Anthony crept along through the tall grass, anxiously following the caravan of theives that was disappearing through the field. He followed them from a distance, determined not to lose Artoo.

"Oh, this is all my fault," Anthony fretted, "I was too cowardly, too weak, the princess never should have trusted me with this."

He'd been with Artoo since the mustang had been a little foal, had learned to ride him for such important missions as this.

As Anthony hurriedly continued his pursuit of the Jawa caravan, the parade trudged through the fields, approaching the small, remote farming village of Tatooine.

The chief Jawa barked commands at the others, deciding that Tatooine was an excellent spot to make a profit.

The modest farm just on the outskirts of town was that of the Skywalker family. It was enclosed by a short wooden fence that surrounded the acre-wide field of fruits, vegetables and other crops. A mule was strapped to a wagon that carried hay, and goods to be brought to market.

At the end of the fence was a barn that contained the livestock; which included horses, cattle, chickens and pigs. A moo could be heard from just outside the perimeter. A silo stood next to the barn, and across from the barn and silo was a medium sized home, with a roof covered in straw.

Two figures emerged from the house and came across the field towards the caravan. One of the two men was young and fresh-faced, and the other was older, grizzled and weatherbeaten. Both were wearing the clothes of farmers.

"Luke!" a woman's voice called from the house.

Aunt Beru stood at the doorway, calling to her nephew. Luke turned and started back to the house.

"Tell Uncle that if he gets a new pig, make sure it's a female!"

Luke Skywalker glanced back at the caravan halted in front of the farm, then turned back to his aunt.

"Doesn't look like we have much of a choice, but I'll let him know!"

As Uncle Owen started talking rapidly to the Chief Jawa in their native tongue, Luke hurried over to join them, looking over the farming equipment in the wagons.

"We could use a new, young strong horse," Owen remarried as he reviewed the selection.

"Uncle Owen," Luke pointed at a yellow mustang admiring its color, "what about that one?"

"Nah," Uncle Owen glanced at it and waved his hand dismissively. He took notice of a white stallion next to it.

"Hey, what about this one," he said to the chief Jawa.

As the Jawa began to release the horse from its traces, the yellow mustang next to it gave it a subtle, hard kick in the right hind leg.

As Luke beckoned the stallion forth, it suddenly lumped forward and fell onto the grass.

"Uncle Owen," Luke groaned, "this one's got a bad leg."

"Hey, what are you trying to push on us?" Owen rounded on the Jawas angrily. As the Jawa chief responded defensively, the mustang who had kicked the stallion looked at Luke appealingly, whinnying in plea.

"Uncle Owen, what about the yellow one?"

"Yeah, we'll take that one," Owen said to the chief.

The Jawa with the whip took hold of the defective horse's reins and dragged it back to the caravan, while the chief Jawa led Artoo towards Luke.

"Take him into the barn, will you?" Owen asked his nephew, "I want him given a good cleaning before supper."

Luke sighed in disappointment. "But I was going to Tosche market to pick up some more plows."

"You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done," replied Owen, not fooled in the least.

"Easy, boy," Luke gently took hold of Artoo's reins and led him into the farm perimeter.

Artoo neighed softly as he complied.

Luke led him across the field, through the plowed ground between the growing corn and carrots, to the barn.

Holding onto Artoo's reins with one hand, Luke pushed open the barn door and led the horse into the empty stable nearby.

"I'll get you some food," Luke said over his shoulder to the mooing cows.

He took a filled up water trough and placed it on the ground of the stable.

"All yours," he said to Artoo as he proceeded to grab some straw for the cows.

When he returned, Artoo had his head buried in the trough, absorbing the water quickly.

"You're a thirsty fella, aren't you?" Luke remarked, noticing the pouch attached to the horse's side. "What do you have over there?"

Curiously, the farm boy reached over and unsealed the pouch. He was surprised to feel in his fingers a scroll of parchment.

"Were you some kind of messenger, or..." he pulled out the scroll as Artoo looked up from the trough and unrolled it to read.

Sir Ben Kenobi,

Years ago, you fought with my father in the Jedi crusades. Now, he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Sith Empire. My party is being pursued by Imperial agents and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to my father's kingdom of Alderaan has failed.

The Empire is preparing to invade our last save haven, and the rebel army is far too underequipped. We need you, the last of the Jedi Knights, to challenge Lord Vader and save the free world.

Help me Ben Kenobi, you're my only hope.

Princess Leia

Luke's mind was scrambling as he read and reread the letter. The princess of Alderaan, the last free kingdom. The Sith Empire had taken over every other kingdom in the known world. She'd been captured, she needed help from... Ben Kenobi?

"Ben Kenobi," Luke read the name aloud.

Artoo looked to him and brayed curiously.

"I don't know," Luke said thoughtfully, "I know an Old Ben, he lives out beyond the village. He's kind of a strange old hermit."

What would Old Ben have to do with a rebel princess, Luke wondered.

"What do I know?" he said aloud, sighing in tiredness, "I don't know anything about princesses or battles or Jedi Knights. I'm just a peasant farm boy." He looked out beyond the farm for a moment, wondering what was out there.

As he took a break to feed the pigs, his Aunt Beru shouted to him from the house, "Luke! Supper time!"

Luke went back over to Artoo and slipped the message back into the pouch, sealing it once again.

"I'll be right back," he whispered to the mustang, "This is very curious." He strode out of the barn, shutting it behind him.

Beru Skywalker had already set the table when Luke came in, and she and Owen were seated. Beru was pouring a glass of blue milk as Owen delved into his soup.

"You know," Luke said conversationally to his aunt and uncle, "I think the horse we bought might have been stolen."

"What makes you think that?" Owen asked casually between mouthfuls.

"He had a message with him, from a rebellion princess. It was addressed to a Ben Kenobi. I wonder if she meant old Ben who lives here."

For the briefest moment, Owen and Beru exchanged knowing looks. Owen shook his head and replied, "Mm. That wizard's just a crazy old man. I want you to burn that message and that'll be the end of it. The horse belongs to us now."

"Yeah, okay," Luke nodded submissively and took a bite of his salad, "Strange though, isn't it? Ben, Ben Kenobi?"

"Ben Kenobi doesn't exist anymore," Owen said with an air of finality, "he died about the same time as your father."

This got Luke's attention. "He knew my father?" he asked with astonishment.

Owen exchanged another glance with Beru, realizing he'd made a mistake.

"I told you to forget it," he reprimanded his nephew, "Tomorrow morning I want you to take the horses' messenger pouch to the market and sell it."

"Yeah, all right," sighed Luke. With that, he stood up from the wooden table and pushed his chair back.

"Where are you going?" asked Beru.

Luke replied sadly, "Looks like I'm going nowhere." He strode out of the small kitchen and out of the house.

Beru looked to her husband, an expression of sympathy for her nephew on her face.

"Luke's just not happy here on the farm, Owen. He's got too much of his father in him." She smiled fondly, remembering Owen's brother.

Owen nodded, frowning as he remained deep in thought. "That's what I'm worried about."

The sun was setting by this time. Standing in the field between the house and barn, Luke gazed up at the sunset that lit the sky red and purple. At that moment, he wondered if he was destined to watch the same sunset forever.

He'd lived and worked on the family farm his whole life, with nothing else to look forward to in life. In his heart, Luke yearned for a life of adventure and excitement, not as a farmer.

His uncle may have been content with this lifestyle, but Luke knew there was something more for him out there, something bigger than himself to be a part of.

He took a few minutes more to stare longingly at the sunset, then turned to go plow the fields for the evening.