Ahsoka woke as the first rays of dawn broke through the crookedly cut windows above her head. She tried to go back to sleep but couldn't—though she wasn't much of an early riser, she felt oddly awake, almost restless. It didn't take her long to piece together why.

It was just like last night, when the Force had buzzed under her skin, nudging her awake. When that buzz had softened, turned into a song, gently lulling her back to sleep. She didn't know if it was Skywalker—if it was the strength of his power bleeding through her own connection with the Force, a kind of tunnel bridging them together—or if it was something else. Something new.

Was it intentional, on Skywalker's part? Ahsoka didn't think so. Whatever it was, it reminded her of her early lessons with Obi-Wan. The Force is an ocean, he had explained to her, when they had formed their training bond. We sit by the banks, testing the waters, before we walk into the sea. This is why we meditate: the farther out we go, the deeper the waters are. We swim until we cannot see land.

But there was danger in those depths, Ahsoka knew. That was why the bond between master and apprentice was so important. Think of it as a lighthouse, Obi-Wan had said. It will not calm the waters, nor will it help you swim against the tides, but it will be there to show you the way back. How you get there will be up to you. I cannot be your lifeline. All I can do is wait for you on the shore. The rest falls to you. Such is the journey of every Jedi.

But Skywalker didn't seem like a man adrift at sea. To Ahsoka, it seemed like he knew how to navigate the Force well enough on his own, lighthouse or no lighthouse.

Was that why the Council was so wary of him? Or was she mistaking raw power for a kind of skill and control that might not really be there? It was something to meditate about. Obi-Wan would have said as much—it was exactly the kind of thing he'd advise. What any Master would, really.

But meditation would have to wait, Ahsoka decided. She scrambled out of bed and went to look for Skywalker, that same restlessness pulling at her with every step.

"Anakin's down at the greenhouse with Dad," Owen said when she found him in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes as his caf steamed in a nearby mug. "Might as well eat while you wait." He gestured to the table, where a plate of fruit loaf and nuna bacon had been saved for her.

"I didn't think you'd all be up so early," Ahsoka admitted as she took her seat. "Cliegg said you would, but I didn't think you'd all start working right away."

"More daylight, that way," Owen said around a yawn. "And it's a hell of a lot better than working at noon. Besides," he added, downing the last of his caf, "it's supposed to be good luck, waking up at First Dawn. Or so the stories say."

"Stories?"

"Legends, myths. Old wives' tales to scare little younglings to be home by sunsdown. That sort of thing."

Ahsoka grinned. She didn't know any myths from her homeworld, but she had heard enough scary stories during her time in the crèche to know what he meant. "Sometimes stories contain truths," she said. "Could you tell me one?"

Owen shook his head, chuckling. "You ought to ask Beru. I'm not much of a storyteller."

"Still," Ahsoka said. "I'd like to hear one, if that's okay."

For a moment, Owen gazed thoughtfully at her. Then he gave a slow nod and sat across from her, a fresh mug of caf cradled in his hands.

"If you're sure," he said, a bit hesitantly. "All right—well. The tale of the First Dawn began long and long ago, before there was night and day, when only Ghomrassen and her sisters—the moons of Tatooine—lived in the sky. On the lands below, there was a boy called Unso, so named because he was the smallest slave in his master's coffle.

"But Unso was also the cleverest—so much so that he was able to escape out into the Dune Sea with none the wiser. Not even his own kin could say how he did it or where he had gone. The master's best bounty hunters couldn't find any trace of him, save for the empty chains Unso had left behind."

Here Owen paused, staring into his mug as if the next words were hidden in the black swirls of his caf.

"But though Unso was free, his father Ama grieved. No matter how clever Unso was, Ama believed no one could survive the desert for long, and certainly not alone. So Ama begged the moons to help him protect his son, and moved with pity, they agreed."

