notes: Guess who got out of her writing slump? It me!

Thank you so, so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter. It really lifted my spirits, and really brightened my days. So thank you so, so much. (I'll hopefully get to replying to them tomorrow - but I figured you'd rather a new chapter than a comment reply, so I chose to update tonight rather than reply.)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the update!


CHAPTER 9

The rest of the day passed in a blur of boredom and cramped arms. The air in the tent grew hotter—stiflingly so—as the twin suns rose into the sky. Before midday Luke was sweating, soaking his shirt to his back and dripping down his temples, down his spine, down his neck. There was no movement of air; it was still and rancid, smelling of spoiled milk and something dead.

"How do you stand it?" Luke asked, gagging. He turned his head to bury his nose and mouth in the crook of his arm; it barely helped.

"You get used to it," Talia said.

"How?" Luke asked, turning his head to bury his nose in the crook of his arm.

Talia shook her head in lieu of shrugging. "You just do."

Leia also kept Luke company. In the long stretches of silence that lay between Talia and Luke, he sank deep into Leia's mind, and together they wheedled away the hours until sunset.

"What I wouldn't give for a cup of water right now," Luke said after a few hours. His mouth was already as dry as bone, his throat aching and parched. Even the thought of speaking was tiresome.

"They'll give you some water eventually," Leia said unhelpfully. "If they want to sell you as a slave, they have to keep you alive. And I don't know how long you can last without water, but not very long."

"Especially in heat like this," Luke added.

Talia was a quiet girl, Luke found. She answered when Luke spoke to her, but she rarely spoke first—in fact, the only time Luke could remember her initiating conversation was when she had asked him if he was alright early that morning, after the first time Luke had disappeared into Leia's mind. She spoke little and carefully—though when she did speak, she sounded far older than the eight years she told Luke she was. When he pointed that out, she pulled her mouth to one side in a half grimace and said, "That's what everyone says."

Around midday, Luke felt Leia's fear spike. He quickly attuned his thoughts to hers—they had spent the last half hour or so in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts together—and asked, "Leia, what's going on?"

She sent an image of the man she knew as Big Burly standing in the doorway.

"No," Leia said, both to Luke and, Luke thought, aloud, her fear rising. "Please…"

"Leia, what's going on?"

"He's taking me again," Leia said desperately. Then, "Luke, please go."

"Why?" Luke asked, confused. "You're scared. You need me."

"No," Leia said stoutly. "I've thought about it and...and I don't want you with me when this happens."

"When what happens?" Luke asked, his own fear mounting.

"There's this room," Leia said. "Big Burly brings me there. And they...they hurt me there."

"What do you mean, hurt?"

Flashes of pain, thought, feeling. Burning, and then a terrible ripping, tearing pain in his back. It was enough to make Luke gasp and groan, his mind convinced he was feeling those sensations himself.

"You mean they're torturing you?" Luke asked.

"I guess," Leia said. "But—"

"I'm not going to leave you alone," Luke told her stoutly. "Not if they're torturing you. You need me."

"Luke, please," Leia begged. "I don't want you to feel this."

Luke hesitated. "But you need me," he said again.

"Be there for me afterwards," Leia said. "But not...not now."

Luke swallowed, hating himself. "Okay," he said, relenting. "But if you need me, call. I'll hear you."

"I'm not going to call," Leia said.

"Okay, but if you do…"

"Okay," said Leia—and with that she threw up walls around her thoughts and feelings. Luke withdrew.

"So, Talia," Luke said after a few minutes of deep silence in which Luke stewed and hated himself more, "how were you captured?"

Talia looked at him, her pointed face darkening. "I don't want to talk about that," she said.

"Oh," said Luke, feeling even worse. "Okay. Sorry."

After that, silence reigned over the tent. Luke did not again try to engage Talia in conversation, and Talia did not offer any indication that she wanted otherwise.

The sun set slowly, shadows creeping through the flap doorway. It didn't quite touch the ground, and through it Luke could see the golden sand, burning in the sunlight, silver in the night.

Twice Luke tried to touch Leia's mind, only to reach walls of adamantine and diamond around her thoughts, warning him away. If he wanted to, Luke suspected he could break through those walls—they were hastily and crudely made, constructed by someone who only halfway knew what they were doing—but he respected Leia's privacy, and her desire to be alone, and so did not press against them.

The third time he touched her mind, however, the walls were gone. Instead there was only pain and a sense of humiliation.

