I didn't see Obi-Wan or his owner leave; Anakin was clamoring for details, Watto was bellowing angrily at me, and Shmi was thanking me. In the midst of all that tumult – and having to pull Jar Jar away from a developing situation – I had my hands full. I finally had to throw up my hands and do some bellowing of my own.

Having achieved peace and quiet in that little corner of the pit area, I made Watto deactivate Anakin's chip, sent Anakin and Shmi back to their dwelling where I would retrieve Anakin, and took Padme and Jar Jar to Watto's shop to pick up the parts we needed.

As we loaded the part onto a repulsorsled, to be pulled by two borrowed eopies, Padme asked me quietly what Watto had meant about letting me have "this other boy" rather than Anakin. I hesitated; said I had seen him and inquired about him, thinking he was someone I had once known, and made it clear I was not going to speak any further on the subject. She seemed to accept that, and I sighed a silent sigh of relief.

I would only speak of finding Obi-Wan to the Council, to Yoda in particular. I knew my padawan and Yoda had an unusual bond, akin to, but weaker than, a master/padawan bond. Yoda would help me, I knew, and help me with the Council, if necessary.

I would also have to face some tough questions, and I'd rather hear them from Yoda first. Other than his health, of course, their first question would have to be how had Obi-Wan been changed by the mind-wipe, and by his five years of slavery. He had been learning to control his youthful recklessness and impatience, and how to find calmness amidst chaos – had life helped teach him those lessons, or burned them into internal defiance and rage? Had Obi-Wan lost most of his training, and if so, could he start over? A padawan nearing the end of that journey – how would it be to start on that journey again?

No less important – in some ways, more important – how could Obi-Wan resume his place without his connection to the Force? It was not memory-dependent, so how had he lost it and could he regain it?

I suspected the knowledge to access it had been missing and was returning with his memories, for I had started to sense him within the Force there at the end, and of course, he had been able to reach me through the bond when he felt the need.

No, I knew Obi-Wan hadn't lost the Force; his touch with it was much as it had been when I had first accepted him as my padawan, uncertain, hesitant and tentative. The Force was always there, once one learned to accept it rather than grab for it.

While the new part was installed and tested, I returned the repulsorsled and eopies, and went to bring the new Jedi-to-be back with me. His mother was brave, as I expected; she wanted only the best for her son, even at the cost of losing him. I promised her I would take care of young Anakin.

Anakin was initially eager and excited, though when he realized he was truly leaving his mother behind, he hesitated. I could not force a choice on him, despite my hopes for him, nor did his mother force one on him. Shmi, however, with wisdom that reminded me of the wisest Jedi masters, gave Anakin the courage to accept his brave new future and leave her behind.

Anakin and I trudged through Tatooine's sands back to the ship. With my longer legs I was ahead of the boy, and had turned to check his progress when I saw a speeder bearing down on us. I read malice, somehow, in that dark clothed figure and I drew my lightsaber. I was ready, then, when the figure leaped off the speeder and came at me with his own lightsaber.

"Run, Ani, to the ship," I commanded, and turned all my attention to the fight. This tattooed creature was strong, and fully a match for me. I was counted amongst the greatest Jedi swordsmen, and I was pressed to keep up with this being. I had practically all my attention focused on the fight when I sensed the Nubian ship slide by overhead, its ramp extended, and I made a jump for it. I had survived this fight, but I wondered how it might have ended without this rescue.

I had little time to worry, then, for Anakin was running to my side with a worried look. I did my best to reassure him, once I caught my breath.

After all the events of the past few days, there was much to ponder, and much to regret, so I didn't expect to be very companionable on the several days trip back to Coruscant. As a Jedi, and over the course of a long life, I had learned to release my emotions into the Force time and time again. I had now to accept leaving Obi-Wan behind – I had had no choice, and I would be back. I knew I would be back; I just didn't know when.

This attacker, too, this fierce warrior with hate in his eyes and bearing a lightsaber – what was he? Who was he? I had much to reflect on.

I secluded myself while I forced myself to confront and release all those emotions pent within me, for they would help no one. I might be a Jedi master, but I found this no easier than I had as a young padawan, learning to let go. Sometimes, emotions just ran too deep and close to the heart to easily release. All Jedi struggled with it, at times, and I was no exception.

I knew the vast majority of the galaxy's beings thought we Jedi were cold and unemotional, for our training compelled us to internalize our emotions and not act on them. That was the face we showed to the outside world, but we knew better. Releasing our emotions was both a goal and a necessity, and something we constantly had to work on, for we were still sentient beings. This time, I was finding this very difficult to do.

Young Anakin, actually, helped. For his sake, I tried to be cheery, for Anakin had been plucked away from the only life he had known. He missed his mother. He seemed to take comfort from only Padme and me. I was grateful for her soft concern for the boy, and I did my best to keep a smile on my face while around him.

It actually was easier than I expected, for the boy was full of questions and eager to know of the wider galaxy. In some ways, he reminded me of young Obi-Wan, when we had first bonded – eager, curious, and intelligent. It didn't hurt, as I expected, that comparison, and the memories it occasionally brought back were comforting.