Warming to the story now, Owen held up a hand, ticking off fingers as he continued, "Ghomrassen gave Ama her light, so he could find and follow Unso's trail. Guermessa gave Unso her fire, so he could defend himself against the krayt dragons that lived in the Dune Sea. And Chenini gave them both her shadow, to shroud their footsteps from slavers and would-be masters.

"With each gift the sisters gave, their powers dimmed, and the sky with them, until all the world had turned dark. So Ama searched for his son, calling Unso's name as he traveled the desert, with the promise to return what they'd been given once he reached Unso and brought him home.

"The trouble was, Unso had been gone for so long that he no longer recognized his father's voice. Mistaking Ama for his master, Unso refused to turn around and ran. And where Unso went, Ama followed. They ran and ran until they had no more desert to run on. They ran until they fell off the horizon. But Unso was clever—somehow he found foothold among the clouds, and his father was able to follow his trail. Ama gave chase, pursuing Unso across the sky. They're brighter now than Ghomrassen and her sisters had ever been, and they're fated to be until Ama and Unso are finally reunited.

"But Unso, young and spry and cunning, will always be a step ahead of his father, and Ama will always be a step too late. Both of them free, both of them out of each other's reach. And so ends our tale."

It was a much bleaker story than Ahsoka had expected. Her surprise must have shown, because Owen shrugged and said, "Believe it or not, that was the nicer ending."

"But it's not really an ending, though, is it?" Ahsoka said as she took another bite of bacon. She had been steadily eating her breakfast throughout the story. "Unso's still running. He doesn't know his father wants him to come home."

"Because his father doesn't," came Skywalker's voice. Ahsoka nearly jumped, but Owen didn't seem surprised to see him striding inside the kitchen. "Not in the stories I grew up with, at least."

"What's your version, then?" Ahsoka said.

"Virtually the same." Skywalker grabbed his own cup of caf before sitting beside Owen, who wordlessly began cutting him a few slices of fruit loaf. "Except it's not Ama looking high and low for Unso—it's Amo. His master." A cloud seemed to pass over his face as he added, "First Dawn is good luck because it's the only time Unso is truly free. You can almost believe he'll stay that way."

"Like I said—mine's the nicer version," Owen said. "It's supposed to be a warning to keep close to home. It's dangerous to wander out into the desert after the suns have set." He threw a pointed look at Skywalker. "Best keep that in mind."

"I don't need the reminder," Skywalker scoffed.

Owen glanced at Ahsoka slyly. "Maybe Ahsoka does."

"Yeah, I do," Ahsoka said, smiling back. "Part of my job description—being your overglorified bodyguard and all."

Skywalker didn't answer, but she could have sworn she heard him snort under his breath.

"Any plans for the day?" Owen asked as Skywalker started to eat.

"I was thinking of showing Ahsoka the Laya Trail," Skywalker said. Before she could ask, he turned to her and explained, "It's what we call our sick houses. There's one over at Mos Eisley, if you'd like to visit."

Owen frowned. "Why not the one at Bestine?"

"What difference does it make? They're both part of the Trail."

"Mos Eisley isn't—well," Owen said warily. "It doesn't sound like it'd be much fun."

"Nothing around here is much fun."

Owen huffed out a breath. He didn't seem too keen on Skywalker's plans, but there was a half-amused, half-knowing smile on his face when he said, "I don't know. I'd say shooting womp rats might be a better way to pass the time. And there's always podracing."

Ahsoka looked between them, confused. "Isn't that illegal?"

"On Coruscant, sure, but that's never stopped Anakin before," Owen said, the amusement growing. "He used to join garbage pit races when he was your age."

Ahsoka gaped at Skywalker. "But you're a senator!"

Skywalker flashed her a crooked smile. "I wasn't always. You're looking at the only human to ever drive in the podraces—" A quiet snort from Owen wiped the smirk from his face. "What? It's not bragging if it's true."

"Of course not," Owen said smoothly. "Who brags about peaking at nine years old?"

