A/N: Guesstimation: This story will probably have eleven chapters in total (counting the prologue and epilogue). Thanks, as always, to TrickforTreat.

wastelands

The morning of the next day of their journey seemed to last hours. Following Valia and Jag through the soon-searing-hot sand, Jaina tried to focus inward. Valia had seemed unconcerned when they had broken camp almost at the crack of dawn: lively and scathingly humorous, she had ignited her scorn before they had even left their resting place. In Jaina's opinion, cheerfulness and good humor in the morning were for those who managed it but, if they would be so kind, they could keep it to themselves. She didn't particularly despise it but she had never managed the knack of even talking in the morning, preferring to finish her breakfast in silence until she was completely awake. Her restless night, however, had left her with the cold fingers of exhaustion still pressing onto her eyes and shoulders. And it wasn't as if they had time for breakfast, either.

There seemed no additional awkwardness between her and Jag. No more than the usual, at least. She had avoided looking at him, so she couldn't say how angry he was. It was childish – she knew – but she also didn't know how to talk to him, and what to say. Somehow the fact that she had thought him capable of withholding such kind of important information seemed to have angered him more than she would have expected.

"Kid, the way the two of you are dancing around each other has just crossed the border between just-about-amusing and painful-like-a-stick-up-my-ass. What the hell happened?"

Valia was not helping. Jag was filling up their water skins, but he was still within earshot. Jaina pretended being too busy packing up her stuff.

"Fine," the desert runner said. "Have it your way. Be miserable."

They trekked, mostly in silence, while the sun climbed higher and higher and took its place in the middle of the dirty-blue sky. More and more now, the view of the endless sand desert was being sprinkled with brownish rocks of the size of Jaina's fist. Underneath her cloak, Jaina felt like she was being cooked alive. Walking in the sand definitely was becoming easier, though. Small steps in quick succession, especially when walking up a dune, did the trick. Valia still seemed to float a few inches above the ground. Jag, on the other hand, often skidded and stumbled when the shifty underground refused to support his weight. Zekk, Jaina could imagine, would have re-invented at least two dozens of the swear words they had used when they were apprentices. Jag, however, trundled on, determined and without a comment. From time to time, she could hear his weapon clank against his beskar'gam. During her brief training stint with Boba Fett she had learned that Mandalorians moved almost noiselessly despite their armor, but Jag was not a Mandalorian-trained bounty hunter.

Jaina caught her thoughts wandering and yanked them back.

"This person you're both looking for," Valia said around midday, when the stones were slowly turning into rocks and the yellow sand was taking on a distinct, reddish hue. They were preparing to scale a dune that stretched out in all directions, which meant they couldn't just wander around it but had to ascend. The red sand was thin and powdery and stuck to every bit of exposed skin it could reach. "Does she have experience with this type of climate?" It was, even if carefully worded, a simple question. Would Alema Rar survive the harsh trek through the desert and to the Valley of Spirits? And if she survived, how would they meet her there? And, the question of all questions: why had she gone there?

Uncle Luke's tired face, devoid of any optimism, had been unnerving. This was the man who had even been able to find a smile for her even during the most challenging of times. I am sorry I have to ask this of you, Jaina. Had he seen something in his visions? Had his contacts spied the Dark Jedi on her way to Tatooine? How had he known where to send her, where to find Alema Rar? And if he'd known – why hadn't he known this earlier?

Jaina, glad her thoughts were taken off her previous topic, shook her head. Strands of her hair had fallen out of her braid, as usual, and were sticking to her nape wetly. "No. She's a survivor, though. And she is- she has the Force."

She is a Jedi. Words that weren't really true anymore. Alema Rar was as little a Jedi as Jaina was a bantha. The woman had attempted to kill Jaina's parents, and that was only the last point on a list that had been growing since she had incited the Swarm War. Still, it wasn't revenge Jaina was seeking. I should be getting used to it lately, Jaina thought, half-desperate, half-amused. Hunting Sith without turning Dark. She quickly stifled the self-loathing at the reminder of what had happened to her twin.

