Chapter Text
There seemed to be no past no future, just your present time in that cleaning supply closet, tossed among brooms, mops and an assortment of sanitation materials. In reality, you had been stuffed in the small closet against your will; shoved, pushed, and thrown in by a small pack of rowdy initiates who locked the door from the outside, your crechemates leaving you for one of the crechemasters to find.
Hoping you would be set free sooner rather than later, you screamed and shouted until your throat was nearly hoarse. You could feel the others, they were still in the hall, some closer than others, milling between lessons, meals, and free time. Their presences were clear, tangible, until they weren’t. Altogether, they vanished quite quickly, but not at once. One disappeared, then another…then a few, and then a few more one after the other. Did any of the crechemasters take them out of the halls? You could no longer feel the presence of any Jedi Masters, so that was out of the question.
Your stomach grumbled. The heavy beat of boots made the floor underneath you vibrate. When that sound faded along with muffled commands, you pushed yourself up from the washing bucket you had been pushed into, opting to settle on the durasteel floor. Hours passed, and you simply sat and stared at the locked door. Every once in a while you would crawl over and press your ear to the durasteel door hearing the sounds of heavy machinery and clone squadrons.
Though you wanted to be awake in case anyone discovered you, the lack of proper nourishment and well deserved rest coaxed your body into an irritated slumber. Surely someone would come. Perhaps a crechemaster, wherever they were. Perhaps one of your crechemates, feeling heavy with guilt, would free you. Or, it would be one of those heavy footed strangers on the outside, breaking in. Maybe they knew what happened to the others.
Crechemaster Karrin had rounded you and the others up for your night time rest, making sure everyone was in their bunk. Unfortunately, the Crechemaster failed to notice several of his clan yanking you from your sheets and out into the temple halls. This behavior was common, the others often provoked and prodded you without reason, taking great delight in your array of reactions.
“...re…y…u……ve?”
“Hey!”
Startled awake rather rudely, you nearly screamed. Pushing yourself to your knees, you looked about, eyes well adjusted to the darkness, and up in the highest corner of the small closet, a head poked out from an undiscovered vent.
“Wow, you’re not dead,” came a tired voice, “...what are you waiting for? Get up here!”
Not really thinking, you jumped to your feet, pushing the washing bin as close as you could to the wall before jumping straight up. With a hand from the new stranger, they pulled you into the vent, cursing the lack of room.
“This way. Keep your head down, and do as I say.”
Nodding obediently, you crawled behind the other individual, smelling the heavy scent of burnt flesh, and blasterfire. About half an hour passed before the stranger stopped, ordering you to back up. With hardly a sound, they gently loosened the vent covering, using the Force to toss it off to the side.
“I’ll go down first. Are you good to jump down?”
At once you shook your head, sensing a steep drop ahead of you.
“Alright then. Wait, and then I’ll catch you.”
In a matter of seconds, the stranger crawled out of the vent before dropping down. Crawling right to the edge, you peered over to see a young Twi’lek in distressed padawan robes, perhaps around thirteen standards, looking up at you expectantly. Hesitantly you crept over the vent lip, finally falling down into a pair of thin, but strong arms.
“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” They said, probing for some sort of answer.
Shrugging, you could only look down at your bare feet, still roughed up from being dragged from your bed.
Chapped, cracked lips parted. “Where is everyone?”
The Twi’lek paused. “Best not to talk about it now. Come on, we need to keep moving.”
Remembering their instruction, you kept your head to the ground, watching your new companion’s boots move forward. Occasionally, they would pull you close, wrapping you up in their cloak. It was then you could see how battered they truly were with your hand just grazing a ghastly blaster wound in the left thigh. Even so, they pressed on, practically dragging you behind them. Your mind wandered for a while, thinking of how you hadn’t had a bite to eat for a long while. If there were initiates still left in the temple, you doubted they would have saved you a portion.
“Where’s this ship headed?”
“Outer Rim territories, lad. Yer’ Jedi, no?”
Drawn from your thoughts, you looked up, to see an older human man eyeing the both of you. The Twi’lek’s grip on your smaller hand tightened.
“Of course not!” He scoffed. “We’re just a couple a’ thieves and stole these from those monks. Now are you going to let us board or not?”
“Stealing from Jedi? Likely story.”
“I can give you all the credits I have.”
