The Art of Broken Pieces

A Storm of Porgs (82)

Rey took a shuddering breath, drawn from her horror by the terror flickering at the edge of her senses. Life, warm and desperate, shone beacons through the cold horror of death. Her lightsaber slipped from her fingers, and she made her way toward the children, drawing on the Force. She also drew on the grim control that had settled into Ben's mind, and pulled it over her like a cloak.

Rey stopped two meters away from the shivering children and crouched. "Don't be afraid," she said. "We're here to help you. I'm Rey. I'm with the Resistance."

It was still easier to say that, than to say she was part of the new Republic. She made sense as a resistance hero—that didn't need a title. She wasn't sure what her title was in the Republic.

"Issa donta Jeedai," said a young girl, whose dark hair and golden skin reminded Rey a bit of Rose. "Assa," and she pointed to Ben, hand and voice trembling. "Don teya First Order mon ta lo."

Rey swallowed. She wasn't familiar with the language, but it she didn't really need to be to understand what the girl was saying. Rey shook her head.

"He's not First Order," she said. "Not anymore."

None of the children were looking at her. Wide-eyed, they stared behind her. Only then did she notice the scraping sound, like something heavy dragging across the sand. Ben was cleaning up the bodies.

Can you NOT do that right now? She sent, wondering how clearly she could transmit through their connection. They're more afraid of you than a pile of dead traders.

Fingers tucked tightly into a dead trader's boot straps, Ben paused in his dragging of the man and glanced at her in irritation. With a sigh, he dropped the load unceremoniously to the earth and paced towards a small stack of supply crates along the opposite wall of the building. It was clear the children wanted nothing to do with him, and the feeling was at least a little mutual.

He took a slow seat on the edge of one crate, hissing softly through his teeth as his wound protested the action. With half of his attention still focused on Rey--mostly to make sure she remained conscious-- Ben slowly pulled up the bottom hem of his shirt and examined the injury. It was shallow and hardly life-threatening, but blood seeped sluggishly from the partly cauterized flesh and was staining into the dark blue of his shirt and pants.

Giving up on salvaging the torn fabric, Ben tugged the loose shirt off over his head and began to systematically shred it into strips. It wasn't exactly far to the Falcon and a proper medical kit, but he wasn't leaving without Rey and he doubted she was going anywhere until she had reassured herself the children were alright.

He set aside a few ragged strips to use on her arm as soon as she would let him near enough, and set to work winding a basic and incredibly unsanitary bandage around his torso.

Several of the children understood common, and a few more spoke languages she at least sort of knew, so Rey fumbled along through conversation until the brightness of the children's terror had faded to a low hum of anxiety. No few of them were still glancing back at Ben, whose presence buzzed with irritation at being stymied.

At last, a Chiss girl stepped forward, her tiny, blue face solemn despite the unnerving blood-red of her eyes. She pointed at Rey's arm. "You require healing," she said. "And we have not eaten in two cycles."

Rey knew well what it was to have a two-day empty belly. She attempted to rise from her crouch, but the blood drained from her head. She gave a sharp tug on the Force, drawing strength to help her stand. A furry arm appeared around her waist, far more powerful than its size suggested. Rey caught at the shoulder of the Wookie girl.