He opened his eye again.
"It is what the masters say," he told Marvor. "The masters say we do a thing, and we do it. This is right."
Marvor bent toward him. "Why is it right?" he asked.
"Because the masters say it is right," Cadnan told him, with the surprised air of a person explaining the obvious. "The elders, too, say it before we come to this place." He added the final sentence like a totally unnecessary clincher—unimportant by comparison with the first reason, but adding a little weight of its own, and making the whole story even more satisfying.
Marvor, however, didn't seem satisfied. "The masters always speak truth," he said. "Is this what you tell me?"
"It is true," Cadnan said flatly.
Marvor reflected for a second. "It may be," he said at last. He turned away, found a leaf and began to munch on it slowly. Cadnan picked up his own leaf quite automatically, and it was several seconds before he realized that Marvor had ended the conversation. He didn't want it to end. Talk, he told himself dimly, was a good thing.
"Marvor," he said, "do you question the masters?" It was a difficult sentence to frame: the idea itself would never have occurred to him without Marvor's prodding, and it seemed now no more than the wildest possible flight of fancy. But Marvor, turning, did not treat it fancifully at all.
"I question all," he said soberly. "It is good to question all."
"But the masters—" Cadnan said.