The Death of Aviendha
"There had been more than one bolt in that first volley, but not all had been aimed at him. Mat's smoking boots lay a dozen paces from where Mat himself sprawled on his back. Tendrils of smoke rose from the black haft of his spear, too, from his coat, even from the silver foxhead, hanging out of his shirt, that had not saved him from a man's channeling. Asmodean was a twisted shape of char, recognizable only from the blackened harpcase still strapped to his back. And Aviendha.... Unmarked, she could have laid down to rest, if she could have rested staring unblinking at the sun.
Rand bent to touch her cheek. Cooling already. It felt... Not like flesh.
'RAAAAAHVIIIIIN!' "
by Robert Jordan