You are the Sword. You fight to protect.

Climbing the dune took them longer than expected. It was after midday that Jaina crested it, not particularly out of breath but feeling her pulse in her temples due to heat and exertion. Valia had already reached the top before her. Jag, who probably was carrying the greatest weight of the three of them, was lagging behind a bit. Jaina removed her mask and the hood of her cloak in order to wipe sweat from her brow. At the same time, she let her gaze drift over the landscape in front of them and her mouth fell open. A red-and-brown wasteland extended as far as she could see, dark, wind-shaped rock and steep walls, canyons carved into the stone by time and nature. Tatoo I and II stood high: it was a sight to behold. Despite the heat and the glaring sun Jaina stood, transfixed.

So these are the Jundland Wastes.

At the sight of the rock formation in front of them Jag paused, as well. Silently, they observed the area before them. From the corner of her eyes, Jaina watched him: she was starting to hate the helmet. She couldn't see his eyes, couldn't see his expression. The thin string of emotions she had first felt the night before, though, tightened, and then the bounty hunter turned his head. Their eyes met, for seconds, and held. Jag was the first to look away again. Jaina returned her attention to the landscape in front of them. The Wastes were notorious for the danger that lurked in the depths of its shadowy canyons, for Tusken Raiders, predators and for the simple fact that one could get lost in the twisting corridors. It was one thing to know they had to be crossed – and the other thing standing in their sight and sensing them. Ancient, not alive, but still silently waiting. Threatening. Walk away. Suppressing a shiver, Jaina tried to memorize as much as possible of the landscape she could see stretching out before her eyes endlessly.

Something moved at the edge of her field of vision.

"What's that?" Extending her hand, she pointed at a spec of something out in the rocky landscape. "It's moving."

Jag tilted his head, focusing through his helmet. "Looks like a caravan."

"Caravans are not uncommon in the Wastes." Valia didn't bother following Jaina's example, who had dug out her binoculars and was now watching a procession of bantha and their riders slowly threading through a narrow-looking canyon. Where shadow fell they seemed to disappear, but the following animals and human beings were proof that someone had walked there before them.

"It looks like they're vendors," Jag offered whose helmet, of course, was giving him a close view on the procession. "Their animals are heavily loaded. Ah. They have a security detail."

"They'd better have one," Valia agreed. "There have…" She trailed off, her eyes scanning the endless landscape in front of them.

"Of course what?"

Jaina had always loathed having to drag information from people. Maybe an artefact of her youth, when nobody had told them anything in order to protect them from harsh reality. At Valia's fragmental information, she bristled.

Valia smiled with good humor, but a touch of worry was threaded through her expression. "There have been reports on sand pirates roaming this part of the Dune Sea. We have to be careful."

Jag snorted. It was exactly what Jaina was thinking, and she couldn't help herself: she smiled. "Well, wouldn't that be just splendid."

Valia tut-tutted. "You crazy Jedi. Little wonder you almost went extinct the last time."

"Thank you."

"Not a compliment."

They began the descent, following Valia downward and towards the shadows of the great rock formation. The air between the canyon walls was stuffy and hot. The gradual transition between sand and rock that had taken place for the past few hours suddenly was cut short when Jaina set foot onto the bottom of the canyon and felt solid ground. Curious, she crouched down and sifted some of the fine dust through her fingers. It stuck to the leather of her gloves immediately, thin, glittering rust-brown dust that had a strange, iron-like scent that reminded her of something she couldn't quite place. Shaking her head, she stood and instinctively attempted to fall into her usual rear-guard position when Jag's arm shot out and caught hers. Mandalorian crush gaunts clamped around her wrist like steel cuffs.

"Wait. You go – I'll take the rear."

Annoyed, Jaina opened her mouth to tell him that she was the Jedi, and that it would be her danger sense that would warn her should there be an attack from behind.

