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Updated: May 12, 2025
He was content to bask in their warmth and unwilling to disturb their rest until, all too soon, the light did come on and it was time to rise, time to go through the morning routine. When he'd showered again it was still a pleasure Tarlac went with Hovan to first-meal, trying not to think too much about the future.
It was connected with how he was seeing the room, he was sure of that every detail was so bright as to be almost luminous but he felt something more. He stood, not surprised to find himself dressed as he finished the motion, or to see his sleeping mat replaced by a table set for first-meal. Godhome, he thought, was certainly an obliging host.
Looking directly into the Traiti's clear green eyes, Tarlac said, "If it won't require me to violate my oath to the Empire, I'll join Ch'kara gladly. And I'd be proud to have you as my sponsor." "The adoption you to the clan binds, not to the military. None would you ask, your oath to break." Hovan touched the man's shoulder. "But now come. It not good is, first-meal to miss."
He slept that night as if he had nothing hanging over him, and when he went to first-meal, barefoot and wearing only shorts and a knife, he was greeted with enthusiasm and urged, almost forced, to eat heartily. It was the last meal in quite a few days, he was concernedly told, that he could be sure of. "Hey, don't worry about that!" he reassured them, chuckling.
That, the Ranger already knew, wasn't standard. Gesturing, he asked, "What's up?" Hovan motioned him to follow and led the way silently until they were on their way to the meal hall. At last, he decided how to phrase what he had to say. "After first-meal, I clan business have." He indicated the open shirt. "This shows that I with my clan status act, not with this rank."
He was chilly, wearing only the traditional scarlet trousers and quilted house boots and weaponless; this was the only time a fighter had to go unarmed but he wasn't sure his chill was entirely due to the temperature. First-meal didn't help, either. Instead of the eggs and dornya meat he'd planned on, he couldn't face more than a mug of chovas.
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