"Leia? Leia, what happened?" Luke asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," Leia said miserably. Then she said, "You should sleep, Luke. You don't know when you'll have the chance."

"But Leia—"

"I'm fine, Luke," Leia said, belying the pain washing her thoughts red and purple and black. "You should sleep."

"I don't want to," Luke said stubbornly.

"Luke, trust me, it's easier to handle things if you aren't tired."

"It's not that I don't believe you," Luke said, "I'm just worried about you."

"I'm fine," Leia said again. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Luke sagged in his bindings, the shackles biting into the soft skin of his wrist, and leaned his head against his arm, closing his eyes. Sleep was long in coming in the thick air of the tent, however. The hide walls had trapped the heat of the day inside, leaving it uncomfortably warm inside while beyond it grew cold.

He was almost asleep when he realized he had, as Talia had promised, grown accustomed to the stench of the tent.

Then he slept.

He opened his eyes to a ravine carved deep between stone banks. The rock beneath his feet was dry like sand, the air cold enough to make him shiver. The moon hung overhead in a sky filled with stars, heavy and swollen with light that bleached the landscape white.

"Oh, Luke."

Luke whirled, startled, and found himself staring down at Shmi, standing a dozen paces away. She smiled when he saw her, and began to climb the rocks toward him. Luke met her halfway, barely daring to believe what he was seeing.

"Grandma?" he asked.

Shmi's smile grew. "I'm here, dear heart," she said, and gathered Luke into her arms. She smelled of jasmine and the desert, and Luke buried his face in her chest and gave into the sobs that had been trying to grow since he had woken up on the bantha.

"I'm so scared, Grandma," he said. "The Tuskens—"

"Shhh," Shmi murmured, and pressed a kiss to Luke's hair. "I know, hassal."

Luke smiled through his tears. Hassal was a Tatooin word used only by family, and that crudely meant "my love". It was one of the tenderest words in both Tatooin and Huttese, and carried a connotation of a love so deep and abiding that the speaker would do anything for the other.

He pulled away, wiping his eyes and his nose with the backs of his hands.

"Everything is going to be okay, Luke," Shmi promised. "And I will be with you through it all."

"You promise?" Luke asked.

Shmi nodded.

"But that is not why I am here," she said slowly, looking down at him with her warm, dark eyes. A breeze whispered through the ravine, pulling hair from her bun and sending it spinning around her face.

There, for a second, Luke thought he heard a voice in the wind. A gift, it whispered, a gift, a gift…

"Then why are you here, Grandma?" Luke asked.

"To show you something," she said. "Come."

Luke followed obediently as Shmi led the way up the ravine, climbing over boulders and skirting around holes bored deep into the bedrock. Slowly, as they climbed, a shape began to grow in the distance—a massive wall made of interlocking stone, rising up, up, up toward the starlit sky, until it all but blocked out the moon's light.

Shmi halted at the foot of the wall. It met the rock of the ravine in a tumble of stones and gravel. When Luke went to touch it, he found that the wall was smooth and cold like ice, like the desert at midnight.

"What's this?" he asked, turning to look at Shmi standing a few steps away.

"A wall," Shmi answered simply.

"Well yeah, I can see that," said Luke.

"Look," Shmi said, bending down.

Luke knelt, knees against stone, and looked. In the few beams of moonlight, he could just make out a tiny trickle of water flowing through a crack in the wall.

"What do you make of this?" Shmi asked.

Luke shrugged. "I don't know. That there's a crack in the wall?"

"Listen," his grandmother bade him.

Luke listened. For a long moment there was only silence, and Luke strained his ears all the harder, listening for...something, anything. Then, at first as if through a veil, then growing clearer, a voice.

A gift, the water burbled.

A gift, the wind sighed.

A gift, the wall groaned.

"What does it mean?" Luke asked, looking at Shmi.

"That is for you to discover," Shmi said. "For now, I want you to widen the crack."

Luke turned his attention back to the wall, and to the watery crack. He fit his fingers into it, and strained—only for his fingers to slide over the slippery stone, cutting the pad of his forefinger in a jagged, bloody line. Luke cursed, the coarse Huttese flowing over his lips with ease, and stuck his finger in his mouth.

"Try again," his grandmother said.

This time Luke set his shoulder against the wall and pushed. The wall remained resolute and strong, unflinching and unyielding.

"Try again," Shmi said.

Once again Luke fit his fingers into the crack, but this time he scratched at the stone. All he accomplished was breaking a nail and bending another.

"Try again," said Shmi a third time.

