Afterglow | The Clone Wars

The One

39 BBY

Manaan | Inner Rim Territory

Salty sea air tangled into her curly hair, billowing the dark strands against her forehead. She rested her chin to her wrists, arms pressed against the railing at the stern of the transport ship. Waves slapped against the sides of the craft, making the ride across the ocean of Manaan bumpy and choppy. Sprites of salt water splashed up, perfuming her every so often. Her hair was already beginning to form smaller ringlets.

She tilted her head to lean her cheek against her forearm, lips uttering inaudible grumbles as she narrowed her sights on the grey ocean water.

"What are you brooding about?" A voice cut over the sound of the waves and wind.

"I'm not brooding." She kept her cheek to her forearm, voice low and uninterested.

"Then what are you doing?" Mace placed his hands on the rusted boat railing next to her, peering down at his teenage Padawan and her petulant state as their bodies bobbed together on the deck. Her unkept hair hid eyes from him, and when she remained quiet under his scrutiny, he shrugged. "If this is still about our discussion on how to deal with the Selkath representative—"

"You mean when you yelled at me." She countered gruffly, lifting her head up and squinting at him in the afternoon sun light.

"I didn't yell."

"Yes you did."

"You tried to accuse him of bribery without evidence. In front of his council, mind you." He jutted his hand towards the interior cabin of the ship, where the Selkath planetary representative was sleeping. Clearly, he was still somewhat heated from their previous discussion. "You interrupted him and berated him as he spoke, and you cut through my words as though the Order itself had given you license, and then you—" he pinched his nose, exasperated "—threatened to fight him? Really?"

Her lips pressed into a stubborn line, eyes sliding away toward the crashing waves.

He exhaled, letting the silence hang between them before he straightened again. "That is not the Jedi way, Padawan. Intuition is one thing, recklessness another. You need to let go of this anger that you live with. It will lead you down paths where light can't follow."

"I'm not angry." She said angrily.

"Yes, you are." He took her by the shoulder and pivoted her so that they were facing each other. Her face contorted into a typical, disrespectful frown which he ignored. "You're an angry child. You carry it with you. You've attached yourself to it. I don't know why you do this to yourself."

Her lips parted, but no words came. She wanted to say she wasn't angry, to deny it again, but the knot in her throat burned too much. He was right. The anger lived in her like a guest that wouldn't leave—she could feel it like marrow in her bones. She knew where it came from, too.

The drills. The tasks. The perfectioning process. The bruises. The endless nights of her father's voice echoing through her skull.

But she couldn't tell Mace that. She couldn't drag that filth into the light. It wasn't for him to rummage and sort through. So instead she dropped her eyes to the boards of the deck, confusion folding her brow. She hated herself for holding onto it.