The crones sit together in silence. You've heard that in their youth they roamed the land, gathered their knowledge close. They were once many but now only two remain. They'll share what they learned with you, if only you have the strength to listen.

You draw nearer, the list clutched in your trembling hand.

"Ageless ones," you croak, "I asked the internet what to read next while I wait for Winds of Winter. Does this satisfy?"

The nearer one, her hair as pale as the moon, gently takes the page. Her eyes are pained as she glances to her sister. She shakes her head.

"Oh child," the other sighs. You swear you see a hundred worlds in her dark stare. "Friends don't let friends read Goodkind."