Leave him.

Jaina frowned. Was she hearing voices? It couldn't be. Valia's Force presence was too diffuse, too inconsistent, to connect with Jaina through a Force bond, and Jag… Well, despite the strange thread that seemed to have developed between them she doubted that he would be able to send her a message, even if he wasn't Force-blind. Maybe she was imagining the whole thing. Maybe she was sweaty, itchy, full of sand and wishing she could just go home, take a shower and see her family. Maybe you're on a mission, she reminded herself, smiling wryly. Maybe there is something that needs to be done, and you're the one who has to do it. Because if you don't, who else will?

Your sarcasm will kill you one day, Jaina. –Not if those horrible jokes of yours get to me first.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded curtly and looked at her wrist pointedly. Jag let go of her. Without looking back another time, Jaina followed Valia into the shadows of the canyons.

It became noticeably cooler the further they ventured into the labyrinthine rock canyons. The red dust covered every surface. There was no vegetation visible, although Jaina suspected certain kinds of moss or even dry bushes to be hidden behind particularly great rock formations. The sound of their silent footsteps echoed through the canyon eerily. She didn't like it – not one bit. The fact that Valia's shoulders were taut with concentration only served to cement her suspicions. The runner led them through the corridors with dreamlike security. Jaina admitted it a few hours later, albeit only to herself: alone, she would have gotten lost almost immediately. It was like she could feel the destination beyond the walls of the canyons – a dark, heavy spec of something that made her distinctly ill if she focused on it too long, probably due to Alema Rar's presence – but she could not find a way out of the labyrinth. It seemed the opposite with their guide: Valia seemed to instinctively know which path they had to travel.

"How does she do it?"

"She probably wouldn't tell you even if you asked."

Only when Jag's voice reached her ears, calm and quietly, Jaina realized she had voiced her question out loud. The fact that he had heard her meant he had to be following her closely. And really, when she turned, there he was.

"And I can't read her," Jaina murmured, offended.

"How strange that you would complain about something like that." Emotions resounded in his voice and for a second Jaina thought he was looking for a reason to start a fight with her. Then, it came to her: faint amusement, even a bit of something that tasted much like regret and self-loathing. But no bitterness. No aggression. "Ground Control to Solo: that's the way most beings feel their entire lives."

"Probably," Jaina said, unsure how to react. Torn between the instinct to banter and the knowledge that it was a bad idea, and that there was nothing she wanted less in the universe than getting close to even joking around with Jagged Fel.

"I can hear you, you know," Valia said conversationally, looking over her shoulder. "If you would be so kind as to get moving again? We don't want to stay here longer than necessary, really."

With every passing hour they spent edging themselves deeper into the labyrinth that was the Jundland Wastes, the suns sank. Soon, the canyons were growing increasingly darker, the sun light not reaching the ground anymore. Dark shadows seemed to dance behind every stone and behind every corner. Jaina's danger sense still was silent, but there was something disconcerting in the almost malicious silence which lingered in the canyons. She straightened herself and checked their surroundings. Rocks, dead shrubbery, more dust– Jag, standing close to her but not too close; his hand on his blaster. Still… Something's wrong. Her instincts were crying out.

A shadow swooped over them, a vulture in flight. She shivered and continued on.

When their guide stopped abruptly Jaina would have ran smack into her. As it was, she froze, too, the sudden horror of knowledge sweeping over her like an avalanche. Terror and desperation surged in the Force like a wildfire, uncontrollable. It mixed with aggression, anger and violence in a way that made her nauseous and that was all too familiar. Jag, behind her and deaf to the silent scream, actually ran into Jaina and, cursing, steadied both of them by grabbing her shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

Somewhere in the distance a thundering blaster shot was fired, followed by the odd sound of stones sliding across rock. Shifting ground. To Jaina, that fact equaled the onset of a battle.

"Someone is under attack," she forced out between her clenched teeth.

