A.N.: I seriously meant to sit down and write the next chapter, but this came out instead. I fear its just one of the many one-shots that I had meant to fit into the story before I ran out of space and patience. And I promise, after the real story's done, I'll never write in first person again.

Response to starsprinkle's last comment: I'm downright horrible at writing for characters that I can't empathize with. As a result, I don't take any of Lucas's original characters, but use my own in Lucas situations. Besides, all the other stuff's been way too overdone. Hope that's a good enough response. It's 3:00 am, and I'm right out of ideas.

The non-English further down means roughly, "One is the destroyer of one's own mind." It's not any known language, but the explanation of how it came to be that phrase is far too geeky for me to repeat, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

******

It was a lazy summer day. The air was hot and thick with swarming insects and the too-sweet smell of culturing hay from the field. On days like these, Jal would take Ashton to the moss bank just inside the forest, where the brothers could sit and watch the hazy spirals of heat distort the farm far in the distance, as long as they had all their work done. Today was no different. The younger boy lay back, hanging his head over a small outcrop of rocks as he watched the popper bugs crowd around the flowers at the base of the embankment, moving in lethargic, glittery clouds of wings, snapping every few seconds as they gathered pollen and took flight. As an afterthought, the boy brushed at a few of the obtrusive creatures as they landed on his naked stomach. Beside him, Jal sat hunched over his crossed legs, fiddling with the weapon in his lap. It was still far too warm for much movement, even though their clothes had been discarded hours ago at the far end of the plush, green clearing.

With a discontented sigh, the older brother scratched a sun-darkened cheek and wiped the dirty sweat from his hazel eyes as he fell back next to Ashton's feet, the weapon forgotten in his lap.

"So what do you want to do, little brother?" he asked suddenly, nudging the boy's arm with his knee.

The younger sat up to pluck at the moss near his hip. "Why don't you tell me a story, Jal?"

Jal stretched and cushioned his head with his hands, staring up into the darkened canopy above. "Aren't you getting a little old for fairy tales now, Ash?"

"Well then, tell me about the Academy," the other said hesitantly, glancing at his brother from the corner of his eyes.

"I'm sure you don't really want to hear about it. It's just a fancy school is all, pretty overrated…"

"Oh," Ashton whispered, burrowing his fingers into the dirt to the rock beneath. "What was Master Dartus like?"

When the color drained from the elder's face, the adolescent didn't see it. Reflexively, Jal cleared his throat. "He was stern. He never really smiled, I guess, at least not when we were ho-at the Temple."

He chuckled softly, and smiled. "Oh, and he was a horrible cook. I really don't know how he made it on his own. I mean, one time, we went to Tatooine as protection for this diplomatic convoy and got stuck in the desert. Man, Master caught this wamp rat, and tried to eat it raw! Luckily, I had some herbs on me and a flare else I would have just had to have gone hungry."

Ashton glanced over again at his brother. His eyes had gone glassy and he laughed to himself, the tips of his brown hair shaking. It struck the boy that his brother's hair had never really grown out from the apprentice buzz-cut, even though he had been back for over a year. Neither did the eleven-year-old miss the quick correction on the elder teen's part. He was going to call the Temple home.

"Father said that, when you get chosen by a Master, they become your family." The round protrusion of rock was bare now.

The moment had passed, and Jal shrugged, the muscles in his arms tensing. "I guess…in a way."

"And it's a special thing, because…it means…that the Master…for life…" The red-haired boy realized his mouth had gone dry and he couldn't wrap his tongue around the words.

Jal sat up and ran a hand through the fringe on his head, bringing the heels of his palms to scrub at his eyes, the jerky movement drawing out longer than it should have. His voice was harsh. "Aww…Ash. I mean, you know I lived at the Academy here…and then Coruscant. I never…well they understand." Forced laughter bubbled up, and the older boy reached out to punch Ashton lightly on the shoulder. "Come on, I still only have one little, brat brother!"

It wasn't what he was trying to say at all, but he laughed all the same, Jal erupting again in what sounded like relief. How could he make his older brother understand that all he ever wanted was to be like him? It must be such a wonderful thing, he thought, to be chosen, and have that kind of connection, no matter what. I wonder what they would be like, the Master that would choose me.

Rough material hit him in the face, and he looked up. The forest was darkening already, meaning it was late afternoon. "Don't fall asleep on me yet, we still have to walk back." The boy nodded and began dressing. He knew Jal thought he didn't see when the older boy wiped away tears.

