AN: I apologise for how long it's been please enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 7: It looks like Rain

"Shmi" a soft voice called.
She looked around for the owl, but she couldn't see it anywhere.

"Shmi" the voice called again.

"Here I am." She called back.

"The time for rain is approaching, and the time of waiting is almost over."
Shmi looked all around her, but all she could see was a green light filling wherever she was. It made her heart pound, but she said nothing about that feeling instead, she inquired.

"What is needed of me?"

"Prepare, dear one. I show you Obi-wan because she is one of the rain bringers, but even rain bringers cannot do everything alone."

"Obi-wan? Is that the woman I have been watching? I thought her name was Ben."

"Ben is one of her names. She has had many lives and many names, and many shapes across time and space. Yet, she will always be Obi-wan Kenobi, my favorite."

Shmi frowned at that. This girl's two possible futures hadn't been kind. How could this girl be one Ekkreth's favorites but not have an easier life?

The voice answered her thought, startling her out of her contemplative silence.

"All must be tested in the fire that is experience and toil. Like hot water, it reveals what you are at your core. Will you grow soft like a vegetable, or will you grow solid like an egg? Those on Tatooine have passed their tests."

Shmi's lips parted in understanding.

"I am to lead others to be depuscalta (Master-Slayers)?"

"Yes." The voice affirmed

Then a tall slim figure stepped out of the light. It was a woman, tall and fair, with green hair woven through with a red ribbon, head covered with a large hat. She seemed to glow from within, creating her own light.
She glowed the same way her Ani did in her secret sight.

Shmi was in awe.

The woman smiled at her with great affection. She laid a hand on her cheek, and….

Shmi woke abruptly. She sat up in bed. The predawn light of the first sun had just begun to creep across the horizon, turning everything grey and soft. She glanced at Ani sleeping next to her, and smiled. He was still fast asleep, and gold hair fanned across the pillows. She smoothed a hand across his brow. He nuzzled it unconsciously before settling back into sleep. Shmi slipped out of bed, carefully tucking the blanket back around her son.

She dressed quickly in her soft brown dress, tieing a faded and stained cream-colored apron around her waist. She twisted her hair into a bun securing it with the japor carved hair stick her mother had given her when they had been separated. It was one of her most treasured possessions, that and her journal.

Shmi had traded much of her free time in exchange for the bantha leather journal and the ancient pen she used to write in it. If she hadn't been such a staple in the Mos Eisley community, she doubted that Jan Motto and his daughter Peli would have given her the credits to buy it. Shmi still owed them her next four rest days in repayment. As it was, she couldn't ask Beru for money. She and her husband had barely scraped by in this last harvest.

Her heart ached at the thought of her daughter. Beru had been given gilded chains eight years ago and had been saving every hard-earned credit to buy her younger brother's freedom. Shmi had insisted that Ani needed to come first. Shmi was just happy that Ladon Whitesun was a good man and that he honored her daughter. She had heard some of the gilded felt they were more trapped by their marriages than they were by the chips. At least there was the possibility of one day buying their own freedom. The Chains of the Vow were until death, after all.

She shook her head from such thoughts and focused back on the dream.

Her dreams had become a comfortable part of her everyday routine for the last four tendays. Though she and the owl never again visited the abyss and its circles.

Some days the owl would just sit on her shoulder and chuff at her hair. Other times it would take her to visit Ben and Jango. It was fascinating to watch their journey.

From slavery to pirates to a world of black sand, they had traveled.

She had never before heard of a slave who had won their freedom, bought it, yes, but never won it. Yet, that was not what gave her hope. What gave Shmi hope was every soft look she and her companion shared. Those who could go through the pain of slavery and come out the other side kind were strong people, someone she would be honored to know.

Someone she would be honored to follow.

Death or Freedom, Oya, as Jango had said.

After she finished scribbling down her description of the woman from her dream. Then she glanced over at her Ani, still sleeping peacefully under their covers. She would fight for her son any day, but planning has to come before action, and that took stealth. She put the journal back into its hiding place. Resolved to go about her day like any other, for now.

She walked to the kitchen and set to work making caf and toast with jam, a rare treat for herself and Ani, before cooking a porg egg omelet and strips of bantha bacon for Watto. Then she laid the caf and food on the breakfast tray and walked to Watto's room on the second floor above the junk shop.

