Nynaeve's teeth score her bottom lip as she weaves red and green strands together, clearing out the blood and burning it away, at the same time as she spins a delicate network of silvery-blue and yellow filigree to stitch the blown-open heart back together.

And then--then she can start putting the rest of Rose's body back together. Sweat beads on her hairline--less from the power required than because the work is delicate, every weave precise and well-placed.

But eventually she sits back, hands still resting lightly on Rose's shoulders.

"Rose? Answer me, girl."

Her voice is rough, eyes a little unfocused.

She is, after all, still embracing saidar.