Crossroads of Twilight (Wheel of Time, #10)

by Robert Jordan

Mat stood on a village green, playing at bowls. The thatchroofed houses were vague, in the manner of dreams – sometimes the roofs were slate; sometimes the houses seemed of stone, sometimes wood – but he was sharp and clear, dressed in a fine green coat and that wide-brimmed black hat, just as he had been the day he rode into Salidar. There was not another human being in sight. Rubbing the ball between his hands, he took a short run and casually rolled it across the smooth grass. All nine pins fell, scattered as if they had been kicked. Mat turned and picked up another ball, and the pins were back upright. No, there was a fresh set of pins. The old still lay where they had fallen. He hurled the ball again, a lazy underhanded bowl. And Egwene wanted to scream. The pins were not turned pieces of wood. They were men, standing there watching the ball roll toward them. None moved until the ball sent them flying. Mat turned to pick up another ball, and there were more new pins, new men, standing in orderly formation among the men lying sprawled on the ground as if dead. No, they were dead. Unconcerned, Mat bowled. It was a true dream; she knew that long before it faded. A glimpse of a future that might come to pass, a warning of what should be watched for. True dreams were always possibilities, not certainties – she often had to remind herself of that; Dreaming was not Foretelling – but this was a dire possibility. Every one of those human pins had represented thousands of men. ...

This probably points towards the Last Battle.