Ezra had just slipped into a deep, restful sleep that night when somebody shook him awake. He opened bleary eyes, knowing somehow, instinctively, that he was safe, and squinted through the darkness until he could make out Thrawn sitting next to him and peering down into Ezra's face.
"You said there are no Force-resistant beings," Thrawn said without preamble.
Groaning, Ezra scrubbed at his eyes and sat up, forcing Thrawn to shift backward where he was kneeling on the floor.
"There are Force-sensitive animals, yes?" Thrawn said.
"Dude, give me a minute," Ezra said. He could hear sleepiness dragging his voice down to a whispery croak. Belatedly, he realized the ysalimir's wooden frame was nowhere to be seen; his eyes flickered down to Thrawn's shoulders, noting the lizard's absence and then realizing he could feel the familiar, clinical cascade of Thrawn's thoughts. In the darkness, Thrawn followed Ezra's gaze and seemed to immediately understand his unspoken question.
"I placed the ysalimir fifteen meters away," he said, "so that it would not cloud your mind."
"It doesn't cloud my mind," Ezra said, then decided it wasn't worth an argument — at least, not this late at night. "What do you want?" he said.
"There are Force-sensitive animals, yes?" said Thrawn again, in the exact same tone and rhythm as before. Ezra shot him a beady-eyed glare.
"Yes," he said, "there are Force-sensitive animals."
"The creature which assisted you at the Battle of Atollon," Thrawn persisted, "was a Force-sensitive, yes? Although not necessarily an animal."
"The Bendu, yeah," said Ezra. He adjusted the blanket over his legs and scooted back so he could lean against the wall, feeling more awake now.
"And the purrgils," said Thrawn. His eyes shifted away from Ezra, staring into the middle-distance. "I encountered a rare species of coral on my homeworld once," he said. "It existed in some of the oceanic cave systems beneath the icebergs of Rentor, and it was easily accessible to any small and capable hiker, though I have never seen it mentioned in ecological journals. Although it was not capable of physical movement, it was able to speak to me through a mental connection, much as we speak to each other through the Force."
He gestured from his head to Ezra's.
"Yeah," said Ezra, a little warily. "That sounds like a Force-sensitive to me. I never heard of Force-sensitive coral, though, but I guess—" He rubbed his eyes furiously, shaking his head. "What's this all about, Thrawn? You didn't just wake me up to ask a bunch of questions about animals, did you?"
"No," said Thrawn. He settled back on the floor, legs crossed and hands clasped around his knees. "Force-sensitives can conceal their presence from other Force-sensitives."
There was a beat of silence. It was Ezra's first instinct to answer Thrawn, but he realized just in time that this wasn't a question. His eyes narrowed. He remembered what Kanan had told him about the Republic — about Jedi rumors, things he heard from other Padawans or his Master Depa Billaba, stuff about a Sith Lord hiding in plain sight, unsensed by any of the Jedi Masters all around him. And it had been true, obviously. Somehow, some way, the Emperor had managed to conceal himself even in the midst of Coruscant, surrounded by thousands of Jedi.
"Where are you going with this?" Ezra asked. Thrawn's eyes shifted to meet his.
"If you are correct that no living creature can be Force-null," said Thrawn, "it follows that the ysalimiri are in fact Force-sensitive, and merely using the Force concealing their presence and their nature from you. Concealing it so well, evidently, that they somehow prevent other Force-sensitives in the area from connecting to the Force as well."
He tilted his head at Ezra, as if waiting for a meaningful reply.
"Yeah," said Ezra tentatively. "I guess that's possible."
"Possible or likely?" Thrawn asked.
"Likely," said Ezra, fighting back a stab of irritation. "Don't let it go to your head."
"I don't pretend to understand the Force," said Thrawn mildly. "That's your arena. I'm only working through the problem logically and stating my conclusions. And you are skilled with animals," Thrawn continued. "Force-sensitive or not, you are capable of making connections with them, as you did with the purrgils."
Ezra sat up a little straighter, coming wide awake as understanding dawn. "I could connect with the ysalimiri?" he asked.
Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "Could you?"
"Well, that's why you woke me, isn't it?" said Ezra impatiently. He reached under the bed for his boots and almost missed the faint smile that touched Thrawn's lips.
"It is," he said, extricating the boots from under the bed frame and handing them to Ezra. He moved back so Ezra had room to put them on. "Circumstances are optimal for an experiment. We have an infant ysalimir, already accustomed to your presence. It will be more malleable than the adults; a good opportunity to learn and strengthen your skills."