It must really be a wonderful thing.

"Eh, you really need a haircut, kid! Look at this mop!"

"Jal, stop…"

"What's wrong? Don't tell me my little brother is sensitive about his looks…" The laughter trailed down the hill as the younger chased the elder through the field.

*****

"Ashton!"

The teen turned around and blinked. A very tall, pale-skinned woman stared sternly down at him.

"Ashton, were you paying attention?"

He blinked again, and rubbed at his stormy eyes. "Eh…what did you say again, Rune?"

She shook her head, an imperceptible dip of her chin that Ashton had learned to translate as disapproval, and began again. "You must concentrate on your surroundings, taking everything in before you--Really, would you like to stop?"

He grinned sheepishly and ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess it's a little too warm out here." Ashton flopped to the ground, lifting off his shirt in the process while Rune sat opposite of him. He noted with a frown that she kept her thick over robes on, even in the hottest of Summer. She only ever really removed them when she was meaning to teach the boy a painful lesson during their frequent spars. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

The sun reflected from the metal bindings she used to hold her white hair back, winking at him as she turned her head. "Of course."

"Well…what was your Master like?"

The warrior leaned back, tilting her face to the skyline. "Sometimes, I hardly remember. It seems like it was so long ago since I saw him…" Her voice trailed off, and she smiled a small, wistful smile. "He was very proud. He rarely gave out praise to any of us, but he was the kind of person that made you struggle, just to hear those words."

"Wait…us?"

"We were chosen and ranked in classes, and each class ascended under one Master." Her explanations, as always when they pertained to these types of things from her past life, were sterile.

Ashton looked away, opting instead to toss pebbles at a tree. "But what if someone wasn't good enough to be chosen?"

"Then they died. Their Master would kill them."

The answer was far too quick to have been even a jest. "That doesn't sound like it should be that way…"

The woman sat up, her expression deadly serious. "Each and every one of us would have died for him, had he only asked. That was our choice."

The boy blanched. "And some of you did?"

She nodded. "Most of us, yes."

Silence lent a chill to the humid Summer air, and the teen could feel Rune's eyes on him as he tried in vain not to care.

"The Force binds us in mysterious ways, Ashton." When she whispered, he could hear the icy sharpness of her accent that he usually missed. "And in that bond, there is something very…personal…that can never be broken. Even in death." He felt her attention shift. "It is eternal."

When he looked up, she had closed herself, her expression blank and lost. So that means, he must be...

"Hey, Rune?"

"Mm?"

"…Nevermind." He was already standing and putting on his shirt. There was no way he could say what he wanted to say, not with any words he knew, at least. She stood as well, brushing the bits of leaf litter from the bottom of her dark robes.

They had walked a short ways into the forest, Ashton with his eyes cast to the ground, Rune trailing shortly behind him. Without knowing it, he had inadvertently led the other to the overgrown moss bank. The boy pushed the hair from his face, and sighed.

"Na itot na kitos. You are very lucky, Ashton." The woman had never explicitly spoken in what the teen realized must have been her native language. It would have been beautiful if he wasn't expecting a lecture to follow it. "Most Force sensitives only get one chance to become what they can. Just think at how many people have taught you what you know now." Clasping her hands behind her back, she looked down at him, cocking her head to the side. "You only defeat yourself with your pity."

The teen smiled, a sincere gesture that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I guess I…never really thought about it that way before."

"Wow, when I was younger, Jal used to bring me here on days like these for fun. We would sit over there, and watch the bugs. Sometimes, he would tell me stories when we got bored." Ashton realized he had abruptly changed the subject with a wild sweep of his hand, pulling away from the painful subject of his denied apprenticeship.

"Watching insects? And that was fun?"

The boy groaned. "Oh, come on Rune. It was relaxing. Stop being such a stick in the mud."

She continued to wear the same dubious expression.

"You know…unwind. Let your hair down a bit. Take it easy."

She didn't so much as blink.

"Gods!" The red head threw his arms up in the air in exasperation. "Sometimes you're just far too serious. Let's just go home already."

"You have very strange expressions."

"I swear, Rune, you need to develop a sense of humor."

Suddenly, Ashton was aware that he was very happy, talking with this woman with such familiarity the same way he had talked with Jal not many years before, walking the same winding path through the forest, side by side. Rune had cracked a small smile as the boy burst into laughter at his own attempts to explain his choice of words.

And really, it is a wonderful thing to be chosen.