The Jedi And The Warrior

Picking Up The Pieces

Dawn came already thick with heat.

Obi-Wan was no longer on his bedroll, and light trickled into the cave. He had always been an early riser, but today she wondered if he had ever returned to sleep after he awoke last night. His heavy, regular breathing had seemed too deliberate.

Flyra uncurled from the bed, stretching out knotted muscles, and padded across the cool cave floor towards the mouth through which those tendrils of sunlight crept. Obi-Wan had lent her a long Jedi cloak to sleep in, and she wrapped it firmly around herself, preferring the suffocating layers to exposing any part of her.

She paused in the cave mouth, bracing a hand on the already hot stone.

Outside, Obi-Wan was meditating. His back was to her, his white robes glaring in the sun, his elbows resting on his knees. And he was floating.

Of course, she knew he could do such things, but she'd avoided those activities so successfully in the Temple that she had never quite reconciled them. He must have somehow sensed her presence, however, because he lowered himself to the ground and twisted to smile at her.

It struck her stupid, that smile, when she realised he still offered it to her without hesitation or dishonesty.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, somewhat surprised at how... civil her voice sounded. "You looked so peaceful."

His smile widened, and he uncoiled to his feet. Each of his movements was graceful, she thought, as he walked towards her with that almost unconscious swagger that came with the knowledge of his skill.

"I haven't been so peaceful in weeks," he offered, crossing his arms as he halted in the shade of the cave mouth. "Something about your presence calmed me."

His words were gentle, and meant only in the purest kindness, but Flyra almost flinched away from them. Indeed, she even took a casual step back.

Too much. Too much, too soon. Something constricting rose in her throat.

"Don't fool yourself," she said, her voice hard. Then wished she could take back the sharpness to her words.

Especially when hurt and disappointment flashed in Obi-Wan's eyes, along with that shadow that so often shrouded them now. He lowered his head, and she had to say something else.

"What are we doing today?" she managed to ask, modulating her voice to polite interest.

He looked at her again, a measured, sad look that somehow had shame rising on her cheeks.

"We'll go into the market," he said at last. "We'll need to find you some better clothes."

***

The following days passed in much the same way.

Obi-Wan didn't often venture into the market, but he went hunting, and she insisted she accompany him. He always stopped off on the rocky ridge that overlooked one of the moisture farms, pausing there to stare over the small family that worked there, or to watch the sands shift and change.

She never asked him why, not when she could see the rawness in him push to the surface in those moments. Once, the young woman had brought out a baby, wrapped and swindled in cloth, to watch his father work. Obi-Wan had straightened at that, leaning forward — but nothing else happened, and after a while they moved on.

Hunting in the desert was very different to hunting in the snowy woods. There was no cover, and the suffocating heat made it almost impossible to find anything in the open. Early mornings and late evenings were the best times — and many of their old techniques still translated to the shifting sands.