"It's not going to budge," Luke protested. "It's solid rock. I need tools to widen it. I can't do it with just my hands."

Shmi raised an eyebrow. "I never said you needed to widen it with your hands."

"Then how?"

Shmi smiled. "That is for you to discover."

Luke huffed in annoyance.

"It will come," Shmi said gently, taking pity on Luke's frustration. "But remember what you've seen tonight—and remember what I told you."

Luke frowned. "That I don't need my hands to widen the crack?"

Shmi nodded. "You have the power to widen it within yourself. All you must do is unlock it."

"That doesn't make sense," said Luke.

"It will," said Shmi. "Eventually."

"Okay," said Luke slowly, not sure he believed her.

Shmi crossed to him. Taking his head in both her hands, she bent it forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I love you, hassal," she said.

"I love you too," said Luke.

"And now I must go," said Shmi. "And you must awaken."

"I wish you didn't have to go," said Luke.

Shmi smiled. "Me either." Then she hugged him, tight and fierce, and pressed another kiss to the top of his head. "Until next time, my precious Child of the Desert."

With that, Luke awoke.

There came the crunch and shush of sand being trod on. Luke blinked, groggy and confused, and turned toward the tent flap just in time to see someone brush it aside. A Tusken Raider entered, carrying a loaf of heavy bread and a flask—a flask Luke hoped was filled with water. If he had thought his mouth was dry before, it was nothing to what it felt like now: like dust and ash and sand.

The Raider caught Luke staring at the flask and laughed.

"You want?" he asked in stilted Basic.

Luke nodded slowly, looking up at the Raider's face.

"Please," he croaked, his voice coming out cracked and dehydrated.

The Raider, still laughing, set the items down on the mat-covered floor, then crossed to Talia. A key ring and a stun baton hung from his belt. He reached for the ring, selected a key, and pulled it free. Luke frowned, watching as the Raider fit it in the lock holding the chain between Talia's shackles to the bar. The lock gave a small snick and released, Talia's arms falling down in front of her. She sighed and groaned, eyeing the flask and bread but not moving, rubbing her wrists and rolling her shoulders.

The Raider turned next to Luke. "No try anything," he said. "You try escape, you die."

"Got it," Luke said, and then waited impatiently as the Raider it the key into the lock. Luke heard the same snick again, and then his hands fell. Following Talia's example, he rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his wrists, which were mottled purple, blue, and shades of black.

Going over to the bread and the flask, the Raider bent and picked up the bread. He tore the loaf in half, then tossed them to Luke and Talia. The halves landed at their feet. Then, picking up the flask, he tossed it between them, saying, "Fight."

Talia lunged for it, hands grasping. She came up, triumphantly grinning—and then paused, seeing that Luke hadn't even moved.

"Go on," Luke said. "You drink first."

Talia's eyes were wide. "You aren't going to fight me for it?" she asked.

Luke shook his head. "I'll drink after you."

"But...but why?" Talia asked. She was clearly confused by Luke's actions.

"Because we have to work together now," Luke said. "We can't fight each other. If we do," and here Luke turned to glance at the Raider, watching with an unreadable expression, "well, then we're doomed to be Hutt slaves."

"Oh," said Talia. She looked down at the flask in her hands, then back up at Luke. "You're really not going to fight me?"

Luke shook his head. "Nope."

"Oh," said Talia again.

Behind him, Luke heard the Raider sniff in disgust. "Hurry up," he grunted. "I don't have all morning."

Talia, with eyes wide wince more, took three big gulps of water, then, almost shyly, crossed to Luke and handed him the flaks. "Here," she said softly.

"Are you done?" Luke asked, shaking the flask as he spoke. Th water sloshed around in it, half empty.

Talia nodded.

"Okay," said Luke. He smiled. "Thanks."

He drank quickly—too quickly, spilling a precious dribble of water down his chin to soak the front of his shirt.

Luke held the flask out to the Raider, who took it with a grunt. Then Luke bent and picked up the bread, ripping a hunk off and stuffing it ravenously into his mouth. It was dry, and tasted like sawdust—but it was food, and that was enough for Luke.

Luke had only just finished stuffing the last bite into his mouth when the Raider stepped forward and grabbed his chain, dragging him back to the bar and fastening his hands to it once more. Then, once he had finished hoisting Talia up and latching her wrists to the bar as well, he turned and left.

A moment of silence followed the Raider's footsteps. Then Talia said hesitantly, "Thank you."

Luke, surprised at Talia breaking the silence, frowned. "For what?" he asked.