The Toydarian was never awake when Shmi brought his breakfast. He always rose with the smell of caf. He snorted awake as she walked in with the tray. She set it on the bedside table. He made an impatient sound, as she handed the cup of caf to him. He made a get-out gesture before plowing into the food. Watto had never been as cruel as Gardula, but his casual disregard for her and Ani made life difficult.

A Depur who did not care for their slaves left them open to assault. For if their owner did not care? Who would? Even in the slave quarters, there were those who didn't like her or Ani. They were too peculiar. Not all believed Shmi when the Gods granted her a child. There were those who thought he was the result of rape, like her first two.

The thought made her frown. She lost herself in the past for a moment. Thoughts of her daughters kept her frozen until she heard the sound of Ani stirring. The smell of breakfast roused him. She shook her head.

"Amu (Mom) do you need help with breakfast?" She smiled. Her son was always so thoughtful.

"No, Ani, I'm almost done. But if you could help me load Depur's (Master's) second tray, it would help me."

"Yes, Amu. I found a new part yesterday for my protocol droid."

"Did you?" Her fingers flew, grabbing the sweetener and cream Watto took in his caf, along with the red sauce he preferred on his eggs.

"Ahuh, I'll be able to finish the wiring in his head soon." He bounced on his heels as he moved to pour the caf.

"That's excellent, Ani. Careful! The caf is hot." She breathed a sigh of relief as he didn't spill a single drop.

"We'll be at the scrap yard today." Ani stilled, smile gone.

"Will we be allowed to have the blaster?" His voice had gone high, and nervous. They had been attacked the last time they had been sent to the scrapyard. Ani had watched from his hiding place under the scrap heap as one of the freeman scrap sellers had beaten her for the part she had collected.

It was the first time he had argued with Watto. Ani had said that they couldn't make him as much money if they were injured, so it was in his best interest to protect them. Watto merely scoffed and flew away. What care had he for their hurts?

"I don't know, Ani," she sighed. "You know it makes every Depur nervous when a slave is armed, no matter the reason." He looked down, all cheer gone. She hated seeing her son so glum. He deserved to be a child, not have to worry about such things. Maybe he would smile about this news, though.

"We will be visiting the Council tonight."

"I'll get to see Kit?!" His face lit back up like the sun.

"If Mari Banai is coming to the meeting, yes."

"Yippee!" his little whoop made her smile as she gripped the tray and walked upstairs.

The day had been long and hot, abnormally so for early summer. Regardless she was thankful for the mid-day nap Watto habitually took. It afforded her the chance to alert Ma Jira that she had serious news to tell at the meeting tonight.

She checked on Ani, who was fast asleep and bent over that droid of his in the back room. She shut the door and locked it. Then she quickly took a small black melon and stuffed it in her apron pocket. Grabbing her sand goggles just in case, she left the shop.

Walking the streets of Tatooine was never safe, but especially so for a slave. Shmi had long ago perfected disappearing into the background in both sights. Now that she is grown, she could even extend it to her little sun, as she had once done for her little Beru. She couldn't help but worry for Ani. He was just so bright Every day, it grew harder to shield him, in every sense of the word. Her boy was as bright as he was brash.

She wondered if Ben was meant to teach him. Perhaps she could do what Shmi could not.

She kept her head down and studiously walked on, putting these worries out of her head for the moment.

The stand where Ma Jira sold her wares was a ragged little thing made out of recycled wooden crates abandoned near the scrap heap. It only just had enough space for her baskets. The little ragged red canopy to keep the suns off its Mistress and her customers was the only comfort it had.

This was where the High Elder of the slave quarters had earned and eventually bought her freedom. So many seasons ago, no one left remembered her time as a slave.

Freedom and freeings were rarer than smooth births in the slave quarters of Tatooine, but each was precious.

This is, Shmi supposed why having a dry womb had been a blessing for Ma Jira. She had never had to worry over her own children's well-being. It allowed her to save every last credit. Though Shmi could never regret Beru and Ani. They had given her the strength to keep going when inner strength had failed her. She believes that this is why Ma Jira is still the High Elder. It was an honor for those who achieved the status of Elder. She cared about every child, every woman, every man, as though they were the children she never had.

This hadn't always been an easy thing for Ma Jira. Love was a two-edged sword; many died young, the free and the slave. It was a fact of life. Tatooine killed indiscriminately, just as Lukka judged all equally.

