Luke swung his legs idly at the kitchen table. He was hungry again. It was no good, though. He did not know how to prepare anything, and he was sick of raw mushrooms and blue milk. How much longer would it be till Aunt Beru got better? He felt as though he had already waited ages, though judging by the fact that he was not sleepy yet, it had probably only been a few hours.

He sighed and rested his chin on his hands. Normally, the prospect of taking care of himself would be exciting. Now it was worrisome. He wanted Aunt Beru. What if she never got better? But she had to. The wizard had to fix her.

The wizard, now--that was something Luke could think about without being sick to his stomach. The wizard had a funny way about him. No one else Luke had met was like that. When he talked, his voice sounded like it was coming from long ago and far away. When he looked at you, his eyes looked like they saw inside you and clear through you. And when he was silent, he seemed always to be listening for something he couldn't quite hear.

Luke had faith in Mister Kenobi's skills. Scary situations were always less frightening when he turned them over to a grown-up. It was the waiting all alone that made him worry.

Oh, no. He'd drunk too much blue milk and needed to use the refresher. At least it was something to do. He slid off the kitchen chair and froze.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop sharply. A coldness attacked Luke from all sides -- a strange, moving, clawing coldness that ripped through him and took a piece of him with it. Then, suddenly as it had come, it was gone, leaving Luke gasping and shivering in the middle of the floor.

Something was horribly, horribly wrong. As soon as he could feel his feet again, Luke tore across the house to the sickroom. He halted in the doorway. Aunt Beru was not dead, as he had feared she might be. She was red and puffy still, breathing shallowly in her sleep, but alive.

It was the wizard who looked odd. He was hunched over on the chair, his face bowed to his knees. With his two hands he clung to the edge of the bed. He was quite still. For a moment, Luke feared Mister Kenobi was dead, but then the wizard lifted his head.

His face looked suddenly, shockingly old. Bleary blue eyes struggled to focus.

"Anakin?" croaked the wizard.

Luke shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, fairly certain he should not be seeing this.

"No," he said, "I'm Luke."

When Mister Kenobi next spoke, he looked a little more like himself.

"Luke. Of course you are. Forgive me." He paused in thought, and his eyes narrowed. "Did you feel something?" he asked.

"I- I felt cold," replied Luke. "Did something go wrong?"

Mister Kenobi glanced at Aunt Beru. "No," he said, "your aunt is no worse. No, something -- else -- something elsewhere -- disturbed me." He looked searchingly at Luke. "I do not think it will happen again. You may leave."

Luke hesitated.

"Have no fear, little one," said Mister Kenobi, a tired smile cracking his wrinkles. "Your aunt will recover with my help. I am confident of it."

That sounds like a good promise, thought Luke. He left the bedroom and went to the refresher, then back to the kitchen to see if he could find something other than mushrooms to eat.