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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.
"I try, my friend," came the mental voice, feeling richer and closer than he remembered it. "Sit, eat if you wish." If he wished? Kranath smiled. The food, again, was some of his favorite chunks of dornya meat scrambled into eggs, with bread and corsi juice so why would he not wish to eat? Because, he discovered when he seated himself, he had no appetite.
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.
He'd eat dornya meat scrambled into eggs again tomorrow, but afterwards his destination would be the gathering hall for his Scarring, not the Ka'ruchaya's office for news intercepts. This morning, though, he could take refuge in normalcy, looking forward even to reading nine days' worth of reports a prospect that as a rule held no appeal for him at all.
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