A soft cranky voice shook her from her musing, "Shmi little moonbeam, what brings you to my stall today? Does your Master need a new basket for his tools? Has he managed to rip one at last?" Her voice was full of mirth as she looked at Shmi. No one had ever ripped a Ma Jira made basket.

"No, Mother, I come with news. I've been spoken to again. I must be allowed to speak to the council this evening."

Her face fell, all mirth disappearing like a cloud before the rise of the second sun.

"You know the order, Moonbeam. You'll get your turn."

"I understand, Mother. It will be rowdy." Jira smiled at that.

"The best Council meetings are. They are usually so serious. This will be entertaining at the least. I'll bet Bren will throw a cup at the wall again." Shmi raised an eyebrow at that.

"Bren Javi is headed for a heart attack with the way he worries."

"He's Gardula's, Major Domo. What would you expect? Two hours after the last sun's set."

"Yes, Mother." Shmi tilted her head smiling at the reminder. They had met at the same time before Ma Jira could remember. Its repeating was more ritual now than anything else. A familiar refrain among the Mos Eisley slaves. The one thing they could be certain of.

A Depur's temperament was always as changing as their moods. They could remain somewhere for years only to be sold on in an hour. But meeting day would always accompany the pod races.

Shmi turned to make her way back when the Grandmother called again."Oh, and make sure you bring your little Sunspot. He's a delight, Shmi."

"I couldn't leave him behind if I wanted to. He's bound and determined to see Kit again."

"Those boys, they could find trouble in the safest havens."

"Mother, save us if they get their hands on sugar again." At that, the High Elder let out a peal of laughter.

"You were the same way once."

At that Shmi gave her a wistful smile, turning to leave, "Let's hope he will not have to learn the lessons that I did." Shmi began her trek home, almost missing the soft utterance behind her.

"That's all every Mother wishes for their children, Moonbeam."

Night had fallen hours ago, and everywhere in Mos Eisley slaves in twos and threes slipped out of their quarters and hovels, heading towards the central plaza in the slave quarters.

Shmi had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and a hooded cloak around Ani's, and they, too had slipped into the night.

Night had always belonged to the poor and the slave. It was only when boss and master had gone to their dens of iniquity or to their beds if they were more decent than the disenfranchised majority could steal what little time they come.

Shmi had always loved meeting days. They were times of song, stories, love, and belonging that couldn't survive in the light of the twin suns.

The last meeting day had been bittersweet. Shmi and Mari both knew the pain and joy of freeings. For Mari Banai had brought news of her brother's freeing. Penvan had been saving for years. So long that many thought he would never make enough, but he had finally bargained to free himself. Mari was so very happy for him, but anyone with eyes could see that she missed her brother terribly.

He had moved out to one of the Moisture Farms not far from the Whitesun's place to work as a farmhand. He swore by Ekkreth's name that Kit would be free first as soon as he had the money. When he came on market days he always brought news from Beru when she couldn't come and the occasional black melon when it could be spared.

Shmi was shaken out of her thought by Ani's delighted little cry. They had barely come into the bonfire light when he caught sight of his best friend munching on some lizard.

In his enthusiasm, Ani tore out of Shmi's grasp and ran ahead, boots silent on the sand, hood slipping off his head in the dim light. Kit met him halfway, bowling the both of them over into the sand. The boys instantly went to chattering, each boy eager to tell the other about what the other had been up to this past month. Looking at them, you'd never guess that it had only been four ten days since they had seen each other.

A muted call came from across the fire. "Shmi, come, there is enough lizard and womp rat for everyone this time." The brown-skinned figure of Mari Banai held out a roasted portion fixing Shmi with her bright blue eyes. Almost daring her to say she wasn't hungry.

"Mari, you know Watto feeds us enough. He's not the kind of Depur Gardula is." She sat down on the woven mat next to her friend.

"Be as that may, you could always benefit from more meat in your diet, my friend."

"It's a nice treat, that's for certain." She reached out and tore a portion of its roasting spit. The two women glanced over at the boys settled down in front of Ma Jira, who was telling a story. A hush had gone up when she had started speaking. Such a large group couldn't often gather to listen to her.

"One day, Ekkreth went walking across the stars, far from the sands of his birth. He saw many wondrous things. Planets covered in water, Planets covered in green, Planets with one sun instead of two. Planets of all shapes and sizes. Yet, on each planet that he stopped, he found two things in common. Can you guess what that was, young ones?"

