Names are of no importanceneither are faces. He had worn many over the years, had walked many a nightmare. From the tall grasses of Caralain to the surf on Eharon, stories abound. Gleeman spin tales of the fate that befall children at his handslords see his face in every window when lighting splits the night sky. Too many years since he has seen the White Tower. Too long. That would be remedied. He licked his lips, remembering the feasts of long agoAes Sedai blood was always particularly sweet. Sometimes worse things than shadowspawn walk the night.