[OOM: Aftermath.] There are too many to heal, too many bleeding and dying, tangled among the corpses, for anyone's skills and strength. But Nynaeve has never accepted her own limits easily.
But those limits are there, which is why a combination of headache and her Warder have finally forced her to admit to the need to retire to a tent. Just for a little while, she insists, glowering, and Lan says nothing; just catches her elbow in subtle support as she shoves open the tent flap with unnecessary violence and a small stumble.
--Well.
This is not the inside of the tent.
(When you're more exhausted than you want to admit, when the world has changed within and around you, when you've survived what you always knew you wouldn't and you don't know how to feel about half a dozen things -- there's duty. Always, always, there is duty.)
Lan is stonefaced, on silent guard, and Nynaeve is pale and scowling, and both of them are covered head-to-toe in dust and gore and blood.
And, for the first time in months, inside Milliways.