"If I can do it," Ezra said, excitement sizzling inside him as he tightened the knots on his boots. He stood quickly, almost running into Thrawn in his haste to leave the shelter. He was vaguely aware of Thrawn following him as he marched a few yards toward the other hut, then stopped, turning back. He could just barely make out Thrawn's silhouette thanks to the faint glow of his eyes; when he concentrated, calling upon the Force, he could see everything more clearly.
Including the amusement on Thrawn's face.
"What?" Ezra demanded.
Silently, Thrawn pointed behind him to the west, and Ezra realized he was heading the wrong way. Face burning, he redirected himself, allowing Thrawn to lead him to the ysalimir — at a much slower pace.
Within a few meters, his connection to the Force dulled all at once, leaving him with the unpleasant stomach-dropping sensation of going blind and deaf without any warning. With his vision enhanced by the Force, the sudden change was especially bad — he stumbled forward for a few steps and then stopped, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Behind him, Thrawn stopped, too, though Ezra could only surmise it was out of camaraderie. The Chiss certainly didn't have any issues with night vision.
Carefully, Ezra continued on, only stopping again when he found the ysalimir perched near the base of a tree; Thrawn's wooden frame lay on the ground, propped up against the trunk with the ysalimir's claws still sunk deep into it. With a pang, Ezra thought of the abandoned farm droids he'd seen from time to time in Lothal's countryside; it was so strange seeing the wooden frame unoccupied on the ground that it felt somehow akin to those rusted droids, left to molder in fields by their masters.
A wave of sadness rolled through him, something more complex than he could articulate; the fact that he associated the wooden frame so strongly with Thrawn, who was once his number one enemy, and that seeing the wooden frame empty made him feel not just sad but almost grief-stricken; that it made him think of home, that he could even associate these thoughts and feelings with Thrawn in the first place — all of it almost overwhelmed him and he simply let it, not embracing the emotion so much as he just allowed it to come and go. He crouched down next to the frame and extended his hand palm-down; the ysalimir's nostrils flared, and after a long moment of hesitation, it extended its thin, dry tongue and brushed Ezra's fingers.
"Do you require my assistance?" Thrawn asked, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.
Gently, the ysalimir butted its head against Ezra's knuckles, its eyes sliding closed again.
"No," Ezra said, matching Thrawn's soft tone. Behind him, he heard the soft brush of Thrawn's feet over the grass, as if he had shifted position — or turned to go. "But you can stay," Ezra added without thinking about it.
Thrawn said nothing.
"If you want to," Ezra said. "I mean, if you're not going to sleep."
He didn't glance behind him; somehow it didn't matter to him how Thrawn reacted to this invitation. He could appreciate it as a peace offering or he could revile it as an empty sign of friendship from a former enemy, or he could think nothing whatsoever — and it wouldn't change anything at all. He contented himself with watching the ysalimir instead, with admiring the coarseness of its skin contrasted with the softness of its small patch of fur, appreciating for the first time the intelligent sheen to its eyes.
Silently, Thrawn stepped up next to Ezra. He stood there for a moment, head tilted to the side as he watched the ysalimir nuzzle Ezra's hand.
"He likes you already," Thrawn murmured, and sat down with his back against the tree.
"He likes anybody," Ezra said, but he was smiling nonetheless. "Look how quickly he took to you."
Thrawn reached up, gently stroking the ysalimir's back. He was careful to avoid contact with Ezra's hand. "No accounting for taste," he said. He removed his hand and leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes and relaxing just enough that for a second Ezra thought he intended to sleep there.
"Perhaps," said Thrawn, not opening his eyes, "the ysalimiri developed their unique capabilities as an evolutionary response to Force-sensitive predators. If so, your objective may be nothing more than to prove to this ysalimir — and subsequently, as many others as you can — that you are not a threat."
Ezra eyed Thrawn; he attempted a quippy tone and got something different instead, something tentative and somber. "Do I look like a threat to you?"
"Not currently," said Thrawn, his voice deceptively mild. It seemed to Ezra that something shifted in Thrawn's posture — a subtle change that made his relaxed shoulders and gently closed eyes seem somehow artificial. Feigned. He remembered — not for the first time, not for the last — the memories he'd seen in Thrawn's mind of Force-users like him (and not just like him; including him) using their connection to the Force to push — to choke — to torture.
To kill.
No wonder he likes these things, Ezra thought, scratching the ysalimir on the chin. There wasn't much he could do to earn Thrawn's trust, either — not after all he'd done — but it was a good sign, at least, that Thrawn was willing to sit here in silence with Ezra as he worked.
And it might be too late for Thrawn, but it wasn't too late to win over the ysalimir. Not by a long shot.
Thrawn pushed away from the tree in the early hours of the morning, climbing to his feet and brushing past Ezra without a word. Engrossed in the ysalimir — and assuming Thrawn would be right back — Ezra didn't even glance up as he walked by. It wasn't until dawn broke that he glanced around the camp and realized Thrawn hadn't simply gone back to his shelter to sleep; the door was propped open to let in the sun, and the woven mat inside was clearly unoccupied.
