It is not an attack on her; she is not certain enough as to their origins to be able to evade the Third Oath; and yet there are ways, for those who would choose them, and Moiraine has had enough.

Light blossoms around her, gold in contrast to the silver gleaming still from the apple tree, and a whirlwind of white, silver, and blue storms from her fingertips in shifting bands of light that form a tightly-woven tapestry of light and explodes skywards.

The Sea Folk, the Atha'an Miere, would recognize it as the skill of a Windfinder, as the natural breeze strengthens suddenly into a steady blast, short of the danger of a gale and yet with enough force to drive a ship over the water-- bent now on the birds perched on the roof.