Gra'tua Cuun Hett Su Dralshy'a

Chapter 1: Fresh Snow, Old Faces

It was a sunny day on Vinuu Four. The white landscape glistened in the light of the system star, its powdery cover slowly giving way to the strengthening rays of warmth. Spring was coming.

Aran straightened her back. She felt stiff after staying in position this long, but she wouldn't risk relocating now. All the back-tracking, leaving false trails and wiping her footprints would be for nothing.

A furry little creature resembling a womp-rat ranged through the snow, randomly sticking its pointy nose into the cold powder to sniff out food. From time to time it would stand on its hind legs, its watchful eyes looking for potential threats to its life.

If the creature knew how easily she could pin it in place with a casual flick of her wrist... She let her gloved hand rest on the hilt of her very own hunting knife. Buir had pulled some strings, and when some of their group had returned from a supply run she had held her very first personal weapon in hands. She had then practiced knife-throwing to the point of tenditis; hitting a distant cousin of the Womp-rat approximately one and a half meters away was hardly a challenge. Aran barely contained a chuckle; spooking the little critter wasn't an option, as it would likely draw attention to her. Her concern was unnecessary, though. The creature would probably not even notice her if she were to guffaw like a maniac, given that she didn't move too much through the act. Her helmet system was completely soundproof when she muted the external speakers, buir had promised her that.

She kept watching the little guy for some time. It was fun to track the erratic scurrying across the small glade. She noticed the animal's high attention levels when even a leaf caught by a breeze made it scatter back to the underbrush, which offered less than stellar protection with its naked twigs and branchwood.

"Stupid little thing", she muttered under her breath. How could it not notice its open position? Even a half-blind akk would have no trouble spotting it.

Her attention snapped to the little critter once again, when it whipped its tiny head around to look in her direction. Its brownish fur puffed up, making it look like a slightly less pathetic ball of fluff. Aran supposed that was this species' aggressive behaviour, meant to intimidate predators into leaving it alone. Or maybe the tiny thing was only cold. Speaking of which- She was forever thankful for the thermo- kute her mother had made her wear under the armour. Her buir could be a nagging pain in the shebs at times, but she never meant bad. And Aran respected that, even though the others kept going about how much of an insolent brat she could be at times. Her mother had decades of experience, and whatever she shared with Aran was filed and sorted to be used at the right moment. But that wouldn't keep her from occasionally testing her boundaries.

Aran abruptly snapped back to the here and now, when the tiny ball of fluff began screeching all of a sudden. Five other brownish spheres of fur emerged from the snow and simultaneously scurried away, shrieking in fear.

Aran had only just about enough time to think Shab!, before she was shoved to the ground. Her assailant held her arm up high behind her back, and trying to wrestle herself free soon proved to be fruitless.

"Should've focused on your surroundings instead of being distracted by critters, ad'ika. I'm disappointed, really. I expected more from you." The glee in his voice was unmistakable.

Aran grimaced. Nearly five hours of careful approach and mindful set-up- Gone up in flames. And all this just because she'd been distracted by a measly critter. Her pride took a hefty blow right then and there.

"Yeah, yeah. You've won this round, Uvai. Now let me go. You're dislocating my dikut'la shoulder." Pain arched through her arm when she tried to turn her body to face her assailant.

She could hear the smirk in his distorted voice when he leaned down and his silver-rimmed t-shaped visor came into view. "We're not quite finished yet. You know what's next, eh?"

The young man finally let go of her arm and Aran gracelessly stumbled onto her feet, still miffed that she had lost this easily and all because of a stupid rookie mistake. "Ugh", she snorted while rolling her arm to get the feeling back in, "You want to fight right here?"

He nodded enthusiastically, pointing between him and her mud brown and green armoured self. "You versus me, ad'ika. Just a quick spar to round off the training."

Meaning no weapons, no nothing. Through gritted teeth she replied, "Fine." They both took on fighting stances, feet apart and knees stilted, their fists held in a streetfighter's defense in front of their faces obscured by black t-visors. When she didn't move apart from the light spring in her knees, Uvai made the first move.

