It's a quiet evening, to follow a quiet day. Nynaeve's hand is tucked into Lan's elbow, and she leans her shoulder against his arm for just a moment as they step through the painting from the House of Arch.
To the bar for dinner, first. Lan pauses in front of it for a moment, considering what to order.
Before he says a word, though, three letters appear on the bartop. One is addressed in an
unfamiliar hand.
The other
two aren't.