It didn't end until he'd been seated in a small dining room with a thick dornya sandwich—he was amused at how well the word fit into Language—and a mug of hot chovas. He ate, savoring the taste and the matter-of-fact thoughtfulness that had provided the meal.
Conversation, as usual, surrounded but didn't include him while he was eating. When he was finished, though, questions bombarded him to bring out every detail of his first day's wilderness experience as if for a skilled debriefing team.
Two hours later, Hovan called a halt. "Enough! He still has half a mug of chovas we have given him no chance to drink even cold, and he is becoming hoarse."
He paused, looking around with an expression Tarlac had never seen on his face, almost a defiant challenge. "And you have given him no chance to tell you what must be told. He was granted Kranath's Vision last night, and has made his Decision about the information it showed him. Only one part remains in his Ordeal."
His words brought a moment's silence, then a babble of astonishment and doubt that sounded more like a human kindergarten than a group of adult Traiti.
Doubt? Of a Cor'naya's word? Tarlac shook his head, not ready to believe that. Was it the speed of his Ordeal, then, which surprised him too? Or was it that a human had been given Kranath's Vision? No matter which it was, he didn't like anyone doubting Hovan.
He stood and raised his arms in the stance that called for attention, and while he couldn't use the extended claws that made this stance demand it, he didn't have to. His Vision had changed things. These people were his family, yes—but they were also citizens of the Empire, and he was a Ranger; he used his authority without having to think about it.
"Look, as far as I'm concerned, this whole thing is damn near unbelievable. Maybe it's asking too much for you to believe I've had what Hovan calls Kranath's Vision, or that I've made an Ordeal's Decision so soon. But if you have to think someone's lying, don't think it of Hovan. He's only telling you what I told him."
Hovan turned to him, at last understanding some part of a Ranger's formidability. "Ruhar, you need not—"
"Yes, I do," Tarlac interrupted. "I'm still a Ranger, until the Emperor relieves me of duty. We've got our own standards, and they include taking responsibility for whatever we do—or say."