Enaila headed a line of Maidens, each with three spears in her hands, a line leading back from the dockmaster’s door, vanishing into the nearest of the fates to the city. Some of the Aielmen on the dockside eyed them curiously, but it was obviously something between Far Dareis Mai and the Car’a’carn, and no business of any other society. Amys and three or four other Wise Ones who had once been Maidens were watching more closely. Most of the non-Aiel had gone, except for a few men nervously righting overturned graincarts and trying to look elsewhere. Enaila stepped toward Rand, then halted and smiled as Sulin came out. Not relief. Pleasure. Smiles of pleasure running back down that long line of Maidens. Smiles of those Wise Ones too, and a sharp nod for him from Amys as if he had put an end to some idiotic behavior.
“I thought maybe they were going to go in one at a time and kiss you out of your miseries,” Mat said.
Rand frowned at him, standing there leaning on his spear and grinning, wide-brimmed hat tipped back on his head. “How can you be so cheerful?” The smell of seared flesh still hung in the air, and the moans of burned men and women being cared for by Wise Ones.
“Because I’m alive,” Mat snarled. “What do you want me to do, cry?
Robert Jordan, The Fires of Heaven, Chapter fifty three, page eight hundred and thirty four