A knock at her door pulled her away from literal self-reflection. Dabbing at her face with a dry towel, Zarayne hot-footed it from her washroom into her sitting room. Bare feet flashed briefly from beneath her long skirts.
On the opposite side of her door was an unfamiliar novice. That was not too surprising, saying her teaching was currently limited to some of the younger Accepted. The woman had a letter for her, from the First Weaver no less. Zarayne thanked the novice, and started to break open the wax seal before her door was closed again. The letter was descriptive and full of Maever Asha'man's normal verbosity. A fire had ravaged the town of Ely in neighbouring Ghealdan, and a small group was being sent from the Tower to aid them in whatever way they could. And I'm being sent as one of the sisters. There was more to the letter, but those were the key points. She read it over twice, just to make sure she caught all of the details, and that she understood how long the trip would be.
She hadn't been any further that Hama Valon since travelling with Lysira Gaidin and Tia Sedai into the Blight. That was a completely different set of circumstances, and she'd been an Accepted then. This time she would need to prepare her own supplies, ensuring she brought enough clothing and equipment for the journey. She also had to arrange cover for her teaching and for her patients. This simple trip demanded a lot more out of her than it would seem on the surface.
Zarayne moved back to peer into her mirror. This time she was sizing herself up, wondering whether she was ready for this. She had been chosen for this assignment, but was that due to her skills or because of her inexperience? It didn't matter either way because she wasn't about to question her first mission as an Aes Sedai. Still, Zarayne thought as she looked into unfamiliar eyes, it doesn't mean I need to go alone.
- - - It didn't take Zarayne long to reach the Warders' Yards. Although she endured the humility of wearing wetlander dresses, she didn't cow to the notion of needing to walk everywhere with the grace of a wetlander princess. Her long legs carried her quickly to the fences where novices and soldiers like to gaggle, dreaming about the day they might have a Warder. Today was that day for Zarayne. She ignored the men and all of the tall women. The Yellow wasn't pursuing the talent on offer, but rather looking for one person in particular.