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HERE'S the crazy thing about growing up in a war; Kitra Erso learned to rewire a bomb before she learned the alphabet. She also learned to shoot a gun before she could spell her name, and she knew the best ways to stab a man in close-range combat before she could count past 100. When she was four she made mud-castles and coloured with blunt crayons in the backyard on Lah'mu. And when she was five she was learning how to assemble IED's in the back-alleys of Onderon.
"Kit, keep up," Staven barked from the head of the group, making the smaller girl hike her backpack and hurry along her footsteps.
The small group of Onderonian Rebel's marched through the high-reaching summits of the mountains, their shoulders weighed down by their rifles and obtuse backpacks. Kit had to tie a knot in the shoulder-strap of her sniper rifle to keep its elongated barrel from dragging along the ground. But mostly her lack of height didn't bother anyone in the Rebel band, least of all the eleven-year-old Erso.
The air was filled with a silent tension, but after months of the same constant vigilance the group had become accustomed to the feeling of fear hanging over them like an annoying bug they couldn't shake. The sun was beginning to sink lower on the horizon, leaving the stones to soak up the last of the heat before nightfall.
"Alright I have a hard one," Maia said, her synthetic gloves grating as she rubbed her palms over the hilt of he gun.To pass the time as they walked the group had taken to teaching the younger girl to spell. She was terrible, but it didn't stop them trying. "Ghost."
Kit caught the corner of her lip between her teeth as she thought, a habit that left the inside of her cheek torn and littered with scars. "Ghost. G-O-S-T?" She wondered aloud.
"G-H-O-S-T," Codo corrected her. "The H is silent."
Kit frowned and hiked her back higher in her shoulders. "Why?"
