The faces around the table are all the same. Different features, but all the same, made the same by the expression. Grief. Pain…sadness… anguish. Owen's face is set, his jaw is rigid. Beru's eyes are wide and filled with tears. Every word is an effort for Clieg. He pauses again with a deep breath before going on. His face is rugged and weathered by the desert wind, but the lines are deepened today by sorrow.
And Anakin. Just looking at him cuts my heart. The worst we expected to find, but this? Not this. Not the news that his mother has been gone for a month, captured by sand people, most likely dead. This is what he's been dreaming about. His nightmares have been leading him to this. I can hardly look at him. His face is twisted, his eyes tortured. It's even harder for him to hear this than it is for Cleig to tell it.
"I'm going to find my mother." I hear it as if from far away, and he's out of the house before my brain can persuade my legs to support me, before I can stand, or run after him.