[ it's more of a stumble than any graceful dodge backwards.
because rand feels — cold. like he's been plunged into an ice bath, everything gone numb. it's hard to process what he's seeing, what he's done. there is so much blood on his father's blade, splattered on his clothes; there is a man who'd been alive not five minutes ago, hitting the ground lifelessly; there is
there is
there is another running at him, and he almost doesn't notice until it's too late. he doesn't drop the heron-marked sword (another near thing), but does swing wildly, unfocused, mostly to make space between himself and this person. this person: amos. of course it's amos; it's always amos, it seems.
if rand is barely aware of his surroundings, he's even less sure how or when he fills himself with the raging torrent of the Power. he acts on pure, panicked instinct: sending a weave upwards into the sky and dragging storm clouds to where they stand, summoning a crack of blinding lightning down towards amos. ]
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because rand feels — cold. like he's been plunged into an ice bath, everything gone numb. it's hard to process what he's seeing, what he's done. there is so much blood on his father's blade, splattered on his clothes; there is a man who'd been alive not five minutes ago, hitting the ground lifelessly; there is
there is
there is another running at him, and he almost doesn't notice until it's too late. he doesn't drop the heron-marked sword (another near thing), but does swing wildly, unfocused, mostly to make space between himself and this person. this person: amos. of course it's amos; it's always amos, it seems.
if rand is barely aware of his surroundings, he's even less sure how or when he fills himself with the raging torrent of the Power. he acts on pure, panicked instinct: sending a weave upwards into the sky and dragging storm clouds to where they stand, summoning a crack of blinding lightning down towards amos. ]