Faile rested her fingers on the chest. Philosophers claimed the Pattern did not have a sense of humor. The Pattern, and the Wheel, simply were; they did not care, they did not take sides. However, Faile could not help thinking that somewhere, the Creator was grinning at her. She had left home with her head full of arrogant dreams, a child thinking herself on a grand quest to find the Horn. Life had knocked those out from under her, leaving her to haul herself back up. She had grown up, had started paying mind to what was really important. And now … now the Pattern, with almost casual
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