~Of Ryloth~
...
If you asked me to speak of Ryloth, I would tell you about the white smoke skies and the sand colored buildings tucked into red-brown clay of the earth amidst jagged canyons. A clay that cracks prettily in the heat like lace, and that gives soft dust to the hot wind and fluttering canopies.
I would mention the stately rock spires and low, vine-looped trees that whistle with their sharp leaves. The musky smell of dirt clinging to the air after a long-lasting heat storm, and the floral scent of the wind off the mountains. Beasts tame and wild, colorful and earthy that scratch and shriek and call out beneath the sun, ringed and singing above.
I would tell you stories of my people, the color of jewels, tall and lithe and vivid and lovely. Bright hues, deep smiles, warm songs, and firece souls.
Fierce souls.
Even when beaten and broken and sad eyes, bound palms and weeping knees on the dirt. People who answered the call of battles which rang out loud and sharp over the sand and peppered the sky, shook feet and hearts and crumbled canyons and homes. People who rose until they could rise no more.
I would mutter harshly of conquerors with no souls at all. That their music was the heat of burning towns and screams of the fallen. Shattered dwellings and walls pocketed with the singe of their weapons. The ground that was reduced to tampered grit beneath their feelingless feet and the sun a mean shine off their backs. Their greed was insatiable. They took much and left nothing untouched or untaken.
I would whisper of loss. Deep loss and sadness, weighted grief of people and beasts and Ryloth itself, cringing and taken and lost at their touch. My eyes would dance a path at the feeling. Seeing once again through eyes of a child-hiding and silence, the slip of a shadow over the dirt when the bad ones weren't looking. Feeling fingers touching broken walls and torn canopies...
Forgive me. My voice cracks.
It's hard to speak of those things.
Walking smoking rubbish and broken roads with lonely feet and an empty heart and stomach.
The tiny trembling words of hope and promise that I had whispered to my knees as I curled up to sleep beneath skies as sad as I was would pass over my lips now, but you wouldn't hear them.
And I would pause at that memory and a sorrow would cloud my face.
Speaking of that.
That Ryloth.
But then, I would smile.
A remembering curling my lips and re-lighting my eyes.
And then I would speak of brothers. The brothers of Ryloth.
Many of them, their armor the shine of sky on the sand. Their ships rumbling passage through the clouds and humming to the earth. Their feet on the dirt, footfalls the echoes of hope and help, kindness and light.
I would smile and laugh of two brothers, helmeted and tall, who found a small girl and reminded her of those things.
Kind eyes, tender voices, shared food. Warm skin and eyes beneath their masks. Different words but the same heart-speak. Shadows of safety to her little running feet. Soft hands to her head and steady heartbeats in their chests against her ears.
Brothers who made themselves barriers between her and the beasts and monsters of Ryloth. Who returned her people to safety and a loved one to her arms. Who had little but gave everything.
I would reminisce for you a brief farewell of hope and promises and fingertips and smiles. Of embraces and reassurance, and back-looks and small waves with sunlight glinting on shoulders and dancing across mirrored visors. I would give you that picture to catch in your eyes and hold in your heart.
That memory, those moments- I would share them with you if you listened and liked.
The beauty and ruin and fight and bravery of my planet and people. The kindness and warmth of my brothers.
This is the story I would share with you, if you asked me to speak of Ryloth.
...
For TGP ;)