Upadana
Scene 2
Ali Alaan's words turned out to be prophetic: Obi-Wan did not sleep with T'k'ta that night. Indeed, he did no sleep at all.
Garen Muln, typically and uselessly sprawled out on his back with eyes closed and mouth open, was in no position to give counsel or lend a sympathetic ear to his friend's distress. The others, from tiny baby Yamee in his crib down to Bruck's tight cocoon of stolen coverlets at the far end of the floor mats, were all firmly occupied in similar activities. The Force was softly textured by contentment and the eddies of bright, infantile dreams.
And rent down the middle by the absence of a beloved companion.
Nighttime is an excellent occasion for uninterrupted philosophical speculation, and youth is also a fine time of life for it. Extreme youth is not, as some would think, an impediment to such activities. Even a man of five years old may indulge from time to time in a spurt of melancholic brooding, when circumstances conspire to challenge his carefully cultivated serenity. The meandering paths of his thought might bear some translation to be understood by the more sophisticated, but they wander nonetheless down the same avenues of moral dilemma and metaphysical wonderment that have fascinated sentient beings since the beginning of time.
Thus rendered into rational statements, and reduced to simplest form, the wakeful initiate's ponderings might be summed up as follows: T'k'ta was not used to sleeping alone. Furthermore, he had been hurt in the afternoon's scuffle. Consequently, he was sure to be in a sour mood and liable to inflict dastardly Scourging upon the crèche. Having never seen the generally fair-tempered creature actually demonstrate the basis of his fearsome title, the younglings were left to the devices of their own imagination when it came to details – but they were sure to be horrible. One reason that T'k'ta had to always have a reliable companion at night was for the sake of the innocents in the crèche, especially the very very small ones. Somebody had to prevent T'k'ta from rampaging wantonly during the long watches of night. Another reason was that T'k'ta himself was not invulnerable to the depredations of internecine strife – as the dispute earlier demonstrated, he too could use a shield and anchor against harm. Thus, there was a two-fold demand for a peacekeeper, someone to stand in the middle of things, so to speak, one who could lull T'k'ta into innocuous slumber and keep a tight hold on him while the dormitory's occupants slept, and one who could thus also stand between T'k'ta and his enemies, like that big stupid Bruck.
Right now neither of these vital duties was being fulfilled. Anything might happen. T'k'ta might fly into a rage and Scourge them all; Bruck might wake from his own uneasy dreams and make another savage attack upon T'k'ta' already questionable integrity, perhaps inflicting an even worse wound. Either eventuality was intolerable. And obviously, the burden of solving the problem squarely rested upon the slight shoulders of he to whom it had first occurred.
Ignoring Garen's placid snores beside him and Reeft's inertly bundled limbs across the way, Obi-Wan rose and figuratively girded himself for war, wrapping his small blanket about himself and padding forthrightly out the door, across the darkened space between the two chambers, and into Ali Alaan's small personal sleeping nook.
T'k'ta was there, slumped upon a high inset shelf in the pale wall. A sliver of illumination fell upon his bedraggled fur. It would be easy to get him. Hands stretched out, mind focused upon having that familiar soft form in his arms, Obi-Wan knew that the creature would come sailing into his grasp, floating upon the Force's invisible currents.
But that would be wrong, because hadn't Master Ali said he wasn't to have T'k'ta tonight? He stood frowning over it for a few moments, frozen in place upon the threshold. And then he decided to resort to negotiation. He climbed upon the low sleep platform and planted both small hands against Ali Alaan's broad shoulder, shaking vigorously. The tall man stirred, and then extended an arm and softly touched the intruder's face.
"Obi-Wan," he sighed, as though he weren't at all surprised. He sat up, jet black hair threaded with silver cascading over his shoulders. "Awake again?"
"I'm worried about T'k'ta."
"Ah." Master Ali shifted further, settling the visitor in his lap. "He is perfectly fine, as you can see. I've repaired all the damage but that inflicted by time."
The boy's toes curled in the thin thermal blanket. "Oh… do I really have to leave?"
"Yes."
"But why?"
Master Ali made a tsking noise. "Both the forbidden words in one sentence?"
His young charge squirmed. "I could take T'k'ta with me."
This time the crèche master took a moment to collect his thoughts before he issued response. "You remember the sandcrawlers we saw at the river's edge in the arboretum? The tiny ones with the shells you found so lovely? I told you how they outgrow those shells and must find another that will fit them. Well, you are like that. You've nearly outgrown this shell; you need a larger one. And that will be your clan. And T'k'ta is part of this shell. He will fit some of the others better. Like baby Yamee. I think he will like T'k'ta very much. You would not deprive him of a pleasure and comfort he so needs, would you?"
A thoroughly irrefutable line of argument. Obi-Wan burrowed backward into his chest, defeated. "No," he tentatively answered. "But…. who will portect everyone?"
Master Ali smiled a bit. "I was competent to por-tect the crèche before you came along. I think you should trust me better."
Obi-Wan was not entirely sure about this. Master Ali was a pillar of strength and serenity, but the innumerable scars upon T'k'ta's lean frame bespoke a certain laxity in his disciplinary style. T'k'ta needed a very strong hand, the kind of guardian and tamer that could devote singular, unwavering attention to him. He did not dare point these things out to his caretaker, however, so he merely yawned.
"I suggest we redirect your focus to the future. Tomorrow I shall take you to meet Dragon Clan. I think you will be happy there not so long from now. Would you like to meet Master Troon first?"
A sleepy nod met this suggestion, so the patient master of the crèche interpreted this as an affirmative. He lifted the limp youngling up and strode silently into the adjacent dormitory room, depositing his burden upon his empty mat.
After checking that all was right in the confines of his innocent domain, he went back to bed himself. And T'k'ta kept watch from his high perch, wide-eyed and consummately Scourgely despite his tattered appearance.