Zirsha settled herself on a low dry-stack stone wall meters below the shuttle pad, gathered heavy, dark robes around her against the cold and wind, and let her mind drift. Her youth school mentor had recommended that, on the night before her peer group left Mirial to complete their training at the Jedi Enclave on Tython, they meditate on their connection to their homeworld and on what the future might hold.
She desperately envied the students in her cohort who recounted elaborate, laser-clear visions, especially the Miraluka, who'd honed their Force-sight out of necessity. When impressions arose to the surface of her mind during meditation, they came in a frustrating jumble of unconnected sensory artifacts. A sound here, a scent or spatial impression there. No through-line, no story.
The smell of mineral dust and propellant thick in the air. The distant roar and rumble of artillery fire, more felt through the ground than heard. Two green-gold points of light, oncoming, burning like stars in the black. A haze of physical pain and exhaustion, and a determined, focused mind lancing through it.
Zirsha had seen variations on this vision for months. She'd run the details by her mentors and instructors, such as they were, and other than confirming that evidence of a firefight was to be expected in wartime, they'd had nothing to say. From a people who valued the concept of destiny so highly, and likewise prized the visions that were evidence of it, it was hard not to feel self-conscious about her difficulties, or to ignore the unspoken reprove of her superiors.
An artillery strike lit the sky with a brief, dull orange flash. The heavily-armored silhouette of a soldier lurched uphill toward her. She'd scrambled down from her perch and struck out toward the injured trooper before she was completely conscious of what she was doing.
Dehydrated, badly so. Crushing injury on the left side of the thorax, definitely broken ribs, possibly a punctured lung. The Force allowed her to discern what distance, darkness, and ten kilos of plasteel armor obscured. Though a poor seer, she was the most gifted healer in her peer group. A new set of tattoos, blackening her fingertips from the nailbeds to the first knuckles attested to her talents. She punched the panic button on the holocom tucked into her sleeve.
Hypothermic, in spite of the weather and good gear. "Sir? Zirsha, Jedi Order. Here to help." Pulse too high, and weaker than it should be. Kark. Hypovolemic Shock. The trooper staggered to a stop.
She was quite sure she had no idea what species of creature was under that armor. Through the open visor of the helmet, she saw a brow surfaced with short, fine tawny-red hair and a pair of gold-green eyes that reflected the faint lights from the shuttle pad as if they were lined with metallic foil.
"Master Jedi," he wheezed. "My squad…" he turned back in the direction of his approach before his eyes rolled up and knees buckled.
She stepped in, caught him by the shoulders, and muttered an entirely un-Jedi-like oath as she slowed his fall. "Sir? Still with me?" Airway clear, thank kark. Still breathing. Circulation's going to become an issue pretty quickly if we can't get that internal trauma under control. "Sir, I've got a medcorps team on the way to our position. You'll be in the best care Mirial can offer very soon."
His plastron was not breached, but dented sharply inward a few finger-lengths under the sternum on the left side, confirming her initial suspicions. She sunk into a trance and prepared to survey the full extent of the damage.
"Zirsha?"
She lurched forward in surprise, nearly falling off of the wall. The wall? Her legs were numb from prolonged sitting. Master Saios, her chief mentor, regarded her with a curious expression.
"You've been out for hours. The shuttle is about to depart. Let's return to the transport terminal."
False dawn showed as a spear of pale blue light on the horizon. She stared down the hill at the spot where she'd found the injured soldier. Nothing. A vision, then. She flexed fingers that ached from the cold and shook her head, as if to clear it. Saios extended an arm, and she alighted from her perch, stumbling over nerveless feet and the hem of her cloak.
They walked in silence for a time. When the white sand of the hill gave way to the duracrete shuttle pad, her mentor spoke. "What did you see?"
"I don't know."