Before Obi-Wan was given the chance to finish his sentence, there was the comfortingly familiar sound of something exploding, with the clatter of metal against metal, making him wonder if he wasn't back as a Padawan, with Qui-Gon trying one of his louder cooking experiments.

But alas, the smell here (while being equally unfortunate) was not that of burning sugar, molasses, and tomatoes. This one was the smell of metal and fire, and metal on fire. Actually, the scent was rather like the one that persisted to linger around Anakin's old chambers, despite his best efforts to scrub the place clean.

It also occurred to him that they were falling. Or perhaps dropping was a better term -falling brought to mind that there had been some sort of solid ground beneath them at a previous point, and that certainly wasn't true.

Although it was, perhaps, a bit too late to do any good, he had a bad feeling about this.

At the very least, he supposed he should be singing gleeful praises to the Force that he didn't feel anything when the ship hit the planet's surface. Far be it from his place to speculate, but that probably would have increased the bad feeling a slight bit.

***

Obi-Wan was in the middle of a sunshine-filled field. The air was as warm and soft as a baby's breath, the sunshine as delicate as strands of gold spun into silk by angels' hands. Flowers surrounded him like the tiny pieces of a rainbow fallen to the ground, giving off a light, delicate scent like the perfume Rhiannon seemed to naturally exude.

It was so peaceful, free of Anakin, free of responsibilities, free of rising fuel prices, free of-

"Master? I think the engine exploded."

-voices, free of distractions-

"Master! Let me pass by, Ahsoka. I was trained in both contemporary medicine and natural remedies by the most skilled Jedi healers. I was begged by Master Che to take on her role as head Healer after I figured out how to perform foolproof surgery on fractured vertebrae without even needing anesthesia to be administered. My presence was of so much comfort to the men and women that I was performing my art on that they were able to transcend such inconveniences as physical pain. Alas-"

"Your speech has even less of a point than the Chancellor's annual address, Moony."

"And your crude insults have even less creativity than the solutions presented within those speeches, but that isn't relevant. The important information that I was in the process of presenting to you was that my skills are far greater than yours when it comes to most things, healing included. Now get out of the way and let me tend to my Master!"

"Force, you're pushy." Ahsoka gave a huff, but apparently Rhiannon's ability to make a person see that they should best obey such a sensible request (or demand, but really, Rhiannon seemed far too gentle to demand) worked even on Ahsoka, because Obi-Wan also heard a soft shuffling as she moved out of the way.

"Thank you.Now, if you wish to delude yourself by imagining that you're useful, why don't you go and check on your own Master? You have such an art for speaking to Anakin in his own, bitter, angry language."

"Good idea. Anakin! Are you okay?"

A low moaning sound that Obi-Wan tried to pass off as the temperate breeze gently tearing down ancient branches from trees that really were too old to be allowed to remain undisturbed rose from somewhere in the ship. "I think I stopped the bleeding."

"Good. See, Rhiannon? He's fine."

"Wonderful diagnosis. Truly, your training has surpassed mine, and your kind, compassionate streak is almost overwhelming." Something that he was reasonably certain was a hand touched his forehead, light and delicate like a butterfly touching down. "Master Kenobi? Master Kenobi, can you heal me?"

He wanted so much to stay in the well-lit field, surrounded by plenty of small, fluffy animals in case he got hungry, and water made crystalline by the bright sunshine to drink and bathe in, but Rhiannon's voice was like that of a fabled Siren, or, similarly, like that of the fabled Talented Modern-day Vocalist, pulling him up and away from what he thought was Paradise to something far better.

"Yes…" his voice sounded like it was coming from far away, like that time he had learned of Qui-Gon's unique way of using the Force to imitate his speech (usually used when there were beings of the Attractive Female variety around.) "Yes, I certainly can hear you, Padawan."

Oh, dear. He had forgotten Qui-Gon's rule of SPAM: Speech came first when one was waking up from a coma, then some minor Pain, then some Annoying pain, and lastly, the Major pain.

Speech… yes, he had done that, and here was the pain, slight and pounding in a steady rhythm with his heart. Now it was on to the annoyance as it rose to a crescendo, and lastly… oh. Ouch. The last bit of his Happy Place faded out, green fields bulldozed by angry migraines-to-be.

"Keep lying down. I don't want you to injure yourself further."

Yes, that would be bad, if implausible.

"I think your ribs are bruised," she informed him in her sweet, concerned tones. "No, I know they are. You have minor contusions on your chest as well, and there's a piece of shrapnel lodged in your leg that probably hurts. And bruises all over. Unfortunately, although your skin isn't as fair as mine, you still bruise with a greater ease, apparently. However, once I realized Padawan Tano's mistake, I threw up my psychic shields and managed to block the worst of it from reaching us."

Psychic shields? "You knew that this was coming?"

