Around the circle Manarapi-vea went, circling the column of rain that continued to pour through the corresponding openings in ceiling and floor, offering katola to Hata, Yuiqueru, and Hata-niu alike. There were no Hata-naus present. The matters to be discussed were too important to allow the lowest-ranking chiefs a say in the outcome. Only when everyone had sipped of the venerable liquid made from the sap of the Oli’wiu did Manarapi-vea raise his voice. Everyone seated around the falling rain that drowned the land and gave life and protection to the Sakuntala from marauding predators joined the Hata-tanasua in reciting the ancient verses of understanding. It was said:
“We come here today to make a Talking. Today and here, we are all of one clan. Today and here, every Hata may say what they will, as they will, without fear of being slain by a neighbor.”
There was more. Naneci-tok knew it by heart and recited it from memory, but her thoughts were already on the debate to come. One that without question was going to have a profound impact not only on the future of the Sakuntala but also on their present.
It was expected that Cecolou-tiu, as the eldest in attendance, would speak first. She did not disappoint. With the aid of the pair of Hata-nius flanking her, she eased out of her chair. Once erect, she stood without assistance. Her fur was almost entirely gray, with only the barest hints of the dark black and green pattern that had once identified its owner.
Gazing around the expectant circle, she had to squint hard through the column of rain to make out those chiefs sitting in chairs directly opposite her. But even aged, weak Sakuntala eyes were remarkably acute. When she finally spoke, her words rang out through the meeting room clear and strong.