He dealt a few blows Aran easily dodged, but they weren't meant to hit her in the first place. He had to aim downwards, that's how big the difference in height was. After a few moments, as if he'd been bored before, he dealt a wide, swinging right hook and left himself foolishly open. Aran would've gone for the gap, but she knew her sparring partner. Uvai liked to trick his opponent into going for the obvious gap in his defense, only to viciously retaliate when the other did least expect it. Grinning in anticipation, Aran feinted a punch at his chest plate, knowing full well his next move. Just as Uvai struck forward with his left fist, Aran dropped to the ground and kicked at his leg. He made a hasty step backwards, and at the exact moment one foot left the ground, Aran swept out the other one. Uvai lost his footing, grunting when his behind impacted the now mushy ground. Their shuffling around had loosened the snow and ground below it, forming a sloppy mix of muddy consistency.

Aran jumped him, knowing full well this was her only easy opportunity to strike the finishing blow to her physically superior opponent. Her armoured fist almost struck him square in the chest, but Uvai was quick to deflect the blow. He brought up his arms and the punch Aran had put all of her weight into scraped over his armoured underarms. The force of her blow and the lack of the expected impact sent her stumbling over him. She quickly pulled her knees in and segued into a roll, just as Uvai followed up with a blow aimed at her chestplate. The roll had made him miss his target, so instead of taking a full-on punch to the chest, the whole power behind the blow struck her in the shoulder. She was knocked down, hard, but determined not to let him win this round too.

She had Uvai exactly where she wanted him.

She lightly got to her feet, not too badly fazed by his nearly fight-ending blow. Aran entertained no illusions about her chances: If Uvai were to land a direct hit on her throat, buy'ce or similarly exposed extremities, she was going down.

So she had let him play with her as he pleased, all the while coming closer to victory with every step of circling.

He had been so focused on her, he hadn't noticed Aran sneakily dropping specially hardened combat wire.

When she felt it was the right moment, she grabbed the thin wire and pulled with all of her strength. Admittedly not much in comparison to him (she still waited for the necessary growth spurt), but certainly enough to take him down.

Uvai let out a surprised yelp the second his feet left the ground. Almost in slow motion he planked in the air and then crashed to the ground in a graceless heap of thermo-suit and armour. Aran didn't waste a single second of precious surprise and rushed to position herself atop his legs, her fist raised high above his private parts. She couldn't help the satisfied, almost smug tone in her voice, when she announced, "Victory secured, Uv'ika."

A moment passed in silence. Uvai was apparently contemplating fighting back, but quickly decided against it when he spotted her armoured fist's dangerous proximity to the most precious parts of his anatomy. The fight seeped from his body, and he let his helmeted head fall back into the snow. "Okay, okay, I know you want to hear it from my mouth. You win."

Aran couldn't help but teasing him just a little bit."You could always consider adoption. It's Mandalorian tradition, you know."

He chuckled, his arms dropping to either side of his torso. "Good job, ad'ika."

Aran stood up and removed her helmet in one fluid motion. Grinning, she held out her hand to her fallen sparring partner. "Come on up, ner vod. We have to get back to camp quickly so you don't conveniently forget to mention the match like last time I beat you."

He took her hand gladly, gripping her elbow in the traditional Mandalorian handshake. It was a symbol of the bond between two Mando'ade, a grip strong enough to pull another Mando to safety, if need be. "Me tripping over some convenient tree roots and bumping my shabla head on a rock does certainly not count as 'victory', little one."

She rolled her eyes at him exasperatedly. Uvai was a good man, her ner vod in the most precise meaning of the word, but he was every bit as stubborn as a bantha, unwilling to relent and graze on another patch of field just a few meters over.

Hence her mother chose him to train her equally stubborn daughter.

"This was a good one, Ar'ika. You knew you couldn't beat me with physical strength, so you used your wits and equipment to take me down." He clapped her shoulder in an amiable gesture of good will. "I must say, I'm impressed. I didn't even notice you unspooling the wire. You managed to draw my focus to something else the entire fight."

