The Cosmos Feels Lonely ☆ The Mandalorian

14

Dragging her bag outside, T'rialow could feel the power rippling from the Jedi Holocron sealed within the fabrics of its own confines.

Softly walking up into the belly of the Razor Crest one last time, T'rialow dropped her written letter from her hand, allowing the paper to softly guide its way to the ground from her clawed grasp. Leaning down, she positioned the silver fathier on the note, softly trailing her fingertip on the side of its face one last time, in reminder of the child and her faithful fathier. Grasping the beskar goggles with her hands, she looked to the two visors, and looked over her shoulder in shock. Her mind had already begun to play tricks on her, for she had believed she had seen the reflection of her mandalorian in the black, glossy material.

Setting the goggles down on the note, T'rialow pulled down the lever to enclose the Razor Crest. Jumping off the ramp, and landing on the soft grass that swayed gently in the wind, she placed her hand on the side of the ship. Softly tracing the paintwork imprinted on the sound, she could feel every curve of metal and every chip of paint beneath the pads of her fingertips.

"Goodbye, old friend," she whispered, leaning her forehead on the ship,"Ad astra... take care of Mando for me."

Pulling away from the metal, she shrugged on a hooded cloak, its deep, creased brown fabric helping the albino predator to best hide amongst the trees. Letting her old, chipped goggles hug her face once again, she lurched the heavy pack onto her back, securing its fabric belt around her waist, in safety of what she has inside.

Perking up, she allowed her ears to twitch, picking up the sounds from all over the forest. She could make out, ever so softly, the sound of metal softly rubbing against leather. Looking to the opposite direction that Mando and the child had walked, T'rialow secured a knife in her belt, stolen from the box of weapons inside the ship.

Taking one step forward, she could hear a soft voice in the back of her mind, calling her back to where the Razor Crest stood amongst the meadow of green. She hadn't of heard that voice since she was twenty five years old. It made her feel as if centuries had passed her by.

Turning around, she clenched her fist, and hoped to see him standing by the ship with his hopeful smile. He always used to put her own the right track, and the moment he left her to construct her own road, T'rialow felt as if she had a lot of mistakes a long the way that would've disappointed him.

"Rise, T'rialow."

Sighing, she gripped one strap of her bag, and restrained herself from screaming out his name into the wind. He wasn't there, like all the other voices now, he had become a ghost, constructed from memories that were pure and of good intent. His voice felt like a protective force, shielding her from the destruction of reality.

The mongrel realised that the mandalorians voice would soon become like his, a whisper raddlying in her skull and making her turn in hopes that he would be there, right behind her. She wondered what few words of his would become her calling, maybe his trading card.

No, it would be something sweet, something that struck the girl and changed her whole perspective of her partner in crime, maybe...

"Little wamprat."

Smiling softly to herself, T'rialow walked into the woods, and allowed herself to be engulfed by the trifling trees that loomed over her in a welcoming embrace. The voice of all those she had cared for, and left behind, morphed into a headache at all the sounds ringing in her skull. But, she didn't mind.

It was ghosts that made her feel that, perhaps, she was not completely alone. They could be honest with her, and she with them.

Picking up speed, T'rialow allowed her paws to suddenly thunder across the ground, whilst moving as lightly as a feather. Swatting the low hanging branches out of her face, she could feel the sticky suffocation of heat flush over her covered skin. Her hair clung to her skin, as the hooded cape hugging her body stung with heat like an angry hornet. She resembled crashing waves hitting the shoreline, as slices of her hair sneaked out from beneath the hood, and whipped back and forth behind her like a snowstorm, as she continued on flinging herself over sharp rocks and fallen tree trunks.