The Survival of Two

Rigid

As the years passed, Qimir's admiration for Vernestra swelled. She was often a voice of reason for the young teen, demonstrating the value of forgiveness and faith. Qimir clung to his master's lessons as though they were scripture, following her without question. When he received word that they were to be stationed on Valo, he nearly leapt at the opportunity. Ever since the Occlusion Zone had been retaken, the Jedi Council had ensured that teams of Jedi would always be present on Valo to supervise the reconstructed Jedi Temple and the vaster societal recovery. This would be a great opportunity not only for him to get off-world, but also to see the ways the Jedi were getting involved in the Outer Rim. He felt safe in the hope that whatever recovery he saw on Valo would be happening back on his home planet as well. Soon, Vernestra and Qimir, along with three other pairs of Masters and Padawans were sent off.

Qimir sat on a hard bench seat, wondering how much longer the travel would take. His master had shut herself away the entire trip, leaving him bored and alone. He didn't hold it against her; he'd often heard whispers of the strange visions she got when traveling in hyperspace. He didn't know how much he believed these stories; rumors still spread, even amongst the Jedi—especially those about the Masters and their tales of derring-do. Regardless of these stories's validity, he respected Vernestra's desire for solitude. She avoided hyperspace travel altogether when she could, but when there was no other option, he was used to her secluding herself. However, this did leave him rather unoccupied every time they traveled. He was fiddling lightly with the hem of his robe, thumbing the stitches, when he saw one of the other Padawans approach. The boy was tall, which was only emphasized by his rigid posture. He walked as though he had a stick sewn into the spine of his tunic. He was likely younger, Qimir figured—overcompensating for his age through this exaggerated display of discipline.

"Yord Fandar," the boy volunteered, looking down at Qimir. "Alesta Sunder's Padawan."

"Qimir. Vernestra Rwoh's Padawan."

The boys looked at each other, the silence growing awkward. Yord looked away, obviously considering retreating from the conversation he had tried to start.

"So, Valo..." he trailed off, hoping to prompt any kind of response from Qimir.

"Yeah. Ever been?"

"No. Obviously, I know the history of the planet, what, with the Atrocity and then the Nihil occupation. I've never been though. I've hardly been off of Coruscant, to be honest."

"I couldn't tell," he oozed, a smile concealing his sarcasm.

Qimir waved his hand towards a nearby seat, offering it to Yord. He looked uncomfortable, standing there so stiffly. He crossed to the chair and sat, his back remaining just as straight as it had been while he stood. He rested his hands on his knees, casting glances down as though he were measuring the angle of his bent legs. Qimir held back a chuckle. He was sure this boy had potential; he wouldn't be on this ship if he didn't. But, he was too uptight to make anything of himself—at least right now. Qimir got the sense that the boy hardly breathed without asking his master's permission—he was too concerned with following the exact letter of the rules to actually let them guide and teach him. Qimir's mind wandered to his own master. Vernestra had been an incredible mentor so far, imparting him with the vast knowledge she'd picked up throughout her life. The most important of her guidance though, he thought, was that sometimes the outcome of your actions overshadows the leniencies you might have taken with the rules. Qimir had dedicated every breath in his body to the Jedi, but even he realized that there was a time and place for total obedience. Perhaps if Yord only learned this, he wouldn't be sitting like there was cold water dripping down his back. Perhaps he'd realize that the discomfort from sitting so arrow straight was self-inflicted.