Thorns and All

Gather Ye Roses

The towering fortress had been there as long as Rey could remember. According to rumor, it was the remnants of a ship that crashed into what had been a lovely oasis. Trees took root in the wreckage, healing broken halls with gnarled wood and vine, and water flowed across gleaming black to create a dark mirrored pool in the shadows.

Flowers bloomed aplenty there, a tempting treasure for a desert rat, but all knew to keep away. It was dangerous.

There, whispered the other scavengers who scoured wreckage, was a Beast the likes of which none had ever seen.

This Beast was powerful and had command over his domain in ways that made the skin creep. Trees would bend at his whim, and walls would rise and fall with a gesture.

She had only gone near that place once, to see if it was real. It sounded like something out of the vague stories faceless parents read to her in impressions of memories from before.

She'd traversed the hollow drum expanse where worms tunneled and hunted, scaled sheer cliffs, shielded herself against the onslaught of sandstorms, and finally, finally, glimpsed the jagged black fingers rising into the hazy yellow sky.

Never had she seen so much green in her life. Not even the sky before the desert storms could reveal that shade. Words like emerald and jade and moss spurred her closer, until she detected flowers like gems peeking through the foliage.

And then there was a rumbling, a cry of fury, and sparks flew as a line of red cut through a shadowed alcove. The Beast revealed itself in crimson lines edged in silver, high off the ground and darker than the black where it hid, and Rey turned tail and fled.

Dreams of those distant blooms haunted her.

A flower in the desert was a precious thing. It took an excess of water, and thus spoke of status above the common folk. A noble might grow one, but it took work, servants, hours, and— most importantly— a seed from which to start. Or, as she later found out, clippings that could sprout into a twin of their parent plant.

For some flowers, it was simple enough to traverse the galaxy, while others were finicky and required a special touch.

A certain type of rose, Rey heard, was the most difficult of all. It could only grow from a freshly cut stem.

"It's all about the color," she overhead that damned day that changed the course of her fate. "This deep scarlet is quite specific. Only one variety has ever produced it. I was hoping my cuttings were fresh enough that they would take." This wealthy water merchant had been born on Tatooine, where the vibrant desert rose grew in the rare oases.

The merchant had a picture depicting this flower from her childhood. It was deep crimson, the edges so dark they were nearly black velvet. Their leaves were jewel green against their darkness, and the contrast niggled at her mind.

"I've seen that flower before," she said before she could help herself.

The woman spun in a whirl of pale, elegant garments, and lifted one manicured brow upon catching sight of the scavenger. "I sincerely doubt that," she scoffed.

Rey pursed her lips. "No, really. Beyond the Drum Sands," she insisted.

"In the Beast's lands?" Plutt's beady eyes narrowed at her outburst. "Don't listen to the little rat," he told the merchant. "She presents an impossible solution. Probably just gonna find a way to scam you."

Rey rose to her full height and thrust her staff against the ground. "I've seen it myself. For the right price, I'll get it for you."

"What price is that?" The merchant's eyes gleamed in avarice.