Blurred Sides (COMPLETE)

7.11.1

There was a river, a dark, murky, filthy river. There must have been some kind of pollution or source of contamination because this river flowed from the mountains; it sprung from the earth and it poured out into the lands, and while the spring was clean, something somewhere along the line was hurting the river.

A man was sitting by it, staring at it, a ways away from the spring. Where he knelt was where the river started to turn black with mud, dirt, maybe even oil or charcoal. He just sat there and watched and it turned darker and darker. He remembered a time when the river flowed as clear as the air he breathed, but he did nothing to return the water to its original, glorious state.

Why didn't he? Did he not drink from the spring? Did it not help him plant and grow his crops in the spring, or nurture him and his family? Did it not carry life in its veins, coursing down from the mountain? Shouldn't the man want to keep the river clean? But he did nothing, he simply watched and smiled.

A Dark fog crept up behind him. Surely, a person had to be hiding in the fog, but whoever approached the man could not be seen. The man glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw the concealed arrival, he smiled and greeted the newcomer. The man turned to the river again, and he reached his hand in. From where the running water touched his fingertips, it began to turn black, contaminated with Darkness. The man was killing the river!

The person in the fog had not moved from behind the Dark man, but a change could be sensed in the air. Only when the Dark man had turned around did he realize what was happening. The person in the fog pulled out a knife, and as he turned they stabbed the man kneeling by the river, and he fell into the water and disappeared.

The Dark man disappeared, but his blood did not. The Dark man disappeared, but the poison in the river did not. His blood trickled into the stream, and as it did, it purified the work of the one who hurt the river. His blood healed the water, and although it was not the pure, beautiful stream it once was, it was healing, and its beauty returned, slowly, gradually. It was not as grand or pristine as before, but it was glory was not in its past but its healing.

Anakin blinked slowly as he rose back into consciousness. He felt a brief sense of peace as if he had been kneeling by the river himself while it was purifying. Anakin held on to that peace, that sense of ease from his dream, for as long as he could, but the atmosphere of the Jedi Temple had changed and one could no longer hold onto such peace for very long while within its walls.

The very air seemed to drain the life and the joy from those who breathed it. The tension in the air was so thick, it almost seemed tangible to the Chosen One. It was as if the atmosphere had become more humid or polluted, especially in the past two months going on three. The fog that haunted most of his visions and dreams had come to life. If only he knew where the source of it was, then he could get rid of it.

Anakin rose and began preparing for the day. He knew that he wasn't going to fall back asleep anytime soon so he might as well get to work. The Chancellor had called for him yesterday, but he had been on another mission, tracking down another one of the Republic's shipments that the Sister had stolen. Instead of visiting him yesterday, Anakin had postponed the meeting until this afternoon.

He had thought long and hard about his episode with the red Togruta who called herself the Sister. One minute he was convinced that she had really been trying to help him and the next Anakin was sure that she was going to betray him somehow. He didn't know if it was because of the fog or what, but Anakin was ready to get over it.

It wasn't like he didn't have other things to distract him. The Jedi Council, for example, had ceased to relent on the topic of Shaak Ti and the Younglings. In truth, the Younglings were physically fine. They no longer wanted to recall the memory, after seeing what it had done to Master Ti. They refused to say anything on the matter, save to each other. Other than that, their training went on as normal. Their trainers noted how determined their studies had been of late, and how much their dueling had improved. In truth, Caleb Dume may or may not have played a part in that, but it was agreed that from now own, their meetings would stay between the seven of them until they were sure it was safe to tell someone else.