Since Perrin can’t keep his fucking axe in his belt, Lan has to rouse everyone from the inn and onto a river boat. A woman with an unhealthy interest in Perrin also boards the boat and introduces herself as Faile, a Hunter for the Horn.
Meanwhile, in Moiraine’s room, the sounds of battle and men dying drift in through the open window.
MOIRAINE: What the hell was that?
LAN: The blacksmith. He’s freed the Aielman and they killed a dozen Whitecloaks.
MOIRAINE: Ten minutes, Lan. We’ve been in this town for ten fucking minutes. I can’t take this boy anywhere.
With patience that would impress the Dalai Lama, Lan runs out to Perrin, ordering him to head for the stables. Everyone makes their way to the docks and they board the Snow Goose, a ship headed downriver.
The woman from the inn also hops aboard and pays for passage. She introduces herself as Faile, a Hunter for the Horn, and she has a feeling that following them will be good for her quest. She chats with Perrin, saying he intrigued her because he’s the only one in the group she can’t figure out. Perrin, meanwhile, can only obsess over the proportions of Faile’s nose and mouth. Honestly, it’s starting to get a little creepy. Maybe we all do this instinctively, but life pro tip: when you start writing it down on paper, it becomes TMI. What’s next, are we going to start hearing his unfiltered opinion about the size of Faile’s tits?