"Tusken Raiders," Valia said, her voice cold. "They hide away in caves and behind rock formations in the Wastes and set up ambushes for travelers and caravans. They must have attacked the caravan we saw earlier today."

Jaina's hand was clenched around her light saber so tightly she could feel its edges dig into her skin even through the thin leather of her gloves. "We have to help them."

"They could be anywhere," Jag protested. "We won't be fast enough-"

"They're close," Valia disagreed. A thin sheen of sweat was coating her brow, either in anticipation or in concentration. Was she using her latent Force abilities?

Jaina took a deep breath and prodded at her danger sense. It blazed up, cold and efficient and indifferent.

"They are close," she repeated woodenly and started to run. "I can feel them."

Cursing, Jag followed her, his blaster already in his hand. "Because that's so reassuring."

The path they had been following wound its way through the rock, the walls left and right of them looming up in the slowly-sinking sun. Jaina almost crashed into an intersection and, without needing to orient herself, chose the right fork. She did not pay any attention to how she knew which way she had to choose, and Jag did not question her. Another sharp right-turn, and a left, and a long, narrow passage in which they had to slow down. Jag cursed when he had to turn, his shoulders in his beskar'gam too wide to pass. Jaina felt him behind her rather than she saw him, focused completely on the fear and terror, violence and battle-madness that were echoing in the Force. He was a steady presence in the back of her mind and she was glad for it.

Why are you doing this?

They rounded a bend in the path and there it was.

It was not even a clearing, rather a somewhat oval-shaped thickening in an otherwise no different corridor of the Wastes. A caravan had been trapped there, the bantha in the lead trashing on the ground like crazy, half-buried by a small avalanche of stones. A few desperate riders were trying to calm it in order to save it and its load. It seemed there were less attackers than defenders, but through the din of blaster bolts, screaming and the roaring of the terrified banthas, it was hard to say.

Child of Light. So selfless, so easily killed.

Jaina and Jag exchanged one grim glance.

"Cover me?"

She nodded. Jag had his blaster out and ready. Jaina drew her light saber and made a step that carried her in front of him, and then they were in the middle of a fight.

The Tusken Raiders didn't see her until she was among them, her violet blade weaving a net of lethal energy. She sliced through the first attacker without slowing down, seeing him fall in the corner of her eyes and, at the same time, feeling the tunnel view of her battle mode take over. Behind her, Jag dropped behind a protruding rock and took aim. (She can feel him, calm and focused, unafraid, completely concentrated on picking out the enemies-) A shot rang and a Tusken Raider in front of her collapsed. As usual, Jag's aim was unerring. With a Force-enhanced jump – and trying not to get in the way of his line of fire – Jaina passed by one of the caravan members and slashed down on the arm of his attacker. A pained scream and a Raider stumbled back, clutching a smoking wound. She turned again and engaged a Tusken wielding a pole-like weapon, he drew back the spiked end and tried to bludgeon its axe-shaped head into her legs. Blocking it with her saber and cutting straight through the shaft, Jaina grabbed the heavy mace ending that spun away with the Force and re-directed it. The Tusken Raider went down, felled by his own weapon. (Distinctly she feels Jag re-loading his blaster, the next shot takes out another Tusken Raider, good thing the pirates fight don't have many functioning blasters but–) a subtle warning in the Force and Jaina whirled around and caught a blaster charge that had been directed at Jag. Caught by surprise, she sent it back almost without aiming and immediately regretted it: it buried itself in the rock wall and set lose another small avalanche, a Tusken and a trader that had been engaged in a fight both jumped back with a shout. It gave Jag the chance, though, to take out the pirate quick and clean. (Jaina-) Another one of the Sand people tried to ambush her from behind, Jaina's danger sense sparked and she whirled around to meet him. Once again, the mace-shaped ending of the double-headed pole was sheared off by her blade. Skillfully, the Raider reversed his grip on his weapon, using the now-shortened weapon as a spear. Jaina grabbed the weapon with the Force and the Tusken Raider screamed in a guttural sound of anger and fear as his own weapon speared him with the broken end. He dropped to his knees, bleeding from a gut wound, blood was trickling from underneath his metal face mask. That was when all of the remaining Tusken Raiders, as if compelled by an invisible order, changed direction and advanced on her.