Ezra stood with a frown, chucking the ysalimir under the chin as a goodbye and then leaving it on its wooden frame. He walked several meters away, waiting for the Force connection to come surging back. Eyes closed, he plunged down the mental highwire connecting his brain to Thrawn's, wasting no time on pleasantries.
But after thirty seconds, he opened his eyes again, none the wiser and frowning even deeper than before. He couldn't sense Thrawn's presence at all.
The ruins, he thought, turning to face north. If Thrawn was at the ruins, of course Ezra couldn't sense him; he'd be surrounded by ysalimiri right now. That was the most obvious conclusion — he knew now that Thrawn had sneaked off to the ruins almost every day since they were stranded here — but did that make it the right one?
He hesitated, debating his options in the middle of the camp with his toes on the edge of the fire ring. He could go after Thrawn — track him down, figure out what he was doing, see if he needed help — or he could stay here. Bond with the ysalimir, sure. Maybe get some sleep.
Arms crossed tightly over his abdomen, Ezra turned and looked at the ysalimir, silently asking it for advice. It gazed back at him placidly, doing an uncanny impression of the blank stare Thrawn turned on him whenever Ezra asked a stupid question.
With a sigh, Ezra trudged back to the ysalimir. "Fine," he muttered, gathering the wooden frame up in his arms. "But you're coming with me."
He swung the frame over his shoulders, wincing at the awkward fit. The straps were way too big for him, and not adjustable, but he shifted it around until he achieved a workable balance, hunching forward just slightly to keep the frame from sliding off down his side. He set off at a quick pace, eager to make it to the ruins before the sun was too high; for now, the day was still cool, but within two hours, he'd be sweating through his undershirt, and his jacket — necessary at the moment — would be completely and utterly abandoned.
He trudged vaguely northward, judging his position partially by the rising sun and partially by his familiarity with the woods. The ysalimir bobbed along behind him, its chin striking his skull from time to time as he stepped over logs or stumbled on uneven ground, irritatingly graceless with his connection to the Force blocked. He'd have to make his own frame, Ezra mused; Thrawn's didn't fit him right at all, and it couldn't be comfortable for the ysalimir—
—only why would he need to tote around an ysalimir? Ezra grimaced in chagrin; he'd gotten so attached to the ysalimir over the past thirty-three hours that he'd forgotten it wasn't his friend — or his pet — or even, strictly speaking, his weapon. He was only getting used to it so Thrawn could someday, hypothetically, use it against somebody else.
He hiked through the woods silently for the next thirty minutes, falling into an even pace and letting his thoughts drift away. Thrawn seemed awfully certain the two of them could handle the Grysks — or if not certain, at least optimistic. Maybe it was feasible if it was just the two of them against one ship — a tiny ship; a shuttle, maybe — but there was no guarantee the Grysks wouldn't send a militia.
What if the Grysks did only send one ship, and he and Thrawn successfully defeated them, only to leave the planet's atmosphere and find an entire battalion of warships waiting to pull them in? Could the two of them escape from a brig together? Steal a starship — one with hyperdrive capabilities, ideally — and get away? Maybe so, but that was assuming they weren't simply killed on sight. Or separated from each other, placed in different holding cells or even on different ships.
Or brainwashed.
Thrawn said the Grysks were capable of brainwashing, and nobody knew how; it was Ezra's instinct to think, Sure, but they can't brainwash a Jedi — but he didn't know that for sure, and it was hard to keep up his usual bravado; more and more lately, he felt as though his years of self-confidence and boasting hadn't helped him at all. Once he'd seen them as a survival skill — or at the very least, as a necessary part of being a part-time thief and conman — but the longer he stayed here, the more he felt he'd gotten by on other things. Luck, certainly, but also instinct and skill, and of course his connection to the Force.
Maybe it was Thrawn rubbing off on him, Ezra reflected. The grand admiral was proud — especially of his crew — but never egotistical. Even in their early days here, he'd never hesitated to ask Ezra for help when a task would be more efficiently completed by a Jedi than a regular Chiss. It was hard to hold onto an inflated sense of self-confidence when constantly faced with that.
He was still musing over the flaws in Thrawn's plan (and the more he thought about it, the more there seemed to be) when the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Three things happened very fast after that:
One:
Ezra felt his heart rate skyrocket, his pulse pounding in his neck even as he lowered his head in an instinctive duck.
Two:
Behind him, the ysalimir froze on its wooden frame, going stock-still. Ezra dropped down into a low crouch, his palms hitting the ground, a twig scraping at his skin as he started to turn.
