Storms and tempests! Kaosha, a girl born under the Wheel of Time, her senses attuned to the whispers of the wind. In the Streets of Illian, where the Great Lord’s shadow clings like damp fog, Kaosha’s family toiled at the docks. Their hands, rough as Trolloc hide, hauled crates of salted fish, and their curses echoed over the churning waters.
Kaosha, with eyes like storm-tossed seas, listened to the wind. It carried secrets—the creak of ships’ timbers, the distant cry of gulls, and the murmurs of sailors. When the Hunters of the Horn of Valere gather, she’d raise her fists to the heavens and shout, “Flaming ashes!” The wind would snatch her words, whisking them toward unseen lands.
But Kaosha yearned for more than salt-stung lips. She wanted to ride the wind, to feel its currents lift her like a ta’veren on the brink of destiny. She’d perch on a weathered crate, legs dangling over the edge, and close her eyes. The breeze would kiss her cheeks, whispering tales of distant shores—the Aiel Waste, the Sea Folk’s islands, and places beyond imagining.
The Pattern wove her fate, threads tugging at her like invisible hands. Kaosha, a girl of salt and dreams, would remain anchored to Illian’s shores. Yet when the wind howled, she’d listen—Light blind me!—and imagine herself soaring, a wild thing caught between earth and sky.