Aran crossed her arms, smirking up at him. "Well, I learned from the best."

Uvai raised an eyebrow, snorting in amusement. "Don't lay it on thick, ad'ika. I won't go easy on you just because you flatter me until my mirshe drips out of my ears."

"I wasn't talking about you, di'kut," Aran chuckled lightly. "At least not only you. You know buir is an expert hand-to-hand combatant, don't you?"

Her mother had taught her the basic rules of fighting and survival. She had underwent shooting training since she could stand straight and hold a blaster. The combat drills had never stopped since then. Survival training was even more fun. Reading trails, leaving false trails to confuse pursuers, hunting, finding water, detecting easily defensible positions to hole up in for as long as necessary- buir had helped her on the right way to become a capable Mando warrior. But even more importantly her mother had ingrained the Mandalorian values into her heart and soul. Aran had been raised according to the resol'nare, the six central tenents to Mandalorian life. She spoke Mando'a fluently, had been raised with the language, and proudly wore the handcrafted and formfitting forest green and rust brown beskar'gam her mother had gifted her at her eight birthday, when she had firstly been allowed to accompany her on a mission.

It wasn't a real beskar'gam; that option had been too expensive just then. No, instead of Mandalorian iron they had opted for an alloy made from durasteel and a handful of other components. The resulting metal was both protective and lighter than your typical durasteel armour plating, but nothing compared to the almost unnoticeable light beskar many Mandos had crafted their beskar'gam from. She was going to don a real beskar'gam sooner or later, but right now she chose better equipment and weaponry over the infamous metal.

Like any self-respecting Mando'ad Aran would not hesitate a second should the Mand'alor call upon his trusted warriors, no, she would gladly be the second in line behind Jango Fett to storm into battle against their enemies. Even though the man would probably grab her by the collar and stop her short. He was of the opinion that a certain capability of self-defense was necessary to fight on the front lines, a capability she apparently still lacked in his eyes. Yes, she was only 14 standard years old and stood at a measly 160 cm tall, but she had wits. That she had proven time and time again in spars with her willing partners. Somewhere in the back of her mind Aran knew that even her wits hadn't always saved her from defeat, but she quickly pushed the notion back where it belonged. Insecurity about her own capabilities was nothing of use for her. She needed a strong will and confidence in her abilities. Strength in mind was never to be underestimated. A body could be broken, but the mind of a true Mandalorian would never break.

Her mother always emphasized that. Keep your blades sharp, but your mind sharper.

It was a good motto to go by.

Now that the 'outdoors' part of training was over, they made their way back to camp. Aran had long since put on her buy'ce again. Despite the bright star high up in the blue winter sky, the winds of Vinuu Four were still freezing, and she had no intention of letting the cold breeze congeal her face. A running nose and the necessity to near constantly wear a helmet didn't go well with each other.

Their trek back to camp led them past conifers, bare shrubs and then some more conifers. At least the tree's evergreen provided some badly needed cover, however poor it might be.

They had walked in companionable silence for quite some time, when Aran felt the need to start a conversation. She flicked her finger against Uvai's armoured gauntlet, or rather the flamethrower mounted on it, its steely silver a stark contrast against the dark red of the gauntlet. The young Mando dipped his deep red coloured helmet in her direction, unsure of her intention. Sighing, Aran activated the private helmet-to-helmet comlink. She was sure there was no one to overhear the two of them, but one could never be safe enough. Arrogance and blind trust had led too many warriors of the past into certain death.

"So, when do you think my buir is going to allow me to get one of these?" Her very own flamethrower was number two on her most wanted weaponry list, only succeeded by her own, pure Mandalorian iron beskad. "I can't wait to fry the stupid critters that blew my cover back there", she added jokingly.

Uvai gently pushed her gloved hand away from his gauntlet. "Eh, try to be accurate with a blaster first before moving up to the next big frontier, ad'ika", he reprimanded, his tone not unkind. "I'm sure you'll get one soon enough. Just be patient", he added in mockery of a voice she imagined wise old aruetiise to use constantly when they felt they needed to prove some kind of ridiculous fancied 'superiority'.

