching himself and squealing like a pig in briars. He was a tall man, and he loomed threateningly. All that iciness seemed to have vanished; she was herself again, apparently.
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