With his other hand your companion gently slapped the side of your head, and you looked downward once more, then produced the money from the folds of his robes. It must have been a lot, the pilot let out a great laugh before pushing the both of you towards the ship, giving permission to board. Hand in hand, you were led to the cargo hold, which had been fitted with seating for passengers. The Twi’lek picked you up off the ground placing you atop some durasteel crates. Pulling their hood over their head, he prompted you to look up, his form keeping any eyes from properly looking at you.
“We’ll be alright…no need to look so glum.” He said, trying to inspire some sort of smile.
Fiddling with the edges of your own clothes, you looked into your rescuer’s bright red eyes. “I…I don’t know your name.”
“Oh!” The boy gave a genuine smile, “Sorry, I guess I forgot about that. It’s Sill Drennen. And you?”
Quietly you whispered your name, noticing the ship was starting to fill.
“Is that so?” Sill nodded. “You look rather young, are you sure you’re that many standards?” He laughed, patting the top of your head. “Nah, I’m joking.”
You wanted to smile, to give him a laugh, even if it was rattled and hollow. Even a fake laugh might have made the poor boy feel better. While fiddling with your robes, you could feel something small. Your eyes widened. Pulling the item out, it was a bottle of bacta spray. Something the healers had regularly given you during your many patient visits.
“Here. For your leg.”
Tears formed rather rapidly in Sill’s eyes, spilling over and pouring down his cheeks. Slowly he took the bottle from your hand, then quickly applied it to his injuries. Without saying a word you watched, amazed he was able to do so much with just a small amount of bacta. Undernourished and sleep deprived, you couldn’t help but lean against the wall and nod off.
Your next awakening was far more jarring than the last.
“BANDOMEER!” The pilot bellowed through the ship’s comm. “WE TAKE OFF IN THIRTY MINUTES EXACTLY!”
Sill was still in front of you looking only slightly worse for wear. You couldn’t help but notice his shock at your awakening. Before you could ask the time, a low rumble from your stomach caught both your attention.
“Oh, kark.” Sill cursed. “I need to find you something to eat. Keep your head down, okay? I’ll be right back.”
You wanted to ask him to stay to stand and be that wall between yourself and the rest of the galaxy, but your mouth wouldn’t move. Once again, you found yourself waiting, obediently making yourself inconspicuous. The pain in your head came with the second rude awakening, and it seemed to only worsen with time. While you couldn’t move, you could feel the vibrations of those reentering the ship.
Sill.
Had Sill returned to the ship? Your eyelids kept threatening to close, and you fought valiantly to keep them open as you waited for Sill to return. Maybe if you just let your eyes close for a little, just a moment or two, when you opened them, he would be there. And so you did.
Sill would never return to the ship.
The third harsh awakening barely roused you. Still the feeling of being seized so harshly would wake anyone. Someone had a solid grip on your shoulders, lifting you up and off the crates.
“One second, captain! I’m tossing the dead body from the cargo hold! Good thing we’re on the outskirts…”
And with that last word, you felt your body go weightless and then smack flatly on rough ground. Squeezing your eyes shut, you waited for the ship to take off before trying to look around. You had landed on your stomach; the escape from the temple and unceremonious unboarding had left your clothes torn and rather dirtied. With just enough energy to turn your head to the side to see sand for miles upon miles as the twin suns made their retreat.
From not far off you could hear ships come and go, crews offloading trash and unwanted cargo of all sorts. Every so often there would be a remark in galactic basic, remarking on the ‘small corpse’, wondering if there ‘would be any valuables on the body’. Thank the ancestors no one laid a hand on you. One wrong move and surely that would be it. Just as the thought crossed your mind, something rather pointed lightly prodded your side.
It should have all been over within the temple, either from starving to death or facing whoever opened that locked door. But there you laid on the warm sand, gathering up the dregs of your energy to push yourself onto your back.
A rounded, but guttural sound came from the individual who’d found you. If you were honest you couldn't discern a proper face. Then again, you had rarely left the Jedi Temple, and Crechemaster Karrin would often remark on the much larger galaxy there was for those who pass on from initiate to padawan. There were countless planets, countless peoples you hadn’t seen, and this was one of them.
Again the being bellowed, poking you a touch harder around the ribs. At that you let out a small cry. The heavily robed individual stepped back, hands clamping down on a long, dark weapon. You stared into what you assumed was the visor of the stranger’s wear. A bandaged hand went into the folds of their own clothing. The fabrics were all loose, seemingly too big for the stranger, anything could be hidden in those pockets and creases, perhaps a blaster.
