It is the Master's job to rebraid this single lock. The whole thing is a ritual. A reaffirmation, if you will, of the commitment and bond between Master and Padawan. So why do I sit here doing the job myself? Simple. My master did not want me.

He probably did know that I noticed, but the first such time it was rebraided, his hands trembled ever so slightly. He had a far off look. Not to mention he was shielding his thoughts from me. I found that a little insulting. This was supposed to be a special moment between us and he couldn't even be fully present for it.

So now, here I sit, braiding it my self. He promised me he'd be here today to do it, but was called away suddenly by the council. Probably just another excuse not to be here to do it.

I reach the halfway point and rap a bit of string about the braid. That is how long it was originally. I realize that I have come a long way since being at the temple. None of it was terribly hard either. I'd have to say the hardest part is being my Master's apprentice.

Master. How I hate that word. It implies too much. Makes me feel like a slave again. I try not to dwell on it, but on a day like today I really do feel like one. Always taking orders and such, there are days I wish I would have been left to work for Watto.

I reach the end of the braid and tie it off just as Obi-Wan comes through the door. He probably doesn't even notice that it's already finished.

…….

"We have another mission, Anakin." I state as I notice he did not wait. He never does. When will he realize that things like that can wait? Probably never. He probably thought that I didn't even notice it. Like he thinks I didn't notice when he came to my shields the first time we rebraided it.

You can't not notice when someone of his strength runs into your barriers. It would be like missing the supernova of your system's star. I had my reasons for those barriers. He didn't need to see my misgivings over my training of him.

He just gives me an inquisitive look and waits for me to finish. Such a grown up façade for someone who never really had a chance to be a kid. He'll eventually learn real patience. "We're to protect Senator Amidala."