"Pffft", Aran grunted, pursing her lips behind her t-visor, "You could at least let me practice with yours, so I'll be prepared when I get my own."

She knew she sounded like a sulky toddler, complaining and getting all huffy, but she wanted a chance to prove herself already. How was anyone going to accept her as a warrior, if she wasn't allowed to have her own weapons? She didn't even have her very own blaster yet. Buir let her use hers, yeah, but earning your own weaponry, the gear of her line of occupation, so to say, was an entirely different matter. It would be her way to improve, to learn and take care of her stuff on her own. No excuses. If a weapon failed, it was no one's fault but her own. She could earn her own keepings and contribute to the community, if they just let her.

The crunching of snow next to her let off, when Uvai stopped all of a sudden.

She stopped as well, turning her head to look at him. Even though she couldn't see his eyes behind the dark visor, she knew he was watching her intently. If you grew up around people wearing full body armour all the time, you learned to read people's body language. You noticed the smallest changes of stance and the slightest muscle contractions. And Uvai's body language told her he was going to lecture her. Again.

"Aran. There is no straight way to earn respect. And neither should other people's opinion about you be your only driving force. You have to go your own way, do what you feel is right, no matter what others try to tell you." He put a hand on her shoulder, clearly a gesture of good will. "I don't mean to imply that you shouldn't heed to other people's suggestions, or at least listen to their advice, as there's no better way to improve yourself than picking the cherries off of other's experiences. So listen closely to my advice: No matter what you believe to know, you are respected, and the time will come where you'll fight right next to me and the others on the front lines. Learn and savour your training, and you'll not be disappointed."

Aran didn't know what to respond, so she just nodded slowly. How could Uvai, barely seven years her senior, be so much worldly-wiser and more mindful then her?

Her respect for him sky-rocketed once more. He wasn't a member of Jango's small circle of trusted Mando'ade for no reason.

What would she do without him? He was her sparring partner, her guide on a personal level, her mentor, her vod.

And she had never before seen that more clearly than at this moment, standing on the edge of a bleak tree line on a backwoods Outer Rim planet, ankle-deep in snow.

Her heart swollen with glowing pride, she was happy beyond description. She had her aliit, and that was all she would ever need.

"K'olar! I want to get back before the sun sets, or Ularane sics her smelly little furball on our heels." Uvai turned, his dark brown cape fluttering with the energy of the motion, and trudged onward, as if their little eye-to-eye talk hadn't happened.

Aran shook her head, smiling under the anonymity of her buy'ce.

Emotion and their display were an integral part to Mandalorian culture, but so was the ability to bottle everything up and get on with business as usual.

She still cherished his words, though, and vowed to take them to heart. And she was sure he knew Aran wouldn't mindlessly put his little speech behind her.

"Yeah, wouldn't want that to happen, eh?", she chuckled while catching up to him with three fast steps.

Ularane was a modest woman, even though she had made a piece of fekkin' art out of her forest green armour by adorning it with pieces of bone, teeth and even strands of hair of the unlucky chakaare crossing her path. Well, hers and that of her strill. The beast's strong jaws could crush bones without it breaking a sweat. And it would probably sit and make golden puppy eyes at you all the while.

Strills had become notably rare as companions for Mando'ade, and Aran couldn't recall the last time she had seen one apart from Ularane's six-legged furball. She thought it sad to see the dwindling numbers of Mandalore's number one predator animal. It was a sad reflection of their people's recent troubles.

Ever since the Civil War had broken out between Jaster Mereel, his True Mandalorians and the Kyr'tsad, a deranged splinter group whose self-proclaimed aim was to 'restore Mandalore's long lost traditions', the Mandalorian people had suffered from the blasphemous infighting. And the fight was still going on, even though the Death Watch appeared to entertain the traditional tactic of ba'slan shev'la, strategic disappearance, as there hadn't been a sign of them in recent times. Jango and his community of Mandalorian warriors lusted for a confrontation with the dar'manda hut'uune to bring them to justice for what they'd done to Mereel, and subsequently the Mandalorian people, by initiating the Civil War and creating a deep rift right through the heart of Manda'yaim.