Skywalker scowled, and they quickly fell into an easy banter that had Ahsoka struggling to stifle her laughter. Owen's pithy manner reminded her of Beru—she, too, often left Skywalker grasping for a retort whenever they bickered. With a start, Ahsoka realized that this—Owen's teasing, Beru's jokes—wasn't all too different from the way Skywalker talked to her. The way he had been talking to her since their journey from Coruscant.

Before she could wonder what it meant, Cliegg returned from the greenhouse with a heaping crate of fruits he insisted they bring with them to Mos Eisley. Like Owen, he seemed wary of Skywalker's plans, but whether it was because of the destination or the company, Ahsoka couldn't tell. Whatever protests he had, Cliegg didn't say; he simply saw them off, brow pinched in concern, after they had finished their breakfast.

Mos Eisley, it turned out, wasn't all that different from Mos Espa. Though Skywalker claimed it was Tatooine's largest settlement, it didn't look it—the city sat on a plateau and was a maze of dust-choked alleys, the streets packed with merchants and squat drab-colored buildings.

And just like yesterday, they found themselves stopped at almost every turn, as people approached Skywalker with eager, friendly smiles. Not just vendors hawking goods, but children, families, ordinary passers-by. It wasn't long before they had emptied their crate of fruits, and Ahsoka had to wonder if Cliegg had known this was going to happen.

"Do you even know all these people?" Ahsoka said, when Skywalker had given away the last of their haul.

"Not all of them," he admitted.

She smirked. "Well, look at you. You really are Mr. Popular. I wouldn't have guessed."

"Being in the Senate is a popularity contest, in case you haven't noticed," Skywalker said tartly, but he ducked his head, looking almost sheepish. It startled Ahsoka; that look seemed so out of place with what she had seen of the HoloNet's favorite poster boy.

As Skywalker led her deeper into the bustling dome-warren, the more interesting the sights became. By far the most interesting of all the places Ahsoka had seen on Tatooine so far was the hotel in the center of the city—the upended wreckage of the starship Dowager Queen, standing nearly vertically in the sand. It loomed high above them, at an angle that threatened to collapse at any moment.

"It isn't going to fall," Skywalker assured her. "The ship has been here for nearly a century—Mos Eisley was built around it. Half of it must be buried in the sand by now."

They continued past the Dowager Queen, where the dome-shaped buildings were larger and the streets less crowded. This was obviously the wealthier part of the city, and Ahsoka's assumption was proven right when they neared the outskirts of the settlement.

Because standing at the edge of the plateau, overlooking an expanse of sand and sky, was a white-stone palace: a large rotunda capped with a magnificent alabaster cupola, surrounded by tall spire towers that seemed to gleam in the suns' light.

"Welcome to the Rock Palace," Skywalker said, grinning at her open-mouthed awe. "Welcome to the Laya Trail."

"This is a sick house?" Ahsoka said incredulously.

"The best we have. The others on the Trail aren't as impressive, but they get the job done."

The interior was almost anticlimactic—it looked like any ordinary sick house, with its white walls and busy corridors. They drew stares as they passed, from healers and medical droids, from patients and their waiting visitors.

One of the patients caught Ahsoka's eye: a young Dug boy, whose right arm was heavily bandaged with bacta. His good hand was clutching tightly to a lanky red-haired human man, who seemed to be whispering reassurances to him as a Rodian doctor offered the boy what looked like a tiny shard of metal—

Skywalker stopped walking, and so did Ahsoka. No sooner had the boy accepted the small metal scrap than he crushed it in his palm, beaming up at the red-haired man, and the Force flooded with such fierce joy—such inexpressible relief—that she felt herself blinking rapidly against the sudden sting of tears in her eyes.

With a sudden rush of understanding, Ahsoka realized what it was she had seen. Not any old scrap of metal, but a transmitter chip.

A slave chip.

Distantly, she was aware that it wasn't just the boy's emotions she was sensing in the Force—they were Skywalker's too. His joy, his relief—he felt them so intensely that his heart ached, and Ahsoka could feel it like it was her own—

The red-haired man looked up.