"For letting me drink. I haven't...I never have before. First, I mean. The Raiders wanted to keep me alive, so they always made sure I got water, but Mattew—he was so big, and strong, and fast. By the time I got the flask there was only one or two sips left."

Luke's frown grew. "Mattew? Who's that."

Talia withdrew, her face and eyes shuttering. "No one," she said.

Luke wanted to press, but Talia looked ready to cry, eyes wide and wet, lower lip trembling ever so slightly.

"Are you okay?" Luke asked instead.

Talia nodded. She did not convince Luke, however.

That reminded him: Leia.

Luke stretched out a thought, brushing it against Leia's mind. She was still in pain, still ashamed, but though her mind was alight with thought, it had the muted taste of sleep. Luke relaxed in his bindings; at least Leia was safe—for now.

"You did it again," said Talia.

"Did what?" Luke asked, turning to look at her.

"Went somewhere else," said Talia.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean your eyes got all far-away, and your face went sort of slack."

Luke frowned. Did he always look like that when he talked to Leia? If he did, he needed to practice more. He had grown comfortable, with just his aunt and uncle around to witness his talking to Leia. They had quickly grown accustomed to his bouts of distance and distraction, and had long since stopped mentioning them. Luke had thought that meant he was better about hiding the fact that he was talking to Leia—but perhaps it was only that they had stopped mentioning it when it happened.

That would be something for him to practice, Luke decided.

In the meantime, however, Luke had more pressing matters to attend to.

"I meant what I said," he told Talia. "We have to work together. If we do, I think we might be able to make it out."

"Make it out?" Talia asked. "You mean escape?"

"Yeah," said Luke. "Next time the guard comes in to give us food, and he unfastens our hands, we jump him. We'll take his keys, and sneak out of the camp."

Talia shook her head. "No," she said. "We can't."

Luke frowned. "Why not?"

"We'll get caught," she said.

"Not if we're careful."

"We'll get caught and they'll kill us."

"That was just a threat to make us more compliant," said Luke. "They won't really kill us."

"Yes, they will," said Talia.

"How do you know?"

"Because…" Talia trailed off, swallowing back tears.

"Because what, Talia?" Luke pressed.

"Because they killed Mattew when he tried to escape."

"Who's Mattew?" Luke asked again.

Talia shook her head, but said, "He was here before me. They captured him a few days before me and Mom, he said. After they killed Mom," and here the tears Talia had been fighting spilled over her cheeks, running down to her chin where they dripped to the floor, "he tried to run away. They caught him, and killed him, and told me not to try it, or they'd kill me too."

Luke hesitated, taken aback by this new knowledge. "They can't kill us if we escape, though," he said.

Talia shook her head. "No," she said. "I won't—I can't…"

"It's okay, Talia," Luke said quickly. "Shh," he crooned. "It's okay, Talia. We don't have to talk about this anymore."

Talia sniffed and nodded.

"Do you know how long until we get sold to the Hutts?" Luke asked.

Talia shook her head.

"Okay," said Luke. That means it could be any day, he thought. Which means we have to act soon.

Whether or not Talia wanted to escape with him, Luke couldn't just leave her with the Tusken Raiders, to be sold into slavery to the Hutts. He knew enough about the Hutts—and about the kinds of people that worked with the Hutts—to guess what would happen to her. She was, after all, a very pretty child.

Luke closed his eyes. I just have to figure something out.

~oOo~

When Leia woke a few hours later, Luke was waiting for her.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

A groan was his only answer.

Fighting to keep his face straight, his expression and eyes present, Luke said, "We have to figure out a way for Talia and I to escape. I don't know when we'll be sold—but it could be any day."

"Okay," Leia said. Her silent voice was layered with pain and she seemed distracted, but she sounded serious. "Then let's figure it out."

They talked in circles for hours as the suns rose and the tent once more grew stifling in the heat. Again and again they came to the issue of the shackles, and the chain that bound their hands to the bar.

"You have to get out of those somehow," Leia said at last. "That's step one."

"Which means waiting for the Tusken that comes to feed us," said Luke. "Assuming they take our hands down every time they feed us."

Looking at Talia, Luke asked, "Talia, do they always take down our hands when they feed us?"

"Yes," said Talia. "Why?"

"I just needed to know."

"So you wait for them to take down your hands," said Leia.

"I don't know if I can take him down on my own, though," said Luke. "And I don't think I can convince Talia to help me."

"I can help," said Leia.

