(no subject)
It's early morning. Nynaeve is still asleep. This isn't a guess; he knows, now. Every moment, like breathing, he knows.
Dawn over the lake is slow, and misty, and beautiful.
Lan is sitting on a rock, cross-legged, his sword across his knees. In silence, he watches mist coil, and the sun drift upwards.
The ko'di is a meditation that isn't just for battle. He rests, timeless, breathing evenly, in the still center burned clean of emotion. His hands are loosely curled, and sharp eyes might spot a glint of gold in one hard-callused palm.
The silence and the stillness are, right now, very welcome.
Dawn over the lake is slow, and misty, and beautiful.
Lan is sitting on a rock, cross-legged, his sword across his knees. In silence, he watches mist coil, and the sun drift upwards.
The ko'di is a meditation that isn't just for battle. He rests, timeless, breathing evenly, in the still center burned clean of emotion. His hands are loosely curled, and sharp eyes might spot a glint of gold in one hard-callused palm.
The silence and the stillness are, right now, very welcome.