It was only a matter of time before some dikut'la aruetiise tried to use the disruption to their advantage and weaken Mandalore even more.

Thankfully they'd managed to stay off the Republic's radar so far. There was no telling in what would happen should the bigwig of Galactic politics decide to interfere and strike down one of its deadliest opponents in galactic history.

And the idiotic Death Watch would have brought about the destruction of Mandalore's people. Fekkin' di'kute. Mandalore had never been more vulnerable than right now, but the current Mand'alor Jango Fett did everything in his power to change that.

"Uvai, when the contract on this planet is accomplished, where do you think the alor is going to lead us next?", Aran spoke up, just as the camp came into view.

Several small plumes of smoke sidled their way into the cold dusk air above the encampment. A dozen plain tents strung together in a rough emulation of a half circle formed a small square, barely enough free space to set up some freight crates and a pile of smaller storage buckets of varying forms and sizes.

It felt- homey, despite the fact they'd only been here in this arrangement for two weeks. There weren't even all their people present. Ularane's brother Grannit had returned to Mandalore on his own, some problem with his friend's sister-in-law or something, and a handful of others had different things to tend to and had skipped their current contract. It wasn't too bad, her buir had chuckled. 'This way there'll be more credits to share with fewer people.'

She had a pragmatic streak, once in a while seeing the need to argue for the best in a situation.

"Only the manda knows where the alor will let us drift to next, ad'ika",Uvai rambled mockingly. "This being said, we've not even completed the contract yet. So settle for another week or so before we leave this freezing ball of snow and ice." His dislike of the Outer Rim planet resounded in the slightly deeper tone of his voice, clearly audible for the ears of someone who knew him well.

Aran didn't hesitate in voicing her own rather disapproving opinion on their current location. "Yeah, I am just short of killing something for a little less snow. I never imagined staying in the cold hemisphere to be quite as annoying before we stumbled over this manda-forsaken pile of rubble." She threw her hands up in a dismissive gesture. "Now that I think of it, why in haran does the alor need so long to complete a simple mission like this?"

There was a click in her comlink, as someone entered their near private talk; Her little outburst seemed to have caught her another listener. "Is there cause for alarm, or why are you in such a state of agitation?"

The distorted voice was not exactly scornful, but Aran knew full well that she was in for some more lecturing.

A person clad in copper coloured beskar'gam emerged from the tent nearest to Uvai and her, the beaded cords adorning a beskad sheathed behind their back swinging lightly from the motion.

"Buir! I haven't seen you coming." Aran tried to keep the surprise out of her voice, but Yusani knew every facet of her only child. There was no escape now.

"Don't even try." Her mother shook her head, but her voice let off a vaguely perceptible notion of amusement. Aran cocked her head at that, her eyes narrowing. It was just like her mother to try and catch her off-guard, only to poke fun at her.

Unaware of her daughter's internal pouting, Yusani continued. "So, has he", here she indicated Uvai with a nod of her helmeted head,"kicked your shebs again?"

Now her voice was laced with amusement.

Gauging from her tone how the conversation was going, Aran decided to take of her helmet, keeping it locked under her arm. There was no need for secrecy now that they were among their aliit.

"Actually", she started before Uvai could do anything more than snort,"The little di'kut here underestimated me." She crossed her arms, feeling her confidence boasted by how both Uvai's and her mother's hands now lay on her shoulders, tightening in a silent gesture of commendation.

"Kandosii! Good job, ad'ika." Her mother's voice sung of her joy. Not a second did she doubt Aran's ability to beat Uvai, who stood at a physically imposing two meters and then some tall.

The pure, unaltered trust of her beloved buir let Aran stand a little straighter. No matter how hardened she tried to appear on the outside, praise from her only remaining parent would always make the young girl glow in pride.

"Yeah, the little shabuir tricked me good, Yusani", Uvai praised delightedly, after taking off his helmet as well. "Watch out for her, she fights dirty", he chuckled in amusement.

