The Jedi And The Warrior

In Another World

Flyra's peal of laughter rang across the village as they returned to their hut, tripping through the long grasses and down onto the road. Obi-Wan had shed his long robe, carrying it slung over one arm, and he grinned as he followed her.

Colour was on their cheeks, and an evening breeze in their hair, and to any onlooker they would have looked happy, content to be returning home, together. But as they stepped from the meadow onto the path, Flyra's smile faded. She glanced back at Obi-Wan, and his reassuring, dancing eyes, and hated the world that was advancing upon them with each step closer to the hut.

Qui-Gon stepped out of it and inclined his head to them both — and it was as if something changed in Obi. Something replaced his laughter with solemnity, and determination.

"There was nothing out of place, master," he said as they drew to a halt. "But we did find food for the village."

He hauled the bag of cut up kinrath from his shoulder and dumped it at his master's feet. Qui-Gon's eyes crinkled with his smile, but there was a sadness in it.

"Well done, my Padawan," he said, but he nodded to Flyra as well as he spoke. "I trust you enjoyed yourselves," he went on, turning back towards the hut door. Obi-Wan stepped after him.

"Yes, master," he said, glancing back at her with a smile.

She paused outside for a moment as he ducked below the threshold. "Very much," she murmured, before following him inside.

Qui-Gon turned to them, shadows scoring his face in the dim light. "I'm glad," he said, but again there was that sorrow in his eyes. "Kai has invited us all to participate in an evening gathering. There will be a fire, and songs, and I think it would be beneficial for us to accept. Why is that, Obi-Wan?"

"Because it will give us an opportunity to observe and question the villagers," he answered promptly.

Qui-Gon nodded. "Indeed," he said. "And if Flyra is willing, I would like her to come, too." He raised a brow at Obi-Wan.

"So that they will feel less intimidated by us?" he suggested, sounding more unsure this time.

"Very good," Qui-Gon praised. "But more than that..." He glanced at Flyra, and his eyes twinkled. "I want to hear her sing."

***

Firelight glowed between the black shadows of a crowd of villagers. Tree stumps had been set around the hearth for seats, but no one was sat down and a hum of conversation swayed around her. Flyra stood near the edge of the gathering, attempting to talk to one of the villagers, clutching a clay mug of something hot and sweet that smelled of cinnamon.

"Is that your son?" she asked, nodding to a boy she was certain she'd seen being carried in upon this man's shoulders.

The man gave her a mistrustful look. "No," he said, and stalked away.

Flyra closed her eyes. She was supposed to be the approachable one, and so far not one of the four people she'd tried to talk to had stayed for more than two minutes. It didn't help that she'd never been particularly good at making friends. Like her mother, she found it difficult to trust people without proof, and that made her come across as suspicious and prickly.

She took a sip of her drink, finding it warm and comforting, reminding her of cosy nights snuggled with her family. The thought had her clenching her fists, and casting about for something else to grab her attention.

Obi-Wan stood across the fire from her, engaged in grave conversation with two young men. They were holding hands, their fingers locked tightly as one, and the sight brought a pang to her heart. She tore her gaze away from the firelight upon Obi's face, employing her attention on the creases in her tunic instead.