ou?" Then he realized they probably
hadn't asked. The first Ondrian colonists had thought the cloudcats
unintelligent predators; why shouldn't the Traiti have assumed the same
thing, or maybe decided they were pets? "Yes, they're intelligent.
They can't talk; they use their tongues for gestural communication, and
to handle things. They're outstanding artists, too." If some of his
speculations were correct, that might mean more to the Traiti than to
many humans.

Hovan translated, then turned to the human. "We some as captives took
and caged. We hurt them not, yet have them as animals treated. We
must that change, or dishonor suffer. Can we with them communicate?"

"Most English understand--" Tarlac broke off. "Oh, hell, I'm starting
to adapt to your speech patterns. I'm not trying to make fun of you.
If I've offended, I'm sorry."

"There no offense is," Hovan said calmly. "Go on."

"Okay. Most of them understand English, and can indicate yes and no.
That's about all you can expect unless one of your human or Irschchan
prisoners is familiar with tongue-talk." Tarlac grinned. "We made
that mistake too. We lost some time by it, but it wasn't a disaster.
They may even have picked up some of your language by now. They're
fast learners."

After a few quick words from Hovan, one of his men rose, dressed, and
left. Tarlac gathered he was going to tell someone with more authority
about the cloudcats immediately, and Hovan confirmed it.

There wasn't much talk after that, the serious questions seeming to
have run out, and in the shuffle that followed of Traiti settling into
their bedrolls for the night, Tarlac spent a moment considering his
surprise at their action. The Traiti hadn't waited a night or even an
hour to correct something which surely was not an urgent mistreatment.
The cloudcats were comfortable, Hovan said, even if they were confined;
the human prisoners were almost certainly confined somehow, too.
Merely treating intelligent beings as nonsapient was a cause for
dishonor, it seemed, which spoke well of Traiti honor. True, the
dishonor might be in underestimating a possible enemy--but that didn't
quite seem to fit, somehow.

When the messenger returned and had taken his place in the sleeping
room, Hovan touched a control on the bulkhead to darken the room. Then
he said a couple of words, and all but Tarlac joined him in what the
Ranger thought could be a prayer, a chant, or a song. Wha