With a frown, his narrowed eyes not leaving theirs, he called to a human woman nearby, whose chestnut hair was worn in a braided crown around her head. When the woman turned and saw Skywalker, she immediately bounded toward them and—faster than Ahsoka could react—enveloped him in a hug.

The man followed. He stared hard at Ahsoka before glancing at the laughing pair.

"Back so soon?" he said. Something in his tone made Skywalker and the woman's laughter abruptly stop. The woman pulled away, blushing furiously.

"You sound surprised," Skywalker said. "I thought you would have heard from Kitster."

"Oh, we heard," the woman said, smiling. "We just weren't sure he was being serious. You're hardly ever here these days."

"And definitely not this often," the man said. "Must be getting serious out there."

Skywalker gave a little snort. "First Owen and Cliegg, and now you two. Keep talking like that and I'll start thinking you're not happy to see me."

"Is it serious out there?" the woman said, looking concerned. "Or have those fancy-hats from the Core finally gotten sick of you?"

"I doubt it," the man said, and his gaze shot to Ahsoka again, with a scrutinizing look that made her bristle.

Skywalker laid a hand on her shoulder. "Fancy-hat, meet Amee and Seek," he said nonchalantly. "Amee, Seek, meet Ahsoka Tano. She'll be staying with us for a few days."

The man—Seek—seemed to straighten up. "Why?" he said stiffly. "Thought we were too backwater for your friends."

Skywalker's lip twitched. "Not really your business, is it?"

"It is, if you're going to go around bringing her kind here—"

Retort ready at the tip of her tongue, Ahsoka tried to step forward, but Skywalker's hand was still on her shoulder, firm and heavy. She looked up at him—and her throat tightened. Skywalker's face was blank, impassive, but his eyes held an unsettling gravity that made her feel inexplicably small—like a prey caught in headlights, with nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, both blinded and fascinated by the oncoming collision.

"She's here to help," Skywalker said, without raising his voice.

Seek hissed between his teeth. "Help we didn't ask for."

"She's here all the same."

"She's here for you," Seek bit out. "They always are. No one ever gives a damn about us, and just because you think it's best to—"

"She's here to help," Skywalker said again, and there was steel in his voice now. "As are you. So are we going to go back to our duties or would you rather make a scene?"

Seek glared, his lip curled in a sneer; Skywalker held his gaze. Amee looked between them nervously, but Ahsoka could only stare at Skywalker—he was disconcertingly still, even as his eyes burned with that unrelenting intensity. If she felt like prey, she thought, then here was the predator: muzzled, snarling, lying in wait.

Finally, Seek looked away. "Fine," he spat, but some of the air had gone out of his bluster. "Have it your way. Not like I'm not used to it by now."

Amee clasped his arm. "Is this really the time?" she said softly. "Throwing a fit isn't going to solve anything—"

Seek wrenched his arm away. "You might be happy to accept scraps but that doesn't mean the rest of us are. Nor should we be."

His face red, his jaw set, Seek stomped away. Amee sighed after him.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it like that," she said carefully.

"Sure," Skywalker said, with a wry smile that said plainly enough that there was no use in talking about it any longer.

But Amee pressed on, smiling at Ahsoka apologetically. "I'm sorry about him. It's not personal, it's just—we're not used to having Republic presence here."

"That can't be true," Ahsoka said. The Republic had helped the Slave Revolt, after all, even if they hadn't done it right away. And with Skywalker in the Senate, they had to have done something for Tatooine in the years since.

Amee's smile turned tight. "Maybe not entirely. Not for everyone, anyway. I guess some of us are just a little too resigned to getting left behind." Then, as if realizing what she'd said, she quickly turned to Skywalker with an anxious look. "Not that I think you—what I mean to say is—"

"It's all right," Skywalker said, waving a hand like he was brushing the thought away. "Is Matta around?"