"No, Grandmother," young Gredo spoke up from the back.

"Was it that Ar'Amu's children lived there, Grandmother," inquired a little brown-haired girl.

"Yes, Lara, that is one thing they had in common. Ar'Amu's children live on almost every planet in the Galaxy and beyond."

"Depur was there too. Wasn't he." Ani's voice rang out clear and sad.

"Yes, my little sunspot. This is the sad truth. Wherever Ekkreth looked, he found insidious chains wrapped around people all across space."

"How could that be, Grandmother? In Republic space, slavery is outlawed. Surely there aren't any slaves there." the young Amaran blushed under her fur as everyone's eyes turned to her.

"While that is true, my dear, that slavery is outlawed in the Republic, you are forgetting one of my first lessons. There are a hundred thousand different ways to be a slave, and Depur has chains of all sizes."

"Yes, Grandmother," chorused the children.

"Only when you are responsible for your own choices, and you are beholden only to Ar'Amu has rain truly come to you. There are those who are slaves who have rain, but not everyone who is without a chip or collar has experienced rain."

"Now, where was I in our story?" Ma Jira asked, a sly grin on her face. She knew perfectly well where she had left off. The children all called out over one another, eager for the story to start again.

Later, chairs were brought forth when the stories of the evening had ended, and the youngest children had fallen asleep on laps and the woven mats around the fire. One for each member of the Slave Council.

It was made up of seven members, one from each major city and one from the Hutts, who owned enough slaves for a whole city. Each member was the oldest individual of their respective sector of the planet, and together they endeavored to ease the lives of the Amavikka there.

This Council Meeting began as every other had before. Ma Jira, as High Elder enquired on how everyone was doing on the essentials, but most importantly, water.

Then she asked if there were any new pregnancies. This time there were only two. She would have one of the midwives on Tatooine close at hand when the girls were further along. It wasn't uncommon for a slave to die in childbirth, as medical care was often more expensive than replacing a slave. So, it was handled internally to the best of their abilities to assist the laboring Mother-to-be.

Next, they moved on to good news reports from each quarter. Jabba had killed a bounty hunter known for his abuse of slaves. Gardulla's Major Domo had smuggled out a baby before the wee thing had been chipped and hadn't been caught. Penvan Banai had been freed and found work as a moisture farmhand. This last one caused quite a stir.

Every freeing was a blessing upon the Amavikka. Each longed for freedom, whichever way it came, but for one to experience it in life with the promise of it coming to others was a beacon of hope. Bittersweet for the separation of now, but a future full of possibility was worth it.

Shmi felt a nervous pit in her stomach grow as the time drew nearer for her to share her own news. She took a deep breath and stood up to address everyone.

"For the last four ten days, I have had dreams each night. Most nights, a green owl wearing a red ribbon appeared, showing me two people far away, but last night the dream changed. Instead of the owl, it was a woman. Her hair had been the same shade the owl's feathers had been woven through with the red ribbon, and she charged me with a vital task."

The mutterings of the crowd grew to a low buzz, unusual for the meetings, as they took in the significance of Ekkreth's color on this strange being in her Secret Sight.

Mari sent her a look from where she, Kit, and Ani were seated. She had known ever since Shmi had bought that journal that something had been happening. It wasn't like Shmi to make frivolous purchases when she still had a child to free.

"We are to bring rain to Tatooine. The Lady has said our tests are over, and now is the time for all to be depuscalta (master sayer)."

The silence following her statement was almost as loud as the uproar that followed it was deafening.

It was summer on Galidraan again, and Jaster Mereel sat in the afternoon sun. The hoverchair the rebels had put together for him gave a gentle buzz that could barely be heard over the hum of the insects native to the planet. The muggy air of the mountains filtered into the mouth of the cave where he was parked for the time being.

He put the datapad he'd been reading down and leaned forward to observe the training in the valley below. Through the trees, he could see Galadraani Rebels, Haat'ade, and the former Jetii, Vosa, scattered throughout the ranks. Every able-bodied person was training. It wouldn't be long now before they could finally oust that Hutuun(cowardly) Governor.

He watched Komari Vosa and Myles demonstrate a near-perfect sequence. It was intended to disarm an opponent and put them on the ground with their own weapon pointed at their back. It was one that he had Myles and that he, in turn had taught her. The young rebels they were teaching looked on the Riduur'e (spouses) in awe.