"Oh, yes. I only had a half-second to react when I realized that Ahsoka had damaged a fuel valve with her saber and that it was about to ignite, but of course, a half-second is like a half-day in the hands of the Force."

"Right. Exactly. Couldn't have said it better myself." It occurred to him more suddenly than the explosion had that it was probably his responsibility to be taking care of his Padawan, not the other way around. He'd never needed to remind himself that with Anakin, of course –the Chosen One was quite good at being taken care of- but apparently, Rhiannon was a bit more nurturing. "Padawan, what about you? Are you injured?"

"Well, I have a small scar now on the back of my hand, but don't worry. It doesn't detract from my appearance; in fact, I'd even go so far as to say that it makes me appear more unique. And it hardly bled at all. My body simply worked on a sort of autopilot, healing it as soon as the skin broke."

"That's good to hear. What about Padawan Tano?"

"Well, she hadn't been acting any stranger than usual, so I do believe she'll be fine. And Master Skywalker –of course I knew that would be your next question; I'm quite adept at reading minds- seems to have more complaints than he does complications. He twisted his wrist about a degree beyond normal, but that's it."

Obi-Wan, who was indeed impressed, and mildly unsettled, with her psychic abilities, finally opened his eyes and began to assess the situation.

Sight opened up all of his other senses, just as vocalizing something brought pain. For instance, he could now tell that it was cold out. Very cold. Like, I'm-on-Hoth-in-the-middle-of-a-blizzard cold.

As he felt a soft wetness and a fierce wind tear at him, entering through the large hole in the ceiling of the ship, he realized that the cold wasn't exactly coincidental. It really was snowing, and snowing quite hard, too.

And they probably were on Hoth, unless something had gone very wrong.

"Can you give me an update on the current situation?"

"Why of course, Master. You were unconscious for approximately seven minutes and twenty-three seconds, Coruscanti Standard Time. In that time, the ship we were journeying on caught fire do to an unfortunate fuel leakage. It didn't burn too quickly due to the low flammability of durasteel, but I think that some of the furniture wasn't up to coding regulations, and that probably didn't help the situation. I was able to soften our landing with the Force, but unfortunately, the ship was unsalvageable at that point. Currently, we've been on Hoth in the ruins of the ship for about fifteen minutes."

"The ship looks better like this anyway," yelled Ahsoka from someplace beyond his vantage point.

He agreed. The paint had melted into a rather pleasant, bland sort of shade. Bland, that was his favorite color. And the twisted durasteel made for the most interesting sculptures, quite like contemporary art. It was nice, really.

Unfortunately, they couldn't stand around and admire it forever. There was a droid factory to blow up, presumably, and at the very least, he needed a better place to tend to his injuries and see that his shipmates were in a decent condition.

"We'd best be moving on." Obi-Wan struggled to his feet, graciously brushing off Rhiannon's offered hand. The shrapnel in his leg actually helped him walk better, in an acupuncture-like remedy. That, or he'd just gotten very used to it. "Anakin? Can you walk?"

"Barely." His former Padawan stood unsteadily. "The pain, the pain! It's like getting my hand cut off all over again, except worse, because the nerves endings are still whole!"

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen." He viewed Ahsoka for the first time since waking. She looked quite well, although the red blood would probably be slightly difficult to view against her skin, unlike with Rhiannon's, on which it would be scarlet thread on the pale tapestry of her skin.

Of course, all of that was hypothetical. Rhiannon, like Ahsoka, looked fine. The Padawans were apparently far more resilient than their Masters.

"Master, I gathered up all of the salvageable supplies. The good news is, most of them burned, so we don't have much to carry." Ahsoka had a single pack slung around her shoulder. "And the bad news is, all we have left is a single blanket and a dozen nutrition bars. Even worse, they're all nutrition bars with berries in them, and I hate berries."

"Is the com intact?" Maybe they could just call the Temple and arrange for this whole ordeal to be over with.

"I accidently destroyed the com before the ship blew up. I was practicing my 'saber forms, and my hand slipped. I was going to tell you before, but you were meditating, and you looked so peaceful."

"Right." Peace… if he could just avoid going homicidal for a little while, he would have all the peace he needed. "Well, let's go. We need to scout around for shelter. This wreckage is hardly giving us any cover."

"Out there? But it's snowing! And probably, it's cold outside. I hate the cold." Anakin glared. "And snow is as bad as sand, you know? Tiny crystals getting all over the place. At least snow has the decency to dissolve in fear before my mighty glare."

"It's snowing in here as well, Anakin. At least in an ice cave it won't smell like scorched durasteel."

"Oh. Good point. I'm convinced."

"Of course you are. That's why I'm called the negotiator. I make people see why I'm right. Now come on, everybody. It's time to start our foraging."

And so the four people emerged out into the wild blizzard on the tiny ice-planet of Hoth, none knowing yet what horrors they awaited…

"It's cold," announced Anakin.

Ahsoka huffed. "Way to ruin the drama, Skyguy."