Aran smirked at that. Yeah, fighting 'dirty' wasn't considered honourable among most cultures of the galaxy. But honour wasn't something she sought, at least not the aruetiise understanding of the word. In a battle over life and death your opponent didn't give a crap whether you fought 'honourably' or not. The only thing that mattered was survival. That was another one of her mother's pieces of advice, and it had served generations of their people well.

Yusani put her hands on her hips, her whole body shaking, just as bellowing laughter echoed out of her external helmet speakers. "Like a true Viszla!"

Aran couldn't help grinning widely. Her mother had been adopted into Clan Viszla in early childhood, and since then she had been raised by her parents to be like any member of the Mandalorian culture should be brought up like: She had learned to honour the Resol'nare, unlike a few members of the clan led astray by one Tor Viszla,and vowed to raise her children according to the central rule set of Mando culture as well. She had married young, her husband stemming from Clan Viszla as well.

They had been a happy couple, sharing their love for bladed weaponry, and their mutual hatred for gihaal had once been the cause of a great pyre short of making everyone gag in a seven hundred meter radius. But after Aran had been born and the pair had accumulated just enough revenue to settle down on Mandalore instead of living a warrior's nomadic live style, problems started to arise. Yusani's husband Maast Viszla had insisted on taking on contracts as guns for hire for an Outer Rim government in a local conflict, to 'relive the warrior past'. Soon after Yusani had grudgingly accepted, he refurbished his helmet to look nothing like the usual Mandalorian Supercommando one. It was only a matter of weeks then before he fancied a deep red stylized Mandalorian shriek-hawk on his chest plate and asked her to join Kyr'tsad, for it was time to establish a new Mandalorian Empire and bring Manda'yaim back to its former glory.

Her mother had divorced him right then and there, chasing him off with the typical fury Mando women were feared for -and rightfully so-, cursing herself for not catching onto his intentions sooner. He had always spoken a tad too benevolent about Tor, the disgrace of Clan Viszla, the hut'uun who had instigated a bloody civil war and in the end even murdered their Mand'alor Jaster Mereel.

Yusani had never told her what had become of her biological father afterwards, just that he was dar'manda and cause for the highest possible disgrace. She was sure to describe in bright and colourful detail how she was going to deal with him, should he ever cross paths with her again.

Aran herself couldn't remember much about him, only that he had the same auburn mop of wavy hair Aran had wrestled under her buy'ce for as long as she could think. She had divorced Maast as well, declaring him dar'buir and bringing him the greatest possible shame a Mando'ad could fathom.

He may have sired her, but he most definitely wasn't her father.

Not after betraying their family by joining Death Watch. No, the few living members of her mother's clan had taken on the role of family for the longest time. Them and whatever Mando'ade her mother had brought along. They were all family, aliit.

She never missed her biological father.

How could she, when she had literally dozens of excellent, not-hut'uunla ba'voduse to her free choosing?

To honour her now passed on adoptive parents and their legacy, Yusani sported the Clan's crest on her chest plate, the black emblem contrasting beautifully with the other cream coloured patches she had painted onto her beskar'gam. Aran had followed suit, the golden clan crest proudly worn on display adorning her helmet just above the visor.

Neither of them had any intention of the millennia-old emblem wasting away to the point where it became the mere symbol of a less than osik terror organization.

Uvai let go of Aran's shoulder, looking at her with a warm shimmer in his eyes. She couldn't help but look back at him, overflowing with the joy to be alive and graced with the company of people like him, her vod.

The moment was lost, however, when Yusani beckoned them further into camp, her traditional kama swishing in between her steps. "You hungry, ad'ike? The stew has been bubbling all day, so the meat must be tender to the point of melting on you tongue."

"Sure, why not?", Aran confided, pulling Uvai along with her. The young man had no other choice but to follow up, lest he wanted to faceplant into the snow-mud mix ranging from one end of the camp to the other. Dozens of armoured boots a day would do that to any soil.

Aran proceeded to fill three crummy wooden bowls with the hearty soup. In the meantime Uvai had used his arms to clear them some seats on the wooden crates laying about.