His lips twitched. It had not been so long ago Myles had looked at him with that expression as they trained. Theirs' had been a wild courtship, but it was everything he had hoped for and believed was possible. The two had spent the first months of recovery in bed, continually insulting each other across their room. In the end, it was that indomitable stubbornness that had led them to grudging respect. By the time they were training again, shortly after he came out of his coma, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they were headed towards the Riduurok (love-bond, marriage).

They broke apart smiling and went through the sequence much slower. He could almost hear them explaining it slowly and the excited chatter of the young ones as they readied to try out the advanced move.

He felt his smile slip a little as he glanced down at the stumps where his legs used to be. It was difficult to accept that he could only aid them in tactical knowledge until they could get him prosthetics. The Goran has insisted that if they could go home, he would have better set, but stealth was essential now. Jaster had foregone the first beskar prosthetics set they had made here in favor of Myles receiving them. After all, he was younger and deserved the chance to walk in the evenings with his Ven'Riddur (fiancé).

It still amazed him how far they had come. Those who had survived the slaughter four years ago had been rescued quickly by the rebels they had been sent to wipe out. They had watched the whole thing from start to finish, and as the Jetii and the Government forces moved off, they had moved in and rescued everyone they could.

Using what little medical equipment they had on hand, they cared for the wounded as if they were their own. It was a great risk for them as each crate of medical supplies was the result of months of raids and scrounging. So how could the Haat'ade or the two former Jetii turn them away in their time of need after they were well again?

Jaster himself had been in a coma for nearly a year. The shock of losing his last remaining flesh leg and the infection that set in afterward had been difficult for him to come back from, especially without the aid of a bacta tank. The Mij and the Rebel medics had worried initially that they would lose him, then they worried that he would never wake up after the infection subsided.

Ultimately the hardest thing was telling him about his ad (child). It was the first question on his lips after he had woken up. Mij had come in at the nurse's excited call from his room.

There was a monitor beeping nearby in time with his heart. With every pulse, he felt his headache. He shifted to sit up, but it felt as if all the strength had leached out of his arms and shoulders. Blinking, he saw someone duck out of the room, calling down the hall for someone.

He flopped back down on the bed, the strength of his arms failing.

"Hold still, Alor," a familiar voice commanded.

"Mij, where's Jango? Where is my son?" he croaked. He and the nurse, who had come around to the other side of the bed, shared a glance. Mindful of the monitoring equipment and the IV in his arm, she helped him sit up and lifted a cup to his lips.

His eyes widened as he took in how his friend looked. His hair was longer, he was out of his armor, but more importantly, he was missing an arm.

"Alor.." he broke off, swallowing.

"Tell me where my son is Baa'ur'alor (Head Medic)."

"Ni ceta ner Mand'alor. Gar ad'ika….(I'm sorry my Mand'alor. Your child…). We can't find him."

His breath hitched, and he felt his vision go fuzzy at the edges as he struggled to assimilate what he had just heard.

"The Rebels tried to locate him after the battle had ended, but all we could find was his armor. It's in the Governor's palace, hung up on his wall like some sick trophy. We fear he has… taab'echaaj'la (marched away, died)."

He felt his heart rind in his chest as tears began to silently slip down his cheeks. His Jan'ika was gone. He had failed to keep him safe. He put his head in his hands and grieved for the boy his son had been and the man he could have become.

They had looked for years after, but they never found a trace of his Jan'ika beyond his armor hanging on the wall of the Governor's palace. Jaster shook his head dwelling on the past wouldn't help him. His ad'ika may be gone, but the Haat'ade are not.

He tore his gaze from the trainees to look out towards the setting sun and frowned. Clouds were moving in quickly. Rain was unseasonable at this time of year. How strange.

Satine sat down on the rough woven mat next to the small campfire. She had banded her arms around her knees in an effort to conserve some heat. A lizard of some sort roasted on a spit, along with a small kettle. The smell of the woodsmoke, roasting lizard, and the rare fragrant tea preferred by Master Jinn had become one of comfort in the past months. She now associated it with spending time with Obi-wan exchanging stories and learning from each other.

It started when Satine asked why she kept her hair bundled under her brown hair wrap, and it had spiraled from there. Soon the two were teaching each other their people's histories and different languages and discussing philosophy. They had become as close as sisters, a thought which made her ache for Bo'Katan, her vod'ika (little sibling).