Perhaps a black melon.
That bandaged hand placed the fruit close enough you could feel its skin. There was no proper thought to it, you simply went right in. Sharp teeth made easy, but sloppy work of the melon shell. As soon as your teeth pierced through a strange and foul liquid poured into your mouth. Any other time you would have spit it right up; given the circumstances, taste mattered little to none. In seconds the melon was empty and your stomach churned, processing the little sustenance you had provided.
The stranger still stood above you, it’s posture unreadable. Your shaky hands went for your belt, decorated in modest dark beading in accordance with your people. Crechcemaster Karrin had told you it made the trip to the temple with you after your parent’s surrender. It was much too large for you now, making it cumbersome to put on. Your nimble fingers undid the tight wrappings until it was loose enough for you to pull it off your body and leave it at the feet of the stranger. Stooping down they picked up the decorated leather belt, giving it the once over before slinging it over their shoulder. You spent that night watching the stranger walk off into the sand dunes until your eyes closed again.
____________________
“...ke…it…s…o”
“I think it’s dead.”
“Just do it, Peli!”
A small hand awkwardly slapped your head.
“Stop…” You grumbled, rousing from your slumber.
A small chorus of shrill screams broke out as you sat up, to see a group of children running from where you lay. The black melon had been surprisingly hardier than you imagined. Though still weak, you could finally stand and examine your surroundings. You had been thrown into an illegal dumping ground filled with hollowed ships, decaying material and deserted cargo. The smell reminded you of the same scent you could just barely make out from behind that door in the cleaning closet.
The twin suns had risen to their full glory, beating down on everything under their territory. Taking a deep breath, you squeezed your fists tight before walking in the direction of where the children had run. In only a matter of minutes your energy began to wane, your legs buckling unexpectedly, struggling to hold you up.
“Oh stars! You really are alive!”
From behind a large, rusted crate came a young girl, maybe four or five standards older than yourself. Her large brown curls bounced as she ran to your side.
“Rig thought you were a zombie, but I thought I’d go back and check!” Her strong arms pulled you flush to her side, the girl taking on over half of your weight. “I couldn’t leave you here to die. S’ not right, y’know?”
“Uh-huh.” You mumbled, focusing on keeping your footing solid.
Maybe this girl was one of the people Sill tried to guard you from. Even if she was, you might not have minded much. Wherever she took you would be better than frying in a dumping ground. The girl spoke quite animatedly, the whole time, only glancing over to see that you were still conscious.
“This is Tatooine, there’s not much here except in the few settlements, and o’ course the sand people have their own homes. I don’t think you’re from around here, otherwise you wouldn’t be in the junkyard…well maybe you are. I dunno what you do.
She had settled on the topic of podracing and how she was going to give it a go when she was older. That is, if she could hide it from her mother and father.
“They don’t want me getting into that stuff. Dad says it’s too dangerous…hey! Here we are!”
The rather talkative girl all but hauled you into a rather large dwelling filled with all sorts of mechanical gear and ship parts.
“Peli Motto! Where have you been?! Rig and the others say you found a dead animal in the junkyard, I told you never to go there-Oh my stars…”
The human woman, Peli’s mother, came up to you at once gently patting you down for any injuries, and finding several. Not wasting a moment, the woman took you in her arms, leading you through what must have been their shop, and to a small rather barren room with only a bed. She ordered her daughter to retrieve a whole host of items, before tearing at your worm clothing. Casting it aside, the human woman started to wash your body with a warm wet cloth, removing the grime, soil and sand from your sun burned skin. Then came the bacta and the nasty work.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. There’s only so much bacta we can spare.”
Fortunately there were no critical injuries. A few gashes that needed stitching, countless bruises, areas where the skin had been scraped raw and what felt like a broken rib. Given you could still breathe, the three of you determined none of your lungs had been punctured. Jedi were brave, Jedi were supposed to be brave. All the masters you would see in the halls, were the epitome of bravery, and if they could face any number of horrors, why couldn’t you go through some stitches without shedding a tear. You sobbed and cried, nearly shoving the woman when the searing pain became too much. None of the healers in the Hall of Healing had ever administered stitches to you, much less without any pain relievers.
“That’s the last one, starlight.” Peli’s mother assured you, starting to put away the medical supplies.
