Tanz paused as he walked across the room. "Among my people, a puszhi is a female. Imara told me such is the case on Earth as well. I do not think you female."

Mitch laughed then swallowed it. "Sorry. I just got overwhelmed for a bit. It means I can't handle what's happening, that's all."

Those words felt like sawdust in his mouth, but he couldn't deny his failure to stand steady.

Tanz made a sound deep in his throat. Mitch gasped, the sound coming to his ears as, "I disagree," more accurately translated as "Bullshit."

"What language was that?"

"Kurzi," Tanz answered. "I am not surprised you understand it. Imara speaks it as well as I do."

"I never heard that before. At least, I don't think I have."

Tanz nodded, coming to the bed with clothesfolded over his arm. "You should dress." 

Mitch was certain Tanz wanted to say more, but held his peace. He hoped the cat would loosen up soon. Tanz knew his mother as a girl, grew up with her. There was so much he could tell him about her. 

Mitch swung his legs out of bed and stared down at them for a minute. Like the rest of him, they slimmed down and had that ethereal marble cast to them. His legs, however, showed musculature and texture.

He wasn't sure Nintak's legs would look the same. He shook himself out of his head as Tanz growled at him. 

"Stop staring. You can ask him when you see him."

Mitch decided to try to answer in kind. "Stay out of my head."

Tanz blinked then laughed heartily. "Excellent, Urza. I bow to your wishes," and did, offering the clothes.

Mitch took them and shrugged into them. They felt as light as his body, almost drifting around him. Once he had the loose, wide-legged trousers and the short-sleeved tunic on, Tanz produced a robe, belted and flowing like Nintak's. The sleeves fell in long sweeps from his wrists, but stayed out of his way once he thought about how clumsy they would make him. The skirt of the robe didn't meet, only brushed the side of his legs, giving him room to move if he had to.

Everything was in different shades of gold and red setting off his Qan coloring in a vibrant light that he remained oblivious to.

"This is traditional dress among Laviks," Tanz explained. He wrapped a heavier, silver-looking belt over his robe and pulled fierce blades from jeweled scabbards. Each one was curved almost like a scimitar but notched all the way to the gleaming hilt. "These are Kurz. Wear them with honor."

Touched, Mitch took the blades, weighing them. He was flooded with a familiarity and struck a stance. Eyes closed he flowed, dancing with the blades. He stopped and slipped them into the sheaths, right wrist over left. When he opened his eyes, Tanz stared at him open-mouthed.

"What?"

"Those blades belonged to my master, Imara's father. He used them just that way. How could you know?"

Mitch shrugged. "I didn't. It just felt like the thing to do."

" R'klih blades are never sheathed without giving the stars a chance to admire them," Tanz murmured. "That is exactly what you did."

Mitch sighed, pushing away a residual trickle of panic that engulfedhim before. "So, I know something else I shouldn't know. Do I get shoes?"

Tanz nodded, fishing out a pair of knee-high boots with fur trim. They slipped on easily and kept his feet warm.

"Am I ready?"

Tanz nodded, and led him back out into the hallway.

Mitch closed his eyes a few times as stray thoughts drifted to him. There were so many different languages, with so many different kinds of people behind the thoughts. He pushed them all back, shutting them out as Imara taught him. He blinked as he realized Tanz was standing at a set of tall, metal-looking doors, carved with writing similar to ancient Sumerian, he realized with a start.

He also realized he knew exactly how to act, what to say, how to say it. He smiled to himself, feeling Imara's touch on his mind.

"They await you," Tanz reminded him.

Mitch nodded and stepped forward. Tanz made to push the doors wide, but Mitch narrowed his eyes and slammed them back with every ounce of telekinetic force he could muster. He wore a satisfied smile as several people at the high tables inside jumped and stared in surprise. Deciding to take the lead, he hovered into the air and Slipped. He landed in front of the table, staring eye-eye with the person seated in the middle with three to the left and right..

"I am Mitchell Basil Urza-Qan Canver. You summoned me. I have come."

