crops or the wolves take their lambs, and start over, no matter how many years it happened, did not give up easily. Most of those who did were long since gone. Tam would not have stopped for Wit Congar if the man had not come out into the street so they had to halt or let Bela run over him. The Congars -- and the Coplins; the two families were so intermarried no one really knew where one family let off and the other began -- were known from Watch Hill to Deven Ride, and maybe as far as Taren Ferry, as complainers and troublemakers. "I have to get this to get this to Bran al'Vere, Wit," Tam said, nodding to the barrels in the cart, but the scrawny man held his ground with a sour expression on his face. He had been sprawled on his front steps, not up on his roof, though the thatch looked as if it badly needed Master Buie's attention. He never seemed ready to start over, or to finish what he started the first time. Most of the Coplins and Congars were like that, those who were not worse. "What are we going to do about Nynaeve, al'Thor?" Congar demanded. "We can't have a wisdom like that for Emond's Field." "Well, we'd better do something, al'Tor. She said we'd have a mild winter. And a good harvest. Now you ask her what she hears on the wind, and she just scowls at you and