The sound of Anakin's footsteps changed from the fwooosh of sand to a thud/click on paved streets. He looked around ecstatic. There were remnants of neon lights, wrecks of hover-cars, space-traveling capable vehicles rusting on the streets and in garages, and broken droids littering the streets. None of the transports were remotely salvageable, though Anakin decided dejectedly. He opened the door to a mechanic's shop and coughed at the dust that rushed out to greet him. He ignited his lightsabre, both to see and to be prepared for anything that might be potential hostile. He rummaged through the shop, passing over some parts, intrigued by others. He turned to examine another case, but jumped when a pair of dark eyes bored into his. He backed up and fell into a defense stance, painfully alert. When nothing moved after a minute he slowly approached and laughed in relief as the first rays of sunlight illuminated the wall. It was just a poster. Anakin looked it over and snorted in distaste.
"This guy looks like a creep. It's got to get hot in all that black. I bet that helmet was mean to look scary, but it only comes off as dorky. He must reek when it's hot enough."
He laughed, but felt slightly uneasy. He turned to exit the building, but decided against it when he looked outside.
"Sandstorm. Great. I'm trapped in a store that doesn't have the parts I need with a poster of some robot poser. Wonderful."
Anakin continued to grumble until he found a shadowed place and sat down in it, closing his eyes, willing himself to sleep.
A hot wind blasted on his face, but he didn't mind. It was nothing, a cool breeze, compared to the anger, the raw power burning inside him. As he watched the horizon grow a steadily more menacing red the wind changed from soothing to scorching. It plucked at his clothes, igniting the cloth, burning his face, his hands, as his nostrils were filled with the scent of burning flesh and the ozone tang of lightsabre discharge. He screamed in pain as the heat consumed him, and through the haze he saw Obi-Wan reach out to him, trying to tell him something important. Anakin reached out to him, trying to grasp an outstretched hand, even though his flesh was falling away to reveal bone, blasted by infernal winds. He was a breath away when he woke up. He yelled when empty, menacing eyes greeted his and his whipped out his lightsabre, cutting at them. When he calmed enough to see that the poster had fluttered to the floor, two torn pieces, he laughed, but it was forced and mirthless. He heaved to breathe, to suck in cool air that calmed his lungs and throat that felt charred.
"What in the world was that dream?" He whispered, trying to balance himself by calling on the Force. When his breathing and mental state returned to calm, he stood and looked out the door. It was night again. He could look for Obi-Wan now. The Force would guide him to his Master.
Author: Sorry that this one is short, folks. But since I switch perspectives after this, I thought a new chapter a better idea than one long confusing one. Guys, please review. I live off of compliments. It boosts my fragile self-esteem. While it flatters me to see how many people have come to read my humble excuse for a story, I need comments.