Luke frowned. "How?"

"I was taking martial arts lessons since I was three," said Leia. "I can at least teach you the theories of a few moves. That might help."

"Okay," said Luke. "Let's do it."

They spent the rest of the day going over basic kicks and punches. Leia would go over each move in painstaking detail, helping Luke to memorize each action and reaction, each move and each breath. Then she would perform the move slowly, then faster, then at full speed, letting Luke feel each one in all of its entirety. She hurt—there was so much pain, and Luke could feel it, could feel Leia faltering at times, bending and breaking for microseconds at a time—but she pushed through the pain, made herself complete each kick, each punch, each spin with minute precision.

She was clumsy at first, stumbling through the motions with the grace of years long spent doing nothing but sitting and lying, of years not practicing. Slowly, however, she regained some semblance of her past proficiency, moving with increasing speed and agility through each action.

Luke memorized it all, and yearned to be able to try them himself before they were put to the test.

"How will I know if I'm ready?" Luke wondered.

"Whether or not you're ready doesn't matter," Leia replied. "You're going to have to do it, whether you're ready or not."

"You're right. I know you are. I just...I'll have to do my best."

"And I'll be here to cheer you along," Leia promised. "I'm not leaving you. I promise."

~oOo~

It was another day before the Tusken Raider appeared again with food and water. By then Luke was so dehydrated he could barely keep his head upright, and his thoughts were a dizzying, swirling mess. He had slept fitfully through the night, waking at each shuffle and movement, each stirring of the sand and each breath of wind, hoping and expecting it to be the guard.

He spoke with Talia twice in the intervening time. Each time he asked her to come with him—to escape with him, to leave behind the Tuskens and her future as a slave, to make a bid for freedom—but each time she shook her head resolutely, tears springing to her eyes. Each time she begged him to reconsider, to choose to stay, to not throw away his life for the simple hope of freedom.

He was afraid that he would have no choice but to leave her behind.

As he waited for the Tusken to unlock his bindings, Luke wondered if he would be strong enough to enact the plan he and Leia had concocted. As his hands fell he staggered, and wondered if this was why the Tuskens didn't feed and water their prisoners—so that they would be too weak to fight them or to escape.

According to their plan, Luke was to wait to make his move until the Tusken went to lock his hands back against the bar. That gave him time to eat and drink—a fact for which he was very grateful.

For all his thirst, however, Luke still let Talia drink first. She gulped down half of the flask then handed it to him. Luke forced himself to take it slow, to savor each long draw of water, to bask in the cool touch of it as it slid down his throat. It was a balm against his cracked lips, against his parched throat, against his shriveled stomach.

The bread was as tasteless and thick like sawdust as it had been, but Luke wolfed it down with the speed of a starving dog. It scratched as it went down—Luke had swallowed before it was fully chewed—and he coughed once, twice, three times, fighting the sudden surge of nausea that resulted from his too-rapid eating and drinking.

No, he thought. I won't throw up. I won't.

"Done," the Tusken said, and, grabbing Luke's chain, dragged him back to the bar.

It was time.

Luke turned and rammed his shoulder into the Tusken's stomach, sending him stumbling.

Now kick, he thought. He and Leia had mapped out the entire conflict; Luke just hoped that it went according to plan.

Luke lashed out at the Tusken, aiming for the side of his thigh.

"There's a nerve bundle there," Leia had told him. "Hit it right, and he'll go down."

The top of Luke's foot connected with the Tusken's thigh. He grunted and staggered—but did not go down.

"If he doesn't go down, kick his knee."

Luke kicked again, smashing the heel of his right foot into the side of the Tusken's knee. There was a pop, and the Tusken screamed. This time when he staggered he fell to the ground, clutching at his knee.

"You'll have to shut him up quick," said Leia, "or else you'll draw attention."

Luke ran forward, coming to a sliding halt in front of the Tusken. Gritting his teeth and his nerves, Luke struck, curling his fingers and thrusting the heel of his palm forward. His palm struck the Tusken in the throat.

He garbled a scream, and staggered to his feet. He hobbled backward, reaching for his stun baton.

Kriff, Luke thought. This wasn't part of the plan.

"If he gets up, you're gonna have to put him down again," said Leia.

Luke tackled him around the waist.

They went down in a flurry of arms and legs and shouts. Luke rolled, striking at any part of the Tusken he could reach. He heard a grunt, and a gasp—and then he rolled over on top of the Tusken, pinning him to the ground. He delivered one, two, three punches to the Tusken's face, hitting with his front two knuckles like Leia had taught him.