(Damnit, watch out-)

It was almost too easy: the Sand people were not prepared to fight a Jedi and a bounty hunter. Jaina probably could have taken them on by herself. Jag's blaster shots still ringing in her ears, mixing with the screams of some of the animals and the ugly sounds of flesh meeting her light saber, she came to stop in the middle of the battle field, adrenaline still cursing through her. Almost ten Tusken Raiders were either dead or heavily wounded, the rest of them advancing on her. One bantha was on its side, its tail trashing, while surprised and terrified men were taking cover behind another. (Cannot risk this-) Jag appeared from seemingly nowhere, landing squarely behind her. Jaina imagined she could still feel the heat of his small maneuvering thrusters of his beskar'gam.

(Got your back-)

Jaina used the Force to tug another opponent towards her, upsetting his balance, her blade went right through his neck. The next one tried to jump her, Jag sheared off his arm with one of the short, sharp blades he had drawn from the sheath on his back. A screaming Raider stumbled away from them and into the spear of one of his comrade as she twisted out of the way. There was barely time to register the surprise on the face of the Raider before Jaina killed him, too. Jag made no sound, his blade slicing through the throat of a pirate, his other hand blocking a gaffi stick. A Force-push and the Raider who had tried to attack him back slammed into the wall with brutal force, he coughed up blood and did not get up again. Another of his comrades made the mistake to rush Jaina directly, perhaps in retaliation, Jag lashed out and he went down. The two last sand pirates were more cautious, trying to get her by attacking at random intervals from two different directions, and Jaina gathered herself and jumped, and both speared each other. She landed, feather-soft, and finished them off with a blow to their heads with the hilt of her blade: mercy, maybe, or additional cruelty.

Suddenly, with the ground slick with black blood and littered with corpses and pieces of gaffi sticks, the canyon seemed dark and much too silent. A heart beat passed, ten, fifty. Nobody seemed to move. Back to back, Jaina and Jag stood, wearily, and surveyed their surroundings.

No Tusken Raider got up. A man straightened, instead, from where he had taken cover when the Jedi and the bounty hunter had intervened. He wore the cloak and turban that was typical for nomads on Tatooine, though now covered in red dust and blood. His hand clutched a long, sharp scimitar. He looked – well, Jaina couldn't get a feel regarding his age. He was dangerous, alright, but then a man who led a caravan through a desert had to possess a certain degree of lethality. Still, Jaina refused to let herself relax out of the battle mode. One by one, more men stood, some of them injured. They formed a circle around them and the man who obviously was their leader, until they were facing a circle of desert-hardened nomads.

(You're not alone in this.)

She felt him, behind her, warm and familiar and reassuring. His blaster was now trained on the men. It was strange, standing shoulder to shoulder with him again. Since the Yuuzhan Vong War they had been on different sides, had been so perhaps even during it without noticing it themselves. But right here, right now, the sides were clear. It was them against the others. Jaina almost laughed and lifted her light saber.

And then Valia appeared from the shadows of the canyon as if conjured up from red dust and rock.

"My name is Valyrianamia Stormchaser. Greetings, men of the desert. I hope you have not suffered losses too great by the hands of the Sand People."

The sight of the petite desert runner seemed to calm the men almost instantly. Their leader stepped forward, lowering his weapon.

"Greetings, Stormchaser. Your fame precedes you. You and your comrades helped us fight off the Tusken Raiders. I, Salim A'hayun, and my men are in your debt."

He pressed his fist to his heart and gave a curt bow.