Exhausted through and through you let yourself fall back on the flat pillow underneath you, letting your healing injuries pulsate.
“Maker, you look just awful…Peli, go find something for our guest to eat!”
“On it, Ma’!”
Staring up at the clay ceiling, you simply sniffled, wanting to wake up from this sick dream. You wanted nothing more than to wake up in your bunk in the creche only to find that your crechemates had hidden your boots in the trash disposal. That was much preferable to this. This hell of sorts. Though, if it was hell, you supposed then no one would have stopped to help you. Not Sill, nor the wrapped stranger, not the girl Peli and her mother.
“M’am?” You croaked.
“Mhm?” Much like her daughter, Peli’s mother’s hands were strong. YOu watched her wring out of the bloody towels used in your care.
“Is there...any water?”
From her own belt she unhooked a chipped metal bottle, unscrewing the lid and handing the bottle over to you. Before bringing your lips to the opening you sniffed the contents, finding no pungent odor to the water inside. It took all the will in your body to keep from chugging it all in one sitting. Gripping the thin bed sheets, you forced yourself to take small sips every five seconds. When the bottle was emptied, Peli’s mother took it, hooking it back in its proper place.
“You must be…so tired. But may I ask, what happened, where are you from?”
How strange it was to be asked such simple questions, and to feel so utterly sick you nearly threw up the little contents of your stomach. For a moment you focused on breathing, keeping the black melon liquid and the fresh water down. When the wave of nausea lifted you sighed. You offered your name, and then tried to think of what you could possibly say to describe the happenings you had endured.
“I’m from the core. I live in that system as a student, and I got into an accident…”
Technically speaking it was the truth. While not a padawan learner exactly, you were learning of the galaxy, of the Jedi and their ways, and all manner of living beings. The ‘accident’ part was an egregious minimization of reality, and it was clear Peli’s mother was not convinced.
“Very well, young one. Peli will have your meal in a moment. If you don’t mind I must speak to my husband and inform him there will be someone staying with us.”
Gathering up the array of medical supplies the human woman left walking past her spirited daughter in the doorway.
“I hope ya like stew cos’ that’s what we have for the whole week! I don’t mind it so much but Ma’s much pickier than I am. I don’t think dad cares, he’d eat anything, y’know?”
You didn’t know much in the way of mothers or fathers, but Peli’s word seemed good enough. Nodding in agreement, you did not hesitate to take the bowl from the girl’s hands, taking in the overwhelmingly warm smell of vegetables and hunks of juicy meat cooked soft in a thick broth that had you feeling faint. The mess hall never had food so richly seasoned, so full and thoroughly flavorful. Each meal for the initiates was portioned and looked over to ensure each young initiate was receiving the right amount of nutrients and calories for their age and species.
“Well?” Peli scoffed. “What’re you waiting for, an invitation? Eat it!”
Bringing the bowl to your peeling lips, you tipped it slightly forward, letting the heart stew fill your mouth with a wealth of savory flavor. You took your time drinking the broth and chewing each meat chunk and vegetable, letting your sharp teeth pull the pieces apart into shreds. While you took in every bite, Peli regaled you with tales of her life in Tatooine.
“My folks have managed Hangar 3-5 long before you were ever born. I think they wanna have me work with them when I’m older. But what they don’t know is that I’m gonna be Mos Eisley’s top podracer!”
Setting the bowl down, you looked at Peli wondering how she had so much to talk about at any given moment.
“I heard you tell Ma’ you’re from the Core. That’s a long way from here! That’s where most rich people live, huh?”
At that you quirked your eyebrow. “Rich?”
Peli shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. A whole lotta rich people like it outside of the Outer Rim cos’ they’ve got laws to protect their money. But I guess out here people can do whatever they want to make as much money as they want.”
Wealth was not something you had ever thought much about. Occasionally one of your crechemates would talk about how they would one day be sent on missions by the chancellor as a Jedi knight. Perhaps he was one of those rich people to be sending the Jedi across worlds on a whim.
“Have you ever been one of those rich people? Have you met any?”
You shook your head. “I’ve…never had money.”
“Never? No wonder we found you in the junk yard…Well, if you’ve never had any money, how'd you end up in Mos Eisley?”
The question hung in the air longer than either of you would have liked. Everything in your mind instructed you to say as little as possible. If not for your safety but for Peli and her family.
