When I wrote the book some thirty years ago, I wasn't into the conlanging mode yet. I've always been interested in language, but I mostly just made up names on impulse. (In fact all of my conlangs started out that way.) Consequently, I wasn't as careful about some aspects of the names as I would have been if I had written the book in the last ten years.
These days when I construct names or a language, I never use the English letter "C" because its pronunciation is too ambiguous. Is it to be pronounced like an "s" or like a "k"? In English it's usually like a "k" when it's followed by "a," "o," or "u," and like an "s" if the following letter is "e" or "i" (examples: cake, cere, cinnamon, conlang, culinary).
"G" presents a similar difficulty. However, I find I used only initial "ga" in Galana and Galno and Gauramur, so those don't present a pronunciation problem. And I never used the letter "j" so its pronunciation is a non-issue.
The odd thing is, among the Epanishai, I felt that having Saremna call her father "Papa" seemed perfectly appropriate. "Father" would be way too formal from a five-year-old, and I never even thought of making an Epanishai word for "Father." So I haven't been exactly consistent, but it seems to work.
For the Siritoch, I did come up with diminutive suffixes, such as "Walanatha," which would in effect equal "Grandpa." This can be used with personal names as well, such as Nebetanatha or just Nebetanath and even the long but sonorous Batharamolanatha (her name is Batharamol). This is sometimes shortened to simply 'Ramolanatha. Otherwise, I have very little Siritoch vocabulary, only "Thirnam," a name which means "Cherry." Frankly, I've always liked the word "Epanishai" (pronounced Eh-PAHN-ish-AI), but I never cared for sound of Siritoch (the "ch" should be that soft gutteral sound as in German "Koch."). However, after all these years I'm stuck with the word -- my mind would not accept using any other term for those people!
If you look at the names of the Siritoch, there are repetitions that surely mean something in their language. A lot of names end in -ith or -ath or -eth, and others end in -ol. I've sometimes thought of -ith as a feminine ending, but I haven't been consistent in this. I think the names all have a meaning which could be worked out if a conlang was composed (e.g., -ol could be a plural form), but again I don't think that would add anything to the enjoyment of the story.
I did do a little more technical work with the Epanishai language. The holy trees are called the "sharovai" (singular: sharova), so it's clear that at least one form of plural in Epanishai is changing the -a ending to -ai. I figure "Epanishai" is plural, too, but I never use a singular -- it never occurred to me back then. The sacred grove is the "Codia," and a Priestess of the Grove is a "Codian" (plural: Codiant, so that's another way to make a plural in Epanishai). And I do mention the names of some of the Epanishai months: Torhorda (the month before the new year begins; Danhorda (the midwinter month), and Nalhorda (the month just before midsummer). I clearly remember setting up the calendar to have eight-day weeks, because I've always found our seven-day week annoying. If you have to do something every other day, for example, you can't make it come out even. If I have more information on time keeping, it's buried irretrievably in my voluminous collection of early manuscripts.
The Epanishai names themselves are distinguishable from Siritoch. The male names often end in -o. For variety, several male names end in -ur, -is, or -al, or even -ab. I didn't seem to vary the female names; they all end in either -ia or -a. Of course, I could still change some of those, but I don't think I'm going to do that.
And that's about the extent of the linguistic work I did for this book. Probably enough, although not thoroughly satisfying.
I did decide to change the word "men" whenever I had used it to mean "people." There was a lot more of that in there than I had realized. I did keep the term "bearded men" because the Siritoch have no beards and it's the male Epanishai that they fear, not the women, so it makes sense they would make statements like "the bearded men are coming to kill us." They wouldn't say "the bearded people."
And I also eliminated "alien" when it's a noun referring to the Epanishai. I kept it in certain adjectival usages such as "that's alien to our way of life."