Her toes nudged against the top of her shoes as she pushed the soles of her feet in to the ground. It was tiring, this theorizing. It was frustrating as well. At first she thought she had the perfect answer, the theory that would solve everyone's problems... and then she would begin to write, get sidetracked by issues that had not relevancy, maybe even forget what she was talking about in the first place. She was fine writing only 50 or so pages, but when her theories stretched through 75 or more, she was definitely subject to short term memory loss. Her passionate scribbles lasted a few days... maybe weeks and most and then she would lapse back into her regular paperwork state. Maybe she'd look through some files, glance at novices, familiarize herself with all the novices and accepteds thinking about going to the white side. For some reason, she didn't feel as needed anymore. Being head of one's ajah was exciting, it gave one the power, but Etain did not abuse power in her ajah or outside her ajah. She demanded respect without raising her voice, demanded awe without being extravagant. It was a Ghandi type situation, except she thought herself slightly stronger than those who used passive aggression to make a point. Etain used intelligent agression. Intelligent, maybe slightly passive aggression.

Her pen dipped into the inkwell as she wrote her letter to a woman that was a part of her eyes and ears. Yes, the white ajah had eyes and ears as well... and numerous spies every since Etain had been raised. This Aes Sedai was a hunter, a hunter of the dark. She could relate to the whitecloaks, to their vicious search for truth, but in the same though she would have no problem dismissing them to their death. It was this heartless sympathy that got her what she wanted. It was this restlessness that posed a threat to her own mind. Her pointer finger and middle finger were smudged with ink, a trait that she recognized on Eithne Sedai... or any other Brown Sister. she realized this would be slightly suspicious and reminded herself to wash her hands before she went out anywhere.

One thing that bothered this White Sister was the quiet that had settled over the tower. Ever since the last few murders, she had heard nothing of what she thought was the Black Ajah. This could only mean something was being stirred up, something would be let out of a grave that was not meant to be tampered with. This bothered her slightly, sent chills down her back from excitement and realization. She was always calm and collected, showed no emotion, and yet her sharp features were caricatures and distorted representations of her sharp thoughts.

As she sat back in her chair she knew that if anyone came in, they would bother to knock, even an Aes Sedai. It was common courtesy. She was alright with the fact that people might still visit her, as was the case recently, but did not appreciate Accepted being sent as messengers from other Aes Sedai. It was a way of telling her, "You are not worth a personal interview; I have nothing to tell you that this Accepted could not tell you by herself." It irked her, but it was nothing that important. Maybe demeaning, but she could get over herself.

She listened to the chair creak beneath her thin frame and began scribbling over the page again. On a seperate sheet of paper she marked down some quick notes that occurred to her over the last few seconds and threw it on to a growing pile to her right. Then she searched the room for her clue as to her next sentence and went back to work, quietly sucking on her lip and reaching for the tea cup she knew was somewhere to her left.