“I was travelling with a friend.” How you wished Sill was still here, his presence was a bit frantic but strong in the Force. “We were separated during an accident, and I was thrown out of the ship. I don’t remember a whole lot.”
Peli huffed. “Hm. Well, Ma’ says by the look a’ you, it seems like you haven’t eaten in a long time. Hell, I’m surprised you’re even alive. You looked real dead out there in the sand.”
“I did find drink - or I was given somethin’ to drink?”
Your new friend’s eyes widened, prompting you to elaborate.
“Uh, well, someone who left by way of the sand dunes gave me a Black Melon. The taste was bad, but that’s what probably saved me I think.”
The girl lurched forward, hands on your shoulders, looking quite wild-eyed. “WAIT. You’re telling me someone from the sand dunes gave you a WHAT?”
“A Black Melon.” You repeated quietly.
“THAT WAS A TUSKEN! You met a Tusken and LIVED?”
You were growing to like Peli very much, but her tendency to raise her own volume at any given time was too much for your ears.
“Peli Motto! Quit your screaming and go finish your chores!” Her mother entered along with a tall, thin man; she yanked her daughter up by the collar of her shirt. “I need to check our guest’s bandages.”
While Peli sheepishly left, you looked up at the two questioningly.
“Ma’m I think my bandages are fine for now. S’ not that bad now.”
The woman smiled, motioning for her husband to take a seat on a small crate which he pulled a polite distance from your bed.
“This is my husband, Peli’s father.”
“You can call me Ike. It’s better than sir and all that mess. Now, my wife says Peli found you out in the junkyard just on the outskirts. This true?”
Oh how you wanted to sleep, to lay your head down and rest for at least a couple of years before answering any more questions. But this young family had opened their home to you and offered not only their food, water and supplies, but the labor of their hands, it was only right to do what little they asked of you.
“Yes. Like I said, I was traveling with a friend. We got separated during an accident and I don’t really remember a lot.”
Ike nodded his big head, “That sounds all good and true, but I’m gonna need you to remember things sooner rather than later.”
That piercing fear that had kept you in the cleaning closet had returned.
The man continued. “We’re on the outer rim, but there’s folks of this so-called New Empire. And they’re looking for young kids like you, any young kids who look like foreigners. They say you’re dangerous, some say sorcerers. Either way authorities are working with this New Empire, and looking to take in anyone suspicious.”
Crying offered the quickest relief to this new threat, it seemed like the only rational response though quite unbecoming of a Jedi Padawan in training. As much as you wanted to bawl your eyes out and have a good cry, you were still moderately dehydrated. Instead you let out a small whimper of sorts burying your face in your scuffed hands. Why hadn’t Peli left you to starve in the junkyard. How you wished her mother let her hand slip during the stitching process inadvertently letting you bleed to death. All that sounded much better than facing this New Empire.
“Oh Starlight, don’t cry!” Peli’s mother practically flew to your side, pulling you close to her chest.
“I c-can’t!” You cried, gasping for air between cries.
The woman glared at her husband, stroking your battered face, careful not to irritate your injuries too much. This was all too much. Too many sensations in a short period of time, too many emotions to process that had no name, too many new people for you to grow accustomed to, too many memories for you to bury.
“Please, M’am.” You managed shakily. “I-I need space.”
Reluctantly, she let go, moving to where her husband was, grabbing his hand for her own comfort.
“I’m sorry, little one. But our family…We need to keep Peli safe. If they know you’re here, we fear what they might do.”
What were you to do? What should you do? What would a Jedi Master do? This new regime was seeking out people just like you, sorcerers, or Force wielders. Two options came to mind, begging the couple to allow you to stay as long as you were able; it would ensure your healing, but forsake the Motto family. Or you could submit to your duty as a Jedi. Or a Jedi Initiate anyway. You could feel the chaos within the Force, perhaps you could provide some peace, if only for this one family, by doing as they asked.
With shaky breaths you settled your nerves as much as possible, before facing the young couple. Keeping your face even, you thanked them for their generous help, and the medical care. You had nothing to offer but the promise you would leave quickly leaving no trace in exchange for some food, a canteen of water and a pair of Peli’s old clothes. It was decided upon that you would leave before dawn.
