Zander stands very still for the best part of a minute. When he speaks, his voice is so quiet that Jahura has to strain to hear it.
"I am getting a little tired," he says, "of people taking it upon themselves to punish you for decisions which were partly mine. And, indeed, of people punishing you...at all." He raises his voice a little. "Everything we have decided stands. Nothing will be changed to suit the Great Tree or the Middle-Sized Shrub or the Walking Lampshade or the Flying Spaghetti Monster or anyone else. And the next scrofulous jackanapes who asks your name without first furnishing a full and candid account of him- or herself will feel the length of my tongue before--" He stops. Makes a huge effort. Smiles. "Sorry, love," he says, in almost his normal tones. "Been a bit of a day. Let's get back to the hotel and see what fresh disasters they've managed to conjure there. This lot can handle one night under the stars. And I want a night in the room we just cleared out."
"So do I," Jahura sighs. "Goddess I might be, but I'm still beat." She looks at the milling refugees. Some of them have started to take note of their surroundings, and a few are sitting down on the lush grass, or tentatively sniffing the fruit on the trees. "Okay," she says. "Let's go home."