KALDIN

"Kaladin, look at this rock," Tien said. "It changes colors when you look at it from different

sides."

Kal looked away from the window, glancing at his brother. Now thirteen years of age,

Tien had turned from an eager boy into an eager adolescent. Though he'd grown, he was still

small for his age, and his mop of black and brown hair still refused all attempts at order. He

was squatting beside the lacquered cobwood dinner table, eyes level with the glossy

surface, looking at a small, lumpish rock.

Kal sat on a stool peeling longroots with a short knife. The brown roots were dirty on

the outside and sticky when he sliced into them, so working on them coated his fingers with a

thick layer of crem. He finished a root and handed it up to his mother, who washed it off and sliced it into the stew pot.

"Mother, look at this," Tien said. Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the leeside