That night you pulled the thin sheet close, running your thumb over the material. You had never wholly relied on your crechemaster, as leader of the smallest clan in the temple, he was to guide, guard and help you to grow in all ways befitting a Jedi Initiate. Your basic needs were met, though crechemaster Karrin always seemed to turn a blind eye to maltreatment at the hands of other initiates. He often seemed preoccupied with other matters. There was much going on in the temple causing great unrest. It seemed that was a common theme expanding far from the core system.
“Ancestors,” you whispered, “deliver me your strength…”
_________________
You had only slept perhaps an hour, keeping yourself occupied the rest of the night by meditating, only breaking focus when Peli’s mother entered your small room. In one hand she held a decent sized pack, seemingly chock full of rations and water, the other holding your new clothes. With few words, she helped you into the pants, loose tunic and boots, then secured the pack to your back, making sure the padding was sufficient, though it would still rub against our bandaged wounds.
“There. You’re all set. Let me get a good look at you, child.”
Obediently, you stood still, unwilling to make eye contact with the woman.
“I’m so sorry. I wish it could work some other way, but sometimes life forces you to find a way.”
“I’ll be fine, Ma’m.” Glancing out the small transparisteel window you could see the darkness start to lift. “I should be on my way.” You gave a polite bow. “This kindness will not be forgotten.”
Without another word, you left swiftly as you could, not wanting to look for Peli. You wondered how she would react upon learning you had departed while she slept. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind that you had permanently borrowed her old clothes. Maybe if you made the next few nights, your odds of meeting Peli during better times would grow stronger.
Despite the early hour, there were a fair amount of people roaming the streets of Mos Eisley, so many different individuals, tempting you to take a second look. But Crechemaster Karrin had taught you and the other children basic manners which included not starring impolitely at any living being.
The Motto’s had graciously given you three days worth of food, and a large bottle of fresh water, a hot commodity on Tatooine. With those basic needs met for the time being, there was the matter of shelter, and safety. Keeping a low profile you tried to think back on your lessons with Master Yoda, covering the basics of major planets of Jedi interest. Kamino had been a week before the accident and Tatooine, you supposed three weeks back. Oh how much a young child could forget in that time!
At the present moment, you could only think of the shrouded stranger who gave you the Black Melon your first night on the desert planet. They had headed over the sand dunes just past the junkyard with such confidence, surely some sort of settlement laid beyond the grip of the New Empire. There was a great chance you would be wrong and die slowly once your supplies had been diminished and the sun had burned you to a crisp. The only other realistic option was to find a way of living in the Mos Eisley settlement, a world chock full of strangers, as opposed to the desert. Perhaps more enemies did in fact lurk there but better to die in ignorance than in intense fear.
“Ancestors guide me, please.”
Turning on your heel, you went back the way you came, making sure to avoid the Motto hangar, following the path Peli had taken from the junkyard. It came as quite a shock when you realized you had created a blood trail that fateful day Peli dragged your sorry self home. Hastily, you did your best to mask it with scrap and sand, thank Force the path all but faded closer to the settlement. With the trail destroyed, you went to find the remnants of the Black Melon, from there you would follow the path of the stranger,
The rotted fruit shell was truly rancid, but offered nothing in the matter of locating the stranger’s trail. On the outskirts, the comings and goings of crafts obscured foot trails of any kind.
What would a Jedi do? Pursing your lips, you loosened your shoulders, jumped up and down, trying to physically expel all signs of stress. It was all about the Living Force, and as initiates Master Karrin had barely introduced you to the prospect of tapping into that immense power. But you knew of meditation, it was something all Jedi practiced and something Master Yoda spoke of often.
Clearing your mind was the first hurdle, setting aside the thoughts wandering about the past, present and future. Not one to back down from a challenge you pursued clarity avidly. Breathing deeply, the rush of oxygen flowing to your brain gave you a sense of a clear mind. When your eyes flew open once more, you fixated on a certain spot on the horizon and started to walk, more confident than you had been since being shoved into that sanitation closet.
What would the others think of you now, alone, wandering through sand dunes, you had only ever read about in a textbook. Thinking of your crechemates, you realized you could still no longer feel any one of them. While not surprising, it was very disheartening. Back in the creche, there would often be initiates, most of them older, who would be chosen by a Jedi Knight as a padawan. At your age, you had seen a fair number of peers move on to such status, and for the most part, you could still feel their presence in the Force without distinctly seeking them out. Though you tried, and sought out some semblance of Jedi existence, there was none you could find. There was only you.