Her little sister had been sent out with her own protection detail. When the death threats had escalated from dead loth cats outside of the Kryze compound to their Buir's assassination. It had been nearly a year now since she had heard from her sister. She worried about her constantly, and now she worried about Obi-wan too.

Master Jinn and she had left Concordia, where they had lost Obi-wan. When they had initially shaken the Death Watch pursuing them, Master Jinn had gone to see what had become of Obi-wan. He had been gone for hours, leaving her in the small craft they had bought at the start of their journey. But when he returned alone, it was as if the world had gone grey.

He had managed to find her brown hair wrap smushed into the dirt of the streets, but he wouldn't speak of anything else. Every time she would bring it up he would get more and more formal and closed off about it.

So by the time they reached Mandallia, Concordia far behind them, it was as if he had shut out all thoughts of her. The next several weeks consisted of skipping from planet to planet to ensure the trail was nice and muddied, Satine needling him about when they would go looking for Obi-wan, being shut down, shut out, and the constant worry.

What made everything even worse was seeing what Obi-wan had talked about in their philosophical discussions. The unarmed New Mandalorians were in flight, and Death Watch didn't care when they tried to reason with them.

The two were in a spaceport the other day, speaking with a New Mandalorian family who had been selling products in the local market. Two Death Watch commandos came to their stand, and it was obvious from their expression that this wasn't the first occurrence.

The way the woman's face fell when she saw Kyr'tsad's (Death Watch) approach was distressing. The two had demanded their share of the best products when the couple said production had gone down in the last month due to drought. They had pointed blasters in their faces. Demanding the usual share, stating that they didn't care so long as they got their promised share. The couple said they wouldn't have had the money for rent and would have lost their farm. If Master Jinn hadn't stepped in and simply paid for the produce, she shuddered to think what would have happened.

Why did things like this happen? What gave the Death Watch the right to hurt others who hadn't done a thing to them?

Obi-wan had argued that there had always been and would always be those who would do evil for evil's sake and that it was the responsibility of those who could, to stand up and stop them. She had argued then that one could never truly know when their actions were justified so one should wait until they had all the facts and tried every peaceful recourse before violence. Obi-wan had looked at me with such a sad expression when Satine had declared as much.

I didn't understand until now that she, too, had learned this the hard way. Ad'Buir had always cautioned her that experience was the only real teacher, and it was often cruel and uncaring. When had Obi-wan experienced the uncaring cruelty of the galaxy to make her pity my own naïveity? Who had hurt her?

Satine shook her head. Every time she was distressed she slipped and thought more and more in Mando'a. Her New Mandalorian teachers would be appalled. Sometimes she wondered what her Buir would think. She ached at the thought of him. She wished she could talk to him one more time. She wished she could ask for his counsel on this difficult situation.

Sometimes when she concentrated, she could almost hear his voice again. Even before the bombing that had claimed him had come, it had been years since they had seen each other face to face. She and Bo'Katan had been sent to a boarding school on Couracant and had only seen him on comms. She can't even remember the comforting smells of their yaim (home) anymore. Satine fears most of all that there will come a day when she can no longer remember what her Buir looked like, as all holos of him were lost the day the compound exploded.

She hurriedly brushed the tears welling at the corners of her eyes away as Master Jinn took a seat across the fire from her.

"I believe we have finally lost them, Duchess."

Her eyes narrowed, face tight with determination. "Good, now we can focus on tracking down Obi-wan."

Amavikka translations:

Depuscalta
Master-slayer

The Chains of the Vow/ Guilded Chains:
This refers to the instances when a slave is purchased from their Masters for the purpose of becoming a bride/groom for the purchaser. Said purchaser may believe they are buying the individual's freedom, but this has led in many cases to less freedom and hope for the slave. The situation is rarely if ever, kosher.

Amu
Mother

Mando'a Translations:

Jetii
Jedi

Hutuun
cowardly

Riduurok
love-bond, marriage

Ven'Riddur
fiancé

ad
child

Alor
Leader

Baa'ur'alor
Head Medic

Ni ceta ner Mand'alor. Gar ad'ika….
I'm sorry my Mand'alor. Your child…

taab'echaaj'la
marched away, died

vod'ika
little sibling

Kyr'tsad
Death Watch

Buir
Parent

yaim
home