"To go home?" Sora Rafia looks confused. "You aren't with the juniors?" "What?" "Oh, never mind." She leans forward. "Make your offering, Niran of Orun. Say these words with me." In the great hall outside the little individual shrines, one of the taller men stops and takes a long look at Hian, standing tensely waiting for Nikhil. "Why are they taking so long?!" she demands of Rohin, who says nothing. Inside the shrine, Nikhil places his hand on the white cloth, and blood oozes from the tiny pinprick on his finger, staining it. "This blood as an offering," he says, in faltering synchrony with Sora Rafia.