“Behind him, Birgitte Silverbow stood over her corpse, one foot to either side of the headless body.”

“I am Birgitte Silverbow," Birgitte announced, as if to dispel doubt. "The Horn of Valere has sounded, calling all to the Last Battle. The heroes have returned!”

“He had gone right through fear and come out the other side in some place cold. Anger was all that kept him warm. They could gentle him, or burn him to a crisp where he stood, and he no longer cared.”

“Elayne could not help herself. Nynaeve wielding her tongue like a needle, Cerandin stubborn as two mules, and now this. She threw back her head and screamed with frustration.When the sound died, it seemed as if the animals had quieted. Horse handlers stood about, staring at her. Coolly, she ignored them. Nothing could worm its way under her skin now. She was as calm as ice, perfectly in control of herself.“Was that a cry for help,” Birgitte said, tilting her head, “or are you hungry? I suppose I could find a wet nurse in—”Elayne strode away with a snarl that would have done any of the leopards proud.”

“How would you feel," Elayne said softly, "if you saw your queen trying to kill a Trolloc with a sword as you ran away?""I'd feel like I needed to bloody move to another country," Birgitte snapped, loosing another arrow, "one where the monarchs don't have pudding for brains.”

“Better to have one woman on your side than ten men.”

“I'll never forget the first time Davram took me by the scruff of my neck and showed me he was the stronger of us. It was magnificent! If a woman is stronger than her husband, she comes to despise him. She has the choice of either tyrannizing him or else making herself less in order not to make him less. If the husband is strong enough, though, she can be as strong as she is, as strong as she can grow to be.”