It seems real in memory, and some have come out bearing the actual wounds of hurts taken inside. Nynaeve shook her head. And to Egwene's horror, Renna patted her on the head as she would a dog. Bloody Trolloc.
Each had an inkpot in a writing-case hung at her belt and was making notes in a small book with a pen. That had been her work, the leatherleaf, and once the lightning called from a clear sky, and a few other things she had not thought to try until those two women tried them on her. Every vein of every leaf, every curve of every petal. The Light consume me, I can't answer for any of them, not with this.
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