I was learning, yet again, that memories brought both pain and peace, and I knew new memories would be forged shortly, once I rescued Obi-Wan. Out of the ashes of our separation would rise a new beginning for us.

I focused on that thought, and my heart was eased. Truly, one's focus did determine one's reality. One did keep relearning life's lessons, I thought.

I found I could smile again.

My first priority upon reaching Coruscant had to be Anakin. The Chosen One. I needed to get the Jedi Council to accept him for training, for no one over the age of one was ever accepted. Tradition dictated this, tradition born of hard-worn knowledge.

Every rule had an exception, and I was determined Anakin would be one.

I had to argue to get the Jed Council to even test Anakin. Too old! they kept insisting. Rules are only roadmaps to the path ahead of us – yes, Anakin was too old for training by the rules. But he was the Chosen One. Rules didn't mean anything in the face of prophecy.

I can be rather forceful, so I finally got them to agree after much arguing on my part. While I waited, I stood outside on one of the Temple balconies. That usually soothed me, watching the day slide into evening, colors coalescing into bright glows and softening into shadowed hues, before disappearing into the twilight.

Tonight, it only deepened my pain, but I continued to watch. It reminded me of Obi-Wan, lost and now found, and still separate from me, on another planet. We had shared the sunsets side by side for as long as I could remember, when at the Temple between missions. I had avoided the sunset for several years after Obi-Wan had been captured, mind-wiped, and transported somewhere. I had never found a trace of him. I had looked, oh, how I had looked.

Finally, I had started to avoid all things that reminded me of him. The door to his room stayed firmly shut, I no longer spoke his name out loud, and I avoided the sunsets. Finally, I stopped looking. I just had nowhere else to look.

It was my old master who confronted me. Master Dooku was unhappy with many things, and he hadn't returned to the Temple in some time. One day I had returned and found him, sitting properly upright for he would never sprawl all over the furniture as Obi-Wan was wont to – until my disapproving eye fell upon him – hands in his lap and those stern eyes boring into me as soon as I stepped into my quarters.

"What's gotten into you, my old padawan?" he demanded in his rich voice. "You mope, you flit around like an angry ghost, and you do not behave as a Jedi master should. Did I not teach you to release your emotions into the Force, young one?"

"Good to see you, too, Master," I said wearily. "I have not had the pleasure of your company in a long time, and you sit there and berate me? About what, may I ask?"

"You know," he stated calmly. "Young Kenobi. Obi-Wan."

I winced. "Don't speak his name. He's gone. I am trying to release his memory into the Force. If that meets with your approval, my master."

"Qui-Gon," he thundered, and I sat, abruptly, out of habit. He did his best to gentle his voice, but my master was never known for his gentleness, only his prim and proper civility.

"Have I taught you nothing? Release your emotions, padawan, not your memories. Don't dishonor him by shutting him out of your memories. Come."

He might as well have grabbed me by the arm, though he merely stood. He marched me through the long corridors and when he reached the door to the nearest balcony, I realized where he was leading me. I protested. He just turned and eyed me with an eyebrow raised, challenging me. I felt fourteen again, and cowed.

We stood, side by side. At first, I refused to look out, keeping my back turned to the coming sunset. How dare he, I fumed.

I finally stole a sideways look – it was a glare, actually – at him, and surprised a look on his face. If I hadn't known he was incapable of it, I would have said it was a soft and gentle look. He put his hands on my shoulders and physically turned me around to face that light I dreaded.

"Remember him, when you see that, and he'll always be with you. Don't let him disappear from your heart. He has only disappeared from your life. He is truly dead, if you won't remember him."

Somehow, his words reached me as none others had. It didn't hurt that a burst of sunlight burst through a hole in the clouds like a sign of the Force.

"Did you arrange that?" I demanded, awed, humbled and sniffling. My master merely pulled a neat and crisp square from within his cloak and passed it to me. I blew my nose and offered it back and he crossed his arms. I hid a smile, and tucked it in my belt.

"Say his name," he commanded, with a sideways look at me.

"Yes, Master," I sighed. "Obi-Wan."

I felt suddenly lighter, as if the weight of gloom and despair had lifted from my heart. My voice was a hushed whisper of understanding, for now I understood.

"Obi-Wan," I repeated, my face uplifted to the warm light that reminded me of him – and I almost felt him beside me, strong, reassuring, loving. Obi-Wan would not want me to all but give up living; Obi-Wan would want me to go on actually living. I would best honor his memory, by keeping him alive and warm within my heart. My master was right: Obi-Wan would never be totally lost, as long as I remembered him.

"Obi-Wan," I said, gladly flinging his name into that flaming sky – and I smiled.

Then I closed my eyes and drew in the peace of the evening, and when I opened them again, Master Dooku was gone. I haven't seen him since, but his lesson has stayed with me.

That is why I now face the sunset. For then I am never alone. Obi-Wan is always with me.