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Lan looked down at his hands. They were calloused from the hilt of his blade, scarred from a thousand cuts. These were hands meant for breaking, for holding back the tide of the Shadow until the very last breath.

"You have to plant a garden," she said, a small, fierce smile playing on her lips. "The war is over. The duty of the sword is done. Now comes the duty of the hearth." 125015

"The border willIt was Nynaeve. She didn't approach him with the caution one might show a warrior; she stepped into his space, her presence a grounding force that pulled him back from the edge of the abyss. Lan looked down at his hands

Lan looked back toward the horizon where the sun was beginning to break through the perpetual gloom. For the first time in his life, he didn't see a battlefield. He saw the faint outlines of where the towers would rise again—not as fortresses, but as homes. "You have to plant a garden," she said,