It is bright, and quiet save for the singing birds and the occasional whisper of leaves stirred by a light breeze.

She glides over the earth and then the grass, moving with deft grace as she uses both hands to lift her long skirts just enough to move without difficulty.

Moiraine leaves the bridle-path that curves around by the water and follows the trail that leads up the gentle grassy slope.

She, however, does not see River-- more than half-concealed by distance and quiet and drooping branches.