The Khan is unpersuaded by Tyra's affectation. He remains solemn as he continues.
"Then here are the issues most pressing: firstly, the game and forage here is depleted, and we must move. Everyone here knows as much, but mobilizing a clan of this size... A momentous undertaking. We must decide where to march and how." Several Khanmen scurry around the yurt, placing tokens and maps on the table. "To the north, mountains. The Fleetfoots warn of a cold climate, but defensible passage. To the south, wild shrub-lands. Here, the scouts say, there is much variety in flora and fauna, both benign and extreme. The terrain seems amiable, so long as our magics and gods keep us safe from the unknown. To the east, a vast sea of grass similar to our lost home-- but more bountiful. However, there lies the domain of the cityfolk. Of course, it would be preferable to guarantee safe passage before turning the wheel once again... but we have too many clanfolk and too little time to tary. So, simply put, the decision must be made: shall we prepare for the mountains, the wilds, or the grass sea? We can change our decision later, but the coming time of preparation will have been spent in vain-- perhaps to our detriment.
"As for the second issue..." The khan, however young, affects a grim aura befit of a man twice his size as he continues, "We have a fractured clan still, and we must make a show of the rings unity under me. Moreau, Master of Mystics has gained quite the influence over the hearts and minds of the clanfolk since the return of the gods... a respect and admiration trumping my own. This cannot stand." He speaks as if the Master was not present, his eyes locked on some distant point beyond the ring. "What will my ring do to correct this?"