As you journeyed out further into the dunes, the bustling sounds of Mos Eisley faded away, the quietness rarely being disturbed by a ship flying overhead. Travel would have been much easier by way of craft or speeder; your newly calloused feet rubbed gratingly against the soles of the boots. The soles had Peli’s old imprint embedded, the ridges and dips making walking most uncomfortable
Letting out a sigh, you took a conservative sip of water, denying yourself any more than necessary. You wondered what dying of dehydration would truly feel like when a familiar guttural sound captured your attention. A stone’s throw away stood that shrouded stranger from your first night, seemingly digging at the ground with a long, wooden instrument. Now that you were a good deal away from death’s door you then recognized the features of your mysterious benefactor. It was one of the planet’s indigenous people, as one of the Jedi Master’s called them, the Sand People. Nothing else had been taught to you and the other initiates about the people, giving you no initial fear, but remembering Peli’s reaction to your story, tension began to manifest in your shoulders.
Reacting according to instinct you took a knee, placing both hands at your sides, showing there was no weapon at the ready. The stranger made an odd signal with their hands, but you assumed it was a prompt. Perhaps a greeting or declaration of suspicion. You knew nothing of what the stranger was trying to communicate, and certainly this individual would not know of your own language, but galactic basic was a fair place to start.
“Hello there.” You called, offer.
The other was perfectly still, only loose bits of cloth spun in the desert wind. Nothing. You kept kneeling, but instead of trying more words, you moved your right hand, fingertips skyward, palm facing the stranger. Then in a single gentle movement you made a small arch with your hand falling finally again at your side.It was a simple greeting. One Crechemaster Karrin had taught you as an impressionable toddler. He had known of your home planet, of your own people, though it was not much. No one knew very much of your origins.
The stranger seemed to finally nod, regarding your existence. They kept a firm grip on their own weapon, and took long nervous strides until only a yard separated the both of you. Unable to support yourself on only one knee, you let yourself sit on the sand, now quite warm from the morning suns. You made a show of opening your gifted pack, tipping the opening toward the stranger, showing the contents only consisted of food bundles and a water canteen. Grabbing a bundle of bread, you extended your hand in offering.
They were only a head taller than you, perhaps this being was around your age. That would explain the way in which they quickly grabbed the bundle without a second thought. After shucking half the packaging, the stranger jumped with giddy joy, placing the package in their robes. Since there was no shared language, you could only try to mime and point at what you wanted to communicate. Motioning to the suns, and your growing sun burns, your heart soard when the stranger nodded once more and started walking ahead, motioning you to join. `
Your new friend often pointed to curious landmarks and creatures, ones you would have never paid any mind. About a mile had been traveled when you reached the base of a small plateau on which all sides were covered in small openings. Not waiting for your response, they pushed you gently towards the lowest little cavern holding a hand in front of themself before walking away.
They would be back. You could feel it.
The next three days passed uneventfully. As predicted, the young outlander returned each afternoon holding a few black melons and raw chunks of some type of meat. Much to your discomfort, they seemed to enjoy watching you drink and eat, you could feel their stare with each bite, each sip taken. For each ration you handed over, you were given at least double in melons and meat bits. When the suns started their retreat, they would leave, mimicking your greeting as they departed.
The fourth day, you waited faithfully at your small cavern spot. Earlier that morning you had taken to lightly jogging about the area, careful not to overexert yourself. Sparring was impossible for the time being, so you relied on push ups to keep your muscles from further deteriorating. Once your light exercise regimen was completed you sat and waited, watching for that small figure to appear just past the sand dunes on the horizon. Half an hour past noon, your stomach growled, having quickly grown accustomed to a timely lunch. Your satchel was empty, everything given to your friend. Only the canteen remained, three quarters full.
Laying down, you nestled next to the cavern wall, still looking at the horizon when you fell asleep. Conceivably four hours had passed when you could feel something unfamiliar hovering over you. Despite being an initiate, you prided yourself on being able to recognize other presences within the Force. The one at hand, had completely taken you by surprise. A warm, and solid hand pressed rather rigidly against your back, threatening to undo a bit of medical stitching.
Yelping like a trodden dog you pulled away from the intruding appendage, feeling around your back and finding the wetness of blood had started to permeate the fabric of your tunic. Head whipping around you locked eyes with a fair-skinned man, human in species. You recognized those blue eyes, the copper hair and lithe stature.
“Master Kenobi…”