The skin on his knuckles tore and bled, but Luke didn't care. He struck again, smearing blood over the Tusken's goggles—but the goggles fractured, obscuring the Tusken's line of sight.

The Tusken heaved, and Luke flew through the air. He landed with a crash that forced all of the wind from his lungs, leaving him panting and gasping. Before he could recover, the Tusken was on top of him. He hit Luke one, two, three times in the face. Luke felt his nose break, and blood gushed down over his lips and chin. A pop right by his left eye heralded a flash of agonizing pain that made Luke yell, and it began to swell shut almost instantly.

"Stupid human," the Tusken said. "Thought you escape." He reared back, ready to hit Luke a fourth time.

Luke heaved. The Tusken, surprised, wavered—and that was all the opening Luke needed.

"Hit hard and fast," Leia had said. "Whatever you do, hit hard and fast."

Luke hit hard and fast.

Startled by the attack, the Tusken fell to one side. Luke heaved again and sent the Tusken sliding onto the floor. He rose, whirling, and lashed out his foot to slam into the Tusken's temple. He misjudged and caught the Tusken in the side of the face, sending him reeling and toppling to the floor.

Luke moved to stand over the fallen Tusken. He was groaning on the mats, one hand pressed against his caved-in cheek and misshaped jaw.

Did I do that? Luke wondered. It didn't seem possible. He wasn't that strong, or trained well enough to exact that kind of damage—or so he thought.

"What now?" Luke asked Leia, sending her the image of the Tusken lying whimpering on the ground.

"Now you run," said Leia.

Luke knelt and fished at the Tusken's belt. Triumphant, he rose with the key ring in hand. It took only a few seconds to find the right key—there were only five on the ring—and he fit them into the lock on his cuffs. They fell to the ground with a clatter and clank.

Then Luke turned to Talia. "Come with me," he said. "Please. We can do this—we can escape together. We can make it."

Talia shook her head. "I can't," she said. "Please, Luke, stay. Don't go. Don't risk your life."

"I have to," said Luke. "I can't just sit by and let my freedom be taken from me. Please, can't you understand what you're leaving yourself to become by staying?"

"I can't," said Talia. "Please, Luke. You're nice. I don't want you to die."

"I'm sorry," said Luke—and with that he turned and ducked out of the tent.

There were shouts coming from the rest of the camp, and Luke saw flickering lights waver on the tent walls.

Kriff, he thought, then said to Leia, "I think they heard me."

"Run, Luke," Leia hissed.

Luke ran.

Sand flew from beneath his feet and breath gushed in his lungs. The air was cold against his face, the lights dancing on the edges of his vision. Stars shone overhead, and the moon hung heavy and full on the horizon.

Luke hit the edge of the tribe at a dead sprint. He didn't know where he was going or what he was doing—only that he was running away from the tribe. If he could only get out, get away, he could figure out what to do from there.

He was a hundred yards out when he was tackled. The breath left his lungs in a savage jerk as he hit the ground and slid. Sand bit into his exposed arms and face, and his broken nose and swollen left eye throbbed with enough pain to make him cry out.

A hand wrapped in the back of his shirt, and Luke cried out again as he was flung through the air. He landed and skidded again—and this time his shirt rode up, exposing his stomach and side to the sand's bite. Luke scrabbled for purchase, rolling and rolling again until he came to a standstill. Struggling to breathe, Luke forced his hands under him and his body up into a crouch.

"Stupid human," the Tusken who had caught him laughed. "Thought you could escape."

The end of a gaffi stick struck Luke across the cheek. He fell with a scream; it had been his left cheek, the one the Tusken had punched earlier.

More Tuskens arrived. They crowded around Luke and his captor, jabbering in their own tongue and laughing. Luke looked up at them from his position on his back, struggling to breathe through the pain.

"Leia," he cried out. "Leia, what do I do?"

"We tell you what we do to slaves that run, yes?" the Tusken standing above him asked.

"Yes," Luke gasped.

The Tusken lifted his gaffi stick above his head and roared. "Then die!"

"Leia!" Luke screamed, terror riveting her name to the stars. "Help me!"

The Tusken struck.


end notes: Dun dun duuuuun.

Okay, so the next chapter is already written, so I'll make the bargain with you all again: 10 reviews and I'll update Thursday, 15 by Friday and I'll update then. Otherwise I'll probably update Sunday or Monday. Seem fair?

I hope to hear from you! And in the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the update!