The Jedi And The Warrior

The Beginning

The footprints in the snow were fading as Flyra followed them, a silent wraith between the black, snow-bound trees. Soft flakes were landing in the already-thick coat of white, filling in the imprints that would mean dinner for her family, if she could catch him.

A deer — a stag, if the Force was with her — and alone at that. If only the wretched snow would stop falling, she might be able to catch up with him.

She already carried two figwits — a small creature somewhere between a squirrel and a miniature elephant — across one shoulder, but a deer would be enough to feed her own family and Obi-Wan's for a month.

Evening was drawing close, a purple twilight closing in above the naked trees. The path ahead of her now lay in shadow, and she halted, drawing her cloak tighter about her.

It had been slipped from the vacated seat of a traveller in the village inn, a visitor from the Core Worlds by the quality of his clothing. What he was doing on Stewjon, Flyra couldn't guess. It hadn't mattered to her, anyway.

Most of what she carried with her had been stolen somehow or other. The blaster secured at her hip she had found lying in the snow several years ago, and Obi-Wan had helped her return it to a usable state. The leather boots, white robes and small knife had all been scavenged from an empty house, belonging to one of the many victims who'd died from the cold.

Her sword, secured in a fraying leather sheath across her back, was the only thing she actually owned, technically. It had been Obi's father's, long ago before his trade had run dry and he'd been forced to eek a living out here, in cold and squalor. It was always snowing here. Always.

She peered at the fading tracks, trying to visualise the path the deer had been taking. She closed her eyes. Obi had given her the sword on her fourteenth birthday, claiming he had no use for such instruments of death. An utter lie, considering he hunted with her every Saturday. He'd been taking lives since he was six years old. They both had.

It had become such second nature to her that she wondered if it would be so hard to kill a human. If it would really be any different.

"He went that way, I think."

The mild voice had her muscles reacting like clockwork, unsheathing the sword across her back and whirling to face the source.

Obi-Wan was standing there, in a long coat he'd nicked from a traveller, hands upwards in a gesture of surrender, smiling that boyish smile of his. Even at sixteen, even on this wretched planet, he still managed to smile like sunlight.

"Damn you and your silent footsteps,"
she muttered, sheathing the sword again. "Next time warn me."

He began approaching her, allowing his steps to crunch in the snow, still grinning. "But then I wouldn't be able to treasure the look of surprise on your face." And he pulled such a ridiculous expression that she had to laugh, letting her irritable facade drop.

"Finally decided to stop sitting on your arse and join me?" she demanded, brushing snow out of her hair.

"Finally decided to stop berating me and follow that deer?" he mimicked, pushing his own pale hair out of his face.

She rolled her eyes, but turned back to the trail. "Which way did you say it had gone?"

He came to her shoulder, pointing southwards. Back to the village. "That way. I suppose it's hoping to find some shelter up there."