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Amee pointed the way to a room farther down the hall. Unlike the other rooms they had passed, this one was nearly empty, except for an elderly Twi'lek woman standing over a sleeping patient. The woman—dressed in what appeared to be the sick house's standard healer's robes—seemed to be expecting them, because she hurriedly beckoned them over with a relieved-looking smile. Skywalker gave her an odd bow, taking her hand and pressing it briefly to his forehead, before introducing Ahsoka.

"Any friend of Ani's is a friend of mine," Matta said to her in heavily-accented Basic, then promptly pulled Skywalker into hushed conversation. They spoke in what Ahsoka guessed was Huttese, their voices low and worried. After a while, she bid them goodbye and left the room to see to her other patients.

And left them alone with the unconscious man lying on the cot. A red-soaked bandage was wrapped around his head, and livid scars crisscrossed his gaunt face, his arms, his hands. He had the textured skin of one who must have worked long years of long hours in sunlight. Up close, Ahsoka could see that his brows were puckered in a frown, and the rumpled sheets underneath him were stained with sweat.

On the table next to his bed was a small ceramic bowl, painted with dark swirls and curlicues. The design was similar to the framed paintings that hung along the corridors they had passed. Ahsoka peered closer—inside was what had to be the man's transmitter chip. It was even smaller than she'd imagined. It looked inconspicuous. Harmless. To think such a small thing could have killed this man, had already killed others before him . . .

"Careful," Skywalker warned. "Try not to get too close."

"But it's been deactivated, right?"

"With the detonator gone, it should be safe, yes. But the deactivators don't always work as well as we'd like. Different transmitters, different programming. I haven't seen one explode after surgery, but it's a possibility."

A shudder ran up Ahsoka's back. She stepped away from the chip until she was standing next to Skywalker. And then her brain caught on to what he had said. "After surgery. Do you mean . . ."

She trailed off, too horrified to finish the sentence.

"It doesn't happen often," Skywalker said grimly. "But sometimes a chip's failsafe will reactivate before we get the chance to take it out. Usually it happens when it's fused to the bone."

Ahsoka looked back at the man. His expression was pained even in sleep. "What's his name?" she asked quietly.

"Who knows?" Skywalker said with a heavy sigh. "Matta says his name is Cygni, but it wouldn't be the first time someone gave us an alias. People here aren't always on the right side of the law."

Ahsoka frowned. "He could be a criminal?"

"He's a person," Skywalker snapped.

She winced. "But—aren't you worried? You just said he might not be who he says he is, and you don't even know him—"

"I don't need to," he said sharply. "The Laya Trail is for people with nowhere else to go. You've seen them, Ahsoka. Runaway slaves. Indentured workers. Prisoners working off their sentence. Beings in over their heads, trying to repay their debts. I don't know who they are, but I know they're better off here than whatever life they left behind."

Ahsoka felt her face warm. She shouldn't have said anything. Wasn't that what always got her into trouble, her and her stupid mouth . . .

"Compassion is central to a Jedi's life," Skywalker said. His tone was still stern but not unkind. "And what could be more compassionate than a hand to hold?"

Ahsoka looked down at the patient—at the man who might be Cygni. Maybe it really was his name. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it didn't matter much, when all was said and done.

"So that's what you do here?" she asked tentatively. "Sit with them? Hold their hands?"

"Sometimes," Skywalker said. "Tatooine has always been a haven for those who don't want to be found. I like to think these days it's for better reasons than lining wealthy pockets."

"You didn't bring me here just to give me a tour, did you?"

When she turned, Skywalker's expression had softened. Ahsoka couldn't say what it was, but something about it seemed rueful, somehow.

"I'm assuming you've done a healing trance before," he said.

"A version of it—curato salva. Every Jedi knows how to do it. For emergencies."

"And you've done it? You know what it's like?"

And suddenly Ahsoka knew why she was here. She swallowed and gave a hesitant nod. "But I'm not a proper healer or anything. I haven't got any real training for it."

"I'm not asking you to heal anyone," Skywalker said gently. "But a healing trance—it's more like meditation, isn't it? Something to calm the soul. It doesn't necessarily have to mend wounds, but it does ease the pain."