Just when Aran dipped her spoon into the cream-coloured semi-liquid, its albeit hefty smell already making her salivate -no wonder, she hadn't eaten since Uvai and her had set out to start their training exercise this morning-, her mother decided to take a former topic up again. She poked at Aran with her gloved finger, winking conspiratorially, before speaking in a stage-whisper, "You wanna elaborate on that 'dirty trick' you played on little Uv'ika here? I think it's been an awfully long time since we've had some fun of the Viszla kind around here." Her eyes sparkled with glee when the victim of her fun-poking looked up, pouting like a teenage boy, a role he still easily slipped back into. "Not fair, Yusani! Do you really think anyone would want two of you little devils running around, sharing your troublemaker tricks and making everyone's daily life harder?"

He sounded about as thrilled as any self-respecting member of their community would at the prospect of Yusani and Aran working together and playing pranks on everyone in their downtime.

Aran let them continue their mock-argument and focused on the steaming stew in her hands again, snorting in amusement. If the aruetiise catch wind of this conversation, our reputation as fearless, merciless warriors, built up by our forefathers for millennia, will go up in flames.

Now that she thought about it, it sounded even more ridiculous. Aruetiise would fear them regardless of the ludicrousness of their conversations. They feared everything they didn't understand. Even in a galaxy with thousands of species and countless diverse cultures they were intimidated by beings whose face they couldn't see. As if facial expressions were the only thing to go by. As if they couldn't be manipulated through sheer force of will and many other means.

Though Aran hypothesized that wasn't even the critical factor.

No, aruetiise didn't only fear what they couldn't see. They were even more so afraid of what they couldn't understand.

Mandalorian culture with its tightly woven family structures, its blind eye towards past deeds, its complete and willful ignorance towards species, gender, age or former reputation of an individual was not fathomable for many people. They could comprehend the deliberate isolation from galactic events and the strong focus on traditions with simultaneously high technological advancement about as much as the colourful Mandalorian tongue, unchanged since the first day other than a few additions to the vocabulary.

An ordinary citizen of the Galactic Republic would never see the fortune in a simple life in a family association on Manda'yaim. Nor would the poor unfortunate soul from a backwater Outer Rim planet, turning over every credit just to keep the nek-wolf from the door. Their interpretation of the term was coined solely on material goods. While no Mando would ever turn down a shiny credit or two, the true value of life could only be found in aliit, and one was encouraged to do everything in one's power to savour this state of fortune for as long as possible.

But who was Aran to pride herself on knowing aruetiise world views?

Even though many Mando'ade would disagree with her on that part: One couldn't colour everyone with the same brush. Her own beloved buir had come from an aruetiise background. Certainly there were more than enough people willing to see the good in the Mando way of life, given the same choice.

A friendly nudge in the shoulder alerted Aran to Uvai, who had apparently finished eating and got right back into training sergeant mode. "So. Hands on weapons now?" He wiped his hands on the thermo-suit he wore under his armour and stood up, a full stomach apparently equaled a Mando full of zest for action. Yusani put down her bowl and leaned forward. "Yeah, good idea. It's not even dusk yet, and Aran needs to be working to capacity. I don't want her to fall behind on her regimen." With a clap on his shoulder she added joyfully, "Make her sweat, Uv'ika."

Aran was fairly sure there was never too much training, but she wasn't in the mood for blaster accuracy practice now.

"How about one of you lend me your 'throwers?" Noting two similar expressions of reluctance, she pouted. "Aw, come on, you can't place trust and pride in me and then behave like that." Why was it so hard to convince them to let her use one of those shabla things?

Uvai and Yusani exchanged looks. "Uh, I recon it's not the best idea to practice with a flamethrower near camp or easily flammable, dried-out foliage like the stuff we're surrounded by", Uvai managed, not sounding too convincing. "Besides, I recall you having quite the... pyromaniac streak. Maybe someone more experienced than me could watch over you as well, that way we'd make sure-"

Aran had been about to interrupt his pitiful attempt a deflecting, her arms crossed and eyebrow already raised, but her mother beat her to it.

