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⠀The Mandalorian awakens to the underside of the Razor Crest. The past few hours were complete darkness to him, and the last thing he remembers is falling. His armour is slick and hot. The microseisms of a midday sun stuck between the small spaces, covering him in a sense of weariness he did not welcome. As he rose from his position, the top of his helmet knocked against the metal, and he swore under his breath as the clink echoed across to his eardrums. It pulsated and made the puddles of water laying around him flare sickeningly.
⠀He had been moved, a far distance it seemed, and he could see the struggle from that incident etched into the sand below his legs. Long trails of footprints and fists of earth disturbed that led onwards to where he had fallen unconscious. He could see a small part of what the Jawas had left for him, nothing but a skinned vehicle and the remnants of their tools scattered in his wake. He lets out a sound of pain, overlaid with his mounting irritation. Pushing himself from the sward in the ground where he had been left, probably to try and fend him from the sun which had since lowered heavily. No longer was it looking mournfully upon a planet and people it had burned. Mando felt burned, and he didn't feel forgiving about it.
⠀The bewilderment of what exactly happened within those overcast hours pressed into the sides of his skull, right up until he saw the girl. Her physique is soaked from head to foot, telling him that she had not given herself the respite he unwillingly got by cowering from the forecast. She now wore one of the child's blankets around her head, and it adhered to her cheeks. Pinched red and framing her darkened eyes that had seen too much in such a short time.
⠀Mando felt regretful, and he felt like apologising. After spotting her enervated eyes flit across the prospect, assessing her work on the offcuts that had been left by the thieving Jawas. The child was not far behind, sitting between deep puddles, fixated trailing its large eyes after Dalilah. Admiring the way she dragged each large piece of metal, and scrap closer to the ship.
⠀Dalilah didn't have to do this. But within the hours of the Mandalorian being senseless and unable to do anything to fix the ship; exhausting herself with these arduous tasks was all she could do to keep it all quiet. With nothing but the preceding sounds of rain and the child's gurgles directed towards her from time to time, her mind wanted to drench her with thoughts of what might happen. What might happen if they don't get back? What happens if he doesn't wake up for days?
⠀As he gets closer, she doesn't notice him, pulling the makeshift hood down to squeeze the sodden tendrils of her knotted hair, the last of the downpour skidding down the lengths of her arms. Clear paths skiing on the thin, pale slopes of her bones, plunging abruptly down to the already moist sand. Her breaths come out short and exhausted. Dalilah's lips are dry from the relentless self-assurance that everything will be okay, whispers between herself and the sun that had never replied.
