The man lowered his head and was silent. The boy, still seated on the log, stared up at him, expectant, but the man did not speak. Around them, the daylight was getting sharper and the shadows longer. A few birds wheeled in the open sky overhead, cawing.
"So that happened here?" the boy said finally. "I mean, this is Kyrimorut, isn't it?"
"The original compound was maybe ten, twenty kilo-meters south of here. On the plain, not in the mountains. Kal'buir wanted to call our new place Kyrimorut, after the old one."
"The old one got found out. It got destroyed."
"But it was our home."
The boy looked at the boots on his feet. "I never knew what happened to the old Kyrimorut. Nobody told me." All he remembered was spaceships, and ports, and hiding in different places until they came here two summers ago.
"Do you like it here?"
The boy nodded. "I like the mountains. I like the trees and the animals and the air. You don't get wind on spaceships. First I thought it was weird. But I like it now. I just wonder if we're safe."
"Kal'buir thinks we are. I think he's right. The Empire's already got Mandalore under its heel. They're off putting down other worlds, now, and they've made bigger enemies than us."
"Are you sure?"
"A chakaar like Palpatine excels at making enemies. We're not like him. After we left Mandalore the first time we went full ba'slan shev'la."
"Strategic disappearance," the boy said is if by route.
"Kal'buir's made sure the Empire thinks we're dead. We're safe here. We can wait."
"Wait for what?"
"Wait until Palpatine bites off more than he can chew. Wait until the Empire's dying."
"And then we free Mandalore?"
The man smirked. "Exactly."
The boy looked at his boots. "That story's not over yet, is it? You haven't told me what happened to my father."
The smile quickly disappeared. "No. I haven't."
"I want to know. Now. Please."
The man looked around at the lengthening shadows. "It's getting late. We have a long walk back to camp."
"You have night vision on your buy'c, don't you?"
The man looked down at his T-visor helmet, now resting between his boots. "I suppose I do. Still, I wouldn't want people to worry."
"I'm worried now. You can't just start a story like that and not end it."
"All right," the man gave a short sigh. "I'll tell you what happened next. But it's not going to be a happy story."
"I know that. But I have to find out."
The man stared at the boy without speaking. The boy felt like he was being probed somehow and said, "Are you going to do it or not?"
"You're very brave, Kad'ika."
"Tell me, please."
"All right, I will. But first, you have to understand that what happened to your father, what happened to me and all your uncles, was part of something much, much bigger. We all like to think we can control our own destinies, but sometimes we get pulled into other peoples' stories. Sometimes we let ourselves be pulled along, willingly."
The boy could sense an immense sadness coming from the man, like he was unearthing one of his long-buried regrets.
"For what happened next, Kad'ika, I want you to know I'm sorry. I did what I thought was right at the time. If I knew then what I know now..." He shook his head. "No. I won't go there. That's foundation. I can't unring that bell."
"But Bard'ika, what happened?" The boy's voice cracked.
"I made a choice. And I got a lot of people killed. Kad'ika, I got your father killed."
The boy stayed there, deathly still, watching, waiting.
"This is my part of the story," said the man. "My choice, and its consequences..."