Something occurred to Kaladin. Something, perhaps, he should have asked long ago. “You’re not a windspren, are you?” She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.” “What are you, then?” “I don’t know. I bind things.” Bind things. When she played pranks, she made items stick together. Shoes stuck to the ground and made men trip. People reached for their jackets hanging on hooks and couldn’t pull them free. Kaladin reached down, picking a stone up off the ground. It was as big as his palm, weathered smooth by highstorm winds and rain. He pressed it against the wall of the barrack and willed his Light
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What do you mean not a Windspren