Valia returned the gesture. "We are glad to help, Salim A'hayun, but you cannot stay here for long. The Raiders will be back with their neighboring clans to avenge their fallen."

The tall, broad-shouldered man nodded and turned to another man to whom he barked a few short sentences in the heavy, thick accent of the Dune Sea nomads. His last word was accentuated by a sharp order, at which most of the men – and women, now that Jaina had the time she could see that some of the long robes and hooded cloaks hid distinctly female features – scrambled off in every direction in order to get the caravan moving again.

The shadows between the rock walls of the Jundland canyons had grown longer and longer. Everywhere she looked, the nomads were trying to salvage whatever had not been destroyed by the attack or had been crushed by the avalanche and the fallen banthas. One of the animals was dead, one was wounded badly and was shot by its rider. Tears were streaming down the man's face as he put his animal out of its misery. One of the women seemed responsible for dressing the wounds and taking care of the wounded. Valia joined her. Together, they worked quickly, conversing silently in the thick desert dialect Jaina couldn't understand. Instead, she focused on another woman who was tasked with the redistribution of the cargo. Jag and the men, in the meantime, collected the Tusken Raider's weapons and carried the bodies towards a low stone plateau.

"It's custom for our people to honor our enemies, as well," the woman explained in halting, heavily accented basic. "Bodies are not buried here. We come from the desert, and we return to it."

Since night was approaching, Jaina could not see the sky. But she knew they would be there as soon as the humans had moved on. Vultures, and probably many other kinds of animals. She shivered.

"Night is near," the woman said, having noticed her involuntary reaction. "We have to move on quickly." Her eyes wandered over the caravan, the tired, injured men and the exhausted animals. "Moon Trinity, I do not know whether we will make it." Her voice was matter-of-fact, detached, even.

"We'll accompany you," Jaina heard herself saying. On the other side of the camp, clear out of earshot, Valia lifted her head and looked at her directly. "It's maybe six hours of brisk walk. We can make it out of the Wastes until Midnight."

The woman looked at her quietly and finally nodded. "I will tell my father that you offered your guidance. In the name of the Tribe, I thank you and your companions, Jedi."

She moved away, gracefully, and Jaina caught herself wondering how old she was. Not older than herself, if she had to guess. Still, she had carried herself with a silent grace that reminded Jaina of her mother. The envy, though, was… quiet. Rather the memory of an old pain that actual hurt.

"Doubling back now will cost us at least a day," Jag said right next to her and Jaina fought both the urge to whip her head around to look at him and for her hand to press against her chest. The bounty hunter was looking at her with a very familiar frown, but she couldn't see whether he was disapproving or merely stating a fact.

"I know," she said, calm despite her furiously beating heart. They would give Alema Rar one more day to reach the Valley of Spirits, and to do whatever the Sith had come to Tatooine to do. They had a mission. And yet… "But we can't just leave them here. The Tusken Raiders will return, to extract their revenge."

Sword. Protector.

"I didn't say we should leave them be." In the darkness, his eyes were dark, unreadable pools in his face. "I think we should accompany them, too."

There was no accusation in his tone and yet Jaina felt... hurt. As if he hadn't expected her to make this decision. As if Jag hadn't believed she would do the right thing. It was irrational, and she quickly buried the thought again.

When the caravan leader finished checking on the banthas, his men and the cargo, he came over to where Valia, Jaina and Jag were sitting around Valia's storm flare.

He nodded to Valia respectfully. "My daughter told me of your offer to accompany us to the edge of the wastelands. We are deeply grateful for your help."

"Is everything ready?" Valia stood and shook dust from her cloak. Jaina and Jag followed suit.

"Yes." Salim made a few steps back and signaled his people. Sudden movement created noise: all over the small canyon, Jaina could hear nomads ascend their banthas, tighten the last strings around the cargo and move to their place in the caravan. The ease of their departure spoke of years of training. It was impressive.