"I believe it's been an awfully long time since we last practiced beskad usage in combat, eh, ad'ika?"

Maybe torching some furry critters could wait. "Ori'kandosii! I'll just go fetch my blade, buir!"

Noting her excitement with a grin, Yusani continued to smile fondly, as if reminiscing something precious to her.

Uvai however seemed relieved to be let off the hook for now. He picked up his buy'ce and nodded at Yusani. "I'll go catch up with the others. Good luck, Yu'buir. You'll need it." Winking, he added, "Two opponents fighting dirty like a spice-smuggler might make for an interesting spar."

"Get lost, or it's going to be a two on one, mir'sheb." The words may have sounded harsh, but Yusani's voice was friendly.

Aran snorted in amusement. "Stop threatening the poor guy, buir. He looks like a scared akk pup with those wide eyes of his." She saluted Uvai lightly, shouting a "Ret'!" over her shoulder, as she turned to jog back to her and her mother's tent.

She pushed aside the leathery tent flap and made her way over to the plain sea chest they used to store their personal supplementary weaponry, extra power packs and the odd explosive device. The ground wasn't the same muddy mess as outside. It -thankfully- was still frozen solid, and considering the distinct lack of melting snow, it was gonna stay that way.

The stupid snow-mud littering the campsite ensured everyone was extra careful not to accidentally drop anything, or one was sure to forcibly waste time by scrubbing it clean again. Aran herself had encountered that problem personally not so long ago, when she had dropped the carbine she'd been carrying at that moment after crossing the path of two Mando'ade that carried a heavy crate in a joint venture. Neither had expected the opposite to be where they were, and so they had clumsily bumped into each other. Aran had stumbled, the carbine gliding out of her still too small hands at the impact. The wet splosh resounding only a second later had made her roll her eyes skyward. Here go my plans for going hunting with Ularane and goldy-eyes.

She had been busy cleaning every single slot and gap on the shorter cousin of the A280 blaster rifle for quite some time, when Yusani had come around and decided it was time to clean the rest of their weaponry as well, which had marked the end of her day.

Aran snapped the lid of the chest open. After reaching around for a moment she retrieved the sword she used for training, swirling it around in a practiced motion. The weight of the used blade felt familiar in her hands, as she had fought with it many times against her mother in training. She'd need a better one for real combat though. The durasteel wasn't durable enough to hold up for long when only sparring, and she wouldn't put her trust in a cheap training blade that was sure to break once osik really hit the fan. Something like her mother's handcrafted curved beskad was far superior, both in weight distribution and durability. Sure, a good blade like that was pricey, but undoubtedly worth the coin. There were rarely second chances in their profession, and she was going to do anything to gain an advantage, how slight it may be. Good equipment was in the best scenario her ticket to wealth and riches (which she was going to spend on better equipment in turn), and in the worst possible scenario insurance for a continued life.

The perks of vastly superior weaponry were easily recognizable by the dents in the training blade, openly on display like ugly scars in the matted blade.

She would've already invested in a nice beskad or better yet a sweet, sweet beskar'gam made from the material itself, the range finder she had always wanted and an updated heads up display included.

She sighed.

Perhaps after this contract was completed, her mother was paid for her contribution and they relocated, she could take part in one of the less easy, hence better paid missions.

She was gonna get that beskad and beskar'gam, sooner or later.

Author's Note:

Su'cuy, ner'vode! Here I am with another plot bunny who up until now never saw the light of day. I personally prefer stories not focusing on Jedi or Sith once in a while. We've got enough of that in Canon, so here goes to the Mando'ade! If there's any questions concerning the vocabulary, I recommend or any website really that provides Mandalorian translations. Most of the words used are swear words whose meaning is concludable from context, and anyone familiar with the Republic Commando-novels by Karen Traviss will have no trouble at all with understanding the characters in this story. If there's trouble still, don't hesitate to message me! I'll gladly provide a translation. Props go to everyone who can guess where the title comes from ;)

Have fun and Oya Manda!

What do you think? Like the concept? Let me know down below!