And three:
Just as he registered the low rumble of a growl behind him, an arrow shot directly over Ezra's head from the north. To the south, becoming visible just as Ezra whipped his head around to follow it, the arrow whizzed right through the left eye of a massive four-legged animal, its teeth bared, its claws outstretched.
There was an audible thunk as the arrowhead struck bone. Struck skull, Ezra corrected himself, scrambling backward across the grass. His shoulder struck somebody else — Thrawn, he knew instinctively, not even glancing behind him to check — and he grabbed onto Thrawn's arm blindly, pulling himself to his feet as he watched the animal take two more wobbly steps before falling to the ground.
The arrow snapped on impact; the animal went still. After a long moment, able to hear nothing but the beat of his own heart in his ears, Ezra started breathing again.
"What—?" he said, and finally turned to look at Thrawn. He pulled up short, his first question dying on his lips as he registered the sleek hunting bow clutched loosely in Thrawn's right hand. "Where the hell did you get that?" he asked instead.
Thrawn shot him a puzzled look. "The camp," he said.
Belatedly, Ezra recognized the bow — but his question still stood. "You brought it with you to the ruins?" he asked. "Why?"
"I've been hunting," Thrawn said, his puzzlement deepening. "What did you think I was doing?"
Ezra opened his mouth, then closed it again, just shaking his head. He turned and looked at the animal again — it resembled something like a bear, he thought. "I didn't know we had things like that here," he murmured.
Thrawn didn't respond for a moment, simply staring at the dead animal. Silently, he wedged his bow against the outside of his foot and unstrung it with deft fingers, bending the shaft with apparent ease. "I have seen signs of them before," he said, sounding mostly unfazed. "Though until today, the largest animal I've encountered has been a hoofed, ruminant mammal much like the dugar-dugars of Batuu."
Cautiously, Ezra approached the bear. Already, it seemed somewhat deflated, like something intangible had fled from it and left its body smaller than before. He nudged its paw with his foot and then drew back. When he turned around again, he found Thrawn studying him.
"What?" Ezra asked.
A faint smile touched Thrawn's lips — or maybe it was a trick of the light.
"You ducked," he said.
They stared at each other for a moment, neither one speaking.
"...Yeah?" Ezra said finally. "So?"
Thrawn's expression didn't change. "Why did you duck?" he asked.
Ezra frowned, tracing back over the moments just before the bear attacked. He remembered the hair on the back of his neck standing up, the ysalimir going still.
"I don't know," he said finally. "Just instinct, I guess."
"Instinct?" Thrawn repeated. His tone was completely neutral; Ezra couldn't tell if Thrawn was doubting him or asking him to elaborate. Before he could figure it out, Thrawn said, "Instinct is informed by the senses. Perhaps you heard something in the woods which alerted you to the presence of another living being — though not on a conscious level."
Ezra's frown deepened. "I don't think so," he said, then hesitated. "The ysalimir..." he started.
Thrawn tilted his head to the side, saying nothing.
"The ysalimir went still behind me," Ezra said. "It even stopped breathing. I noticed — but I was already on alert when that happened. I don't know…"
"You simply sensed it?" Thrawn suggested.
Now it was Ezra's turn to be silent. He craned his neck, looking doubtfully at the ysalimir on his shoulder. Simply sensing things was all fine and well when you had the Force, but when there was a tiny lizard on your back, actively blocking you…
Ezra's eyes widened. He looked at Thrawn, who was now smiling openly.
"Obviously," said Thrawn with a tiny shrug, "it's only a fraction of your typical capabilities. But the ysalimir did allow some small portion of the Force to reach you."
"We think it did," Ezra corrected him swiftly, not daring to hope. But his heart was soaring at the possibility of seeing results so soon, anyway. Thrawn acknowledged the correction with an amiable nod, his eyes drifting to the ysalimir and then to the dead bear.
"Allow me," Thrawn said without glancing Ezra's way. He held his hand out, gesturing for something. It took Ezra a moment to realize he wanted the ysalimir's wooden frame; he shrugged out of it quickly, careful not to jostle the ysalimir, and handed it over.
"I'll walk ahead," Thrawn said as he secured the frame on his shoulders. He was already walking, taking brisk steps past Ezra, heading toward camp. "You handle the bear," he added.
Ezra watched him go, scowling until Thrawn passed the fifteen-meter mark and the Force came rushing back in. He took a moment to savor it, letting the sizzling mix of adrenaline and content sink into his skin, and then raised his hand toward the bear and lifted it with ease; the real trick was maneuvering its body back through the trees to camp, where Thrawn would undoubtedly do ghastly things with it in the name of survival.
Ezra did his best not to think about this as he guided it slowly toward the shelters.