"Well." Jag's voice sounded hollow as he put on his helmet. She couldn't see his expression. His voice, however, was as dry as the desert surrounding them. "That was quite enough action for one day."

Despite the relative size of the caravan, including both the human travelers and the pack animals, the pace Salim set was fairly quick. However, the banthas were tired and unwilling to continue on with their trek. The masked and cloaked desert nomads urged the huge animals onwards with soft calls and touches. They complied, shaking their large heads that were topped by spiraling horns. The rest of the travelers adapted a similar pace. One by one, the caravan was set into motion and disappeared into the dark tunnel that was the pathway between the rock walls. Valia went with Salim, not before exchanging a long glance with both Jag and Jaina.

"I'll cover the back," Jaina said quietly. He hesitated for a heartbeat, his eyes behind his visor searcing for hers, and then nodded curtly and fell in line in the middle of the caravan. Jaina cast one last look after him and slipped off, towards the end of the procession.

The caravan moved slowly, by Jaina's standards. While the banthas covered quite a distance with each step they moved their hooves in a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm. Huge as they were, they had little to fear from the typical desert predators. Of course, her suddenly tired brain supplied helpfully, there were always larger fish. They could just hope that they would make it out of the Wastes before the Tusken Raiders found the place of the battle – and their dead.

Darkness had now fallen entirely. Jaina could barely see the person in front of her.

Following the caravan was different than trekking by themselves. Moving slowly, especially after the adrenaline-spiking run and fight they had been involved in earlier, felt much more exhausting than the fight itself had seemed to be. The dark canyon walls were threatening to collapse on her and Jaina had to forcefully remind herself of the fact that the walls didn't move, and that danger wasn't in the way the canyon boxed her in but in the danger hidden away in the shadows. Hour after hour they travelled. At some points, Valia had to lead them on detours since the heavy-set banthas were unable to slip through some of the thin pathways the three of them had come through. After a seemingly never-ending trek the steepness of the desert ground increased and Jaina's heart beat accelerated. She focused once again, calming herself deliberately, listening for followers; a warning from her danger sense. Nothing came. There was a silver shadow on the horizon, one that grew and grew until, finally, she stepped out of the shadow of the rock formation and into the soft light of Tatooine's tree moons.

The dune they had climbed that morning hadn't looked that steep before, Jaina thought, exhausted. It was the last stage of their nightly trek. Once over its crest, they would be safe – at least as safe as a caravan in the Dune Sea was at night. Sighting, she braced herself for the last part of the journey.

Though in the darkness, the path seemed familiar. They almost had made it. Soon, the first banthas would have reached the crest of the dune range surrounding the Wastes, and then it was only a matter of time… But time stretched. On the slippery sand which she couldn't see very well anymore, her tired feet dragged and slipped. She caught herself from falling, a curse on her lips. A soft call from the front. The person in front of her replied softly. Jaina focused on the huffs of breath the bantha in front of her occasionally gave. Ten heartbeats. Twenty. Huff. Onward, upward, in the light of the two moons. Huff. Twenty heartbeats. Focus. Everything was silver-shadow and dark.

Another half hour. Steep dunes, shifting sands. Heartbeats. Jaina could imagine the top of the dunes behind which the second-to-last pack animal just disappeared…

The crest came into sight. She breathed a sigh of relief-

And then the bantha next to her reared up on its hind legs, thousand kilograms of heavy, exhausted and terrified animal. Its rider gave a high-pitched cry and clung to it. Jaina's danger sense reared up like a wounded snake, adrenaline erasing her exhaustion instantaneously. She could sense the animal in front of her, terrified by something. The people in the caravan, tired and instantly alert. Jag in the front, cool and collected, and the feral, hungry creature behind her. The bantha sped forwards in a spray of sand.

It was impossible to dodge the avalanche that suddenly came rolling towards Jaina. The world was lost in a whirl of black and white. The last thing she heard was the hammering of her heart, and the sharp cry of triumph of a krayt dragon as her quarry came straight at her.