He watched in mild detachment as the entire gathering fluttered and tried to scrape themselves together. The only one not in a state was Nintak. He sat smiling at Mitch from the far side of the room. He folded his arms inside the sleeves of his robe and floated, waiting patiently.

"Urza-Qan-"

"Mitchell...Urza-Qan," he corrected quietly. His voice bounced off the walls and wrapped around them all.

The Speaker shook his head. "Here you are Urza-"

"I am Mitchell everywhere," he insisted, again quietly. "I am Urza only when my Benign Blessed mother Imara calls me so."

Startled looks flew around the room. Mitch loosened his blocks enough to hear their thoughts and laughed out loud.

"You cannot possibly believe you can regain ground, now," he chided them. "You expected me to come to you a weak-minded, barely civil, overawed, and savage human. I am not awed." 

 He glanced around the room with a flat stare. "I can be savage when the moment calls, from my Kurz Blessed blood, I can. I can even be uncivil. My Benign Blessed mother has taught me better manners, however. I come as summoned. Speak as you would so I may return to She That Birthed me."

Nintak's gold eyes simmered with pride. Mitch got the distinct impression he was cheering for him.

"You said he was not ready, Lytraad," the Speaker accused.

"I said he was not ready to leave his Benign Blessed mother," Nintak replied, lacing his hands together in front of him. "I never said he was not ready to face this Council."

The Speaker turned back to him, and Mitch met his eyes unflinching. He smiled slowly as the man tried to probe his thoughts. He let him in just so far, then forced him out, not even twitching as the man rocked back in his chair to gasps.

"Keep your ass," Mitch hissed, "out of my fucking head."

Nintak laughed softly, clearly pleased.

"He means that," Tanz advised them, gleeful -malicious?- pleasure in his words, "and he is entirely capable of making it so."

Dazed, the Speaker tried to recover his dignity. "How have you learned these things?"

"My Blessed mother instructed me from a very young age."

Mitch smiled again as the man obviously clenched his teeth...or whatever he had in his mouth.

"Has she not taught you to respect your betters?"

"She has indeed," Mitch bowed low, his eyes flashing even brighter when he looked up. "When I meet them, I shall be most respectful."

Nintak had to walk away from the table, trying to quiet his laughter. Urza was turning them all on their heads. It was beautiful to see. The Elder Council was growing far too narrow of mind. If this didn't loosen their stranglehold, nothing would.

"Tell us why you come to us with such wrath, young Mich-El," a female said quietly him.

Mitch turned to her with pursed lips. "Where shall I begin? My Blessed mother forced out of her  place for loving a human, let us not mention deciding she would sooner endure exile and confinement to a single, primitive world than have her child ripped from her womb.

"Should I begin with your imperious summoning of her son, only to attempt to disprove the validity of her choice to give birth to him? Perhaps I should begin with your arrogant assumption I should fear you, that I would be an inferior product of an unsanctioned breeding?

"How can I choose among such promising examples, tell me my Lady Jul'tar."

She blinked large, catlike eyes at him. n the dim lights, he saw she was furry like Tanz, but appeared to be larger. He didn't really care, really. He was ready to go home, and he knew there was nothing they could do to stop him.

"Do you have what you need to judge me?" he demanded, his voice booming around the room.

"I am appeased!" Nintak called back, standing tall beside his chair.

"As I am appeased," Tanz rejoined.

Mitch rested his hands on his blade hilts and returned the bow from the Kurz. Slowly, then rapidly echoing around the room, the Council approved him. Once all stood, save the Speaker, Mitch hovered closer.

"Will you remain reticent on a whim? A moment of petty temper?"

The man narrowed his eyes at him. Mitch shrugged. "So be it. I am appeased as well," He bowed to the standing Council. "I bid you well. I return to She that Birthed me."

***

Imara gasped as he flickered In behind her. She dropped the kettle she was filling at the sink and turned around. Her eyes swept him up and down before she drew him close.

"I think I passed," Mitch murmured, hugging her back.

She broke down in sobs of relief, not fear. Basil came in from the garden and crushed them both against him. Mitch buried his face in Imara's hair and laughed. He laughed until he cried then laughed some more. Engulfed by the two people he loved most in any world, he could never be happier.