The Jedi And The Warrior

The Crystal Of Amarth

The dry desert of Dantooine unfolded below them as Qui-Gon guided the ship over the land. Vast pale sands dotted with pockets of green swathed the planet, and she could see glittering streams cutting through the ground like rivulets of molten silver through the deserted world. Here and there tiny villages were dotted upon the barren sand, and livestock wandered fenceless and unmonitored. As they flew closer, circling the great sparse expanse, the villages grew clearer; makeshift houses built of wind-blown bricks, dusty paths wandering between them.

Qui-Gon banked towards a larger village and alighted on the outskirts, sending dust-clouds billowing up behind them. Flyra let go of the strap she'd been gripping and fell into step behind her companions as they strode from the starfighter and onto the hot sand. Dust choked her, and she lifted an arm to shield her eyes.

I sense resentment in you.

He was not mistaken, she'd realised as she lay awake the night before, staring at a starless ceiling. She hated this. And already the Order had created rifts in her relationship with Obi-Wan, as wide and gaping as the sky at night, stained with blackness.

But as they stepped out onto the sand and the stifling heat, she shoved aside those thoughts and lifted her chin. The dry breeze rattling past them yanked at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's robes, tugging at her own pale tunic, but she straightened her shoulders, meeting the gaze of the three figures that came towards them.

Two men and a woman, all clad in rough, torn linen that had no doubt seen better days, stepped across the bare ground between the huts and their ship. They were bare-foot, and bland smiles had been schooled onto their sun-kissed features. They halted a few paces away from Qui-Gon.

"Master Jedi," said the man in the centre, pale-haired and handsome with a grave, pleasant face and unreadable brown eyes. "We cannot thank you enough for your generosity."

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "We are glad to be of any assistance we can," he said, folding his hands in front of his robes.

The man sent them a smile — but it was tight and strained, and Flyra caught a glimpse of sleepless nights ringing his grave eyes. "My name is Kai Caeen, Chief of this village." He swept out a hand in front of them. "Please, walk. Abden and Nala will show your companions to your lodgings."

The woman and the man stepped forwards, but Qui-Gon held up a hand. "Obi-Wan is my Padawan," he said. "He will accompany us."

"Very good," agreed Kai.

And just like that, she was shut out. Obi-Wan followed his master down the dust-lined street, glancing back at her only once, before turning his attention to Kai. Flyra stared after him, torn between anger and something else, something soul-deep and wrenching.

Nala, the woman, who had black skin and uncomfortably piercing golden-brown eyes, motioned her to follow. She led her to a small hut on the outskirts of the village, looking out over the desert and the distant dry savannah swaying with lavender and yellow grasses. Flyra thanked her quietly, chucked down the satchel she carried and sunk onto one of the beds.

There were only two — one of them would be sleeping on the floor. She remembered a time when neither Obi-Wan nor herself would have blinked at the idea of sharing a bed — but that time was long over.

The sounds of the village outside came to her muffled and silenced by the walls of the hut. She stared around at the empty space, but only dark clay and straw met her gaze.

It was so quiet in here.

A sudden surge of loneliness and despair rocked her, and she curled in on herself, a dry sob cracking from her.