"You've done it before?"

He gave her a small smile. "The Force can soothe a weary heart. It seems a shame to not offer it when I can."

Ahsoka felt a sudden surge of misgiving. She had heard similar words before at the Temple. Bacta can heal the body, but the Force can heal the soul, Barriss had told her once. If only Barriss were here now. Or Master Vokara Che. Ahsoka had no talent for healing, had never had an affinity for it. If only she had thought to bring a healing crystal with her, or something, anything, that could have helped this man.

"You don't have to do it if you don't feel comfortable," Skywalker assured her, and Ahsoka knew he meant it.

But she knew, too, as she glanced down at Cygni, that it didn't matter now what she did or didn't know. What she had or didn't have. Dwelling on these things wasn't going to help anyone. She was here now—not Barriss or Master Vokara Che. Not Obi-Wan. Just her, just Ahsoka.

Slowly, she placed her hand on Cygni's fever-heated arm. "But I can help, can't I?"

Skywalker put his hand on top of hers, studying her face. "Only if you want."

Ahsoka took a steadying breath. "Like meditating, you said."

At his nod, she closed her eyes and reached for the Force. She breathed in. Breathed out. Called to mind her lessons on meditation as she tried to calm the anxious beat of her pulse.

"Picture his hand unharmed," she heard Skywalker say, and the Force stirred, like the beginning notes of a song. "Hold it in your mind, the way it must have looked like before. What it should have always looked like. What it should have always been. Can you see it?"

"I see it." And suddenly it was the easiest thing in the world, to let the Force take her under. To plunge herself deeper and swim out into the waters.

With Obi-Wan, it had been like floating—paddling at the water's edge, at first, then letting the waves take her slowly away from the coast. But with Skywalker, she felt herself diving headfirst—and when she broke into the air, gasping, she was already in the middle of the sea, no land in sight.

It shouldn't have been this easy, she thought, vaguely. It had never been this easy before. Not in her shared meditations with Obi-Wan. Not with Master Yoda. Not with anyone.

"Release your fears, Ahsoka," Skywalker said. The words sounded muffled, and she knew they weren't entirely meant for her. They were for the man whose pain echoed like a chorus. "Let go of your doubts. You are safe here. All will be well, I promise. Be at peace."

The Force was an ocean, Obi-Wan had taught her. That was how it always was for Ahsoka—the cold water against her skin, the relentless push-pull of the tide—and she searched the horizon now for that familiar light. The flickering glow of the lighthouse, beaming across the dark, across the water—

But then there was no lighthouse. No dark skies. In her mind's eye, the ocean unraveled until there was only an empty desert. High above, a dark shape streaking across the clear sky.

On instinct, Ahsoka held out her hand. The dark shape swooped toward her, resolving into some hulking beast—some kind of hawk or falcon, but bigger than anything she'd ever seen. It was a ghastly-looking thing, its molting feathers matted and askew, its sharp talons dripping with blood.

Dimly, Ahsoka wondered if she should be afraid. But the bird perched on her hand with surprising gentleness, even as the blood on its talons stained her skin. It weighed next to nothing, though it must have been more than half her size.

"What are you?" she wondered aloud. Gold eyes stared thoughtfully back at her. Curious. Assessing. Its grip tightened briefly; then, in a rush of wings, the bird soared back overhead.

In the distance, light crept over the horizon. A pale watery gold, slowly bleeding across the sands. First Dawn, Ahsoka thought. Unso escaping into the Dune Sea.

The bird flew as if it was chasing after him—chasing after the sun, trying to meet it.

The leash around the bird's leg had been torn, but it was long enough that Ahsoka could have tugged it and kept the bird tethered to her. She was half-tempted to try, if only to see what would happen. Nothing good, probably.

Instead, Ahsoka sprinted after the bird, running toward the horizon as fast as her legs could carry her. It wasn't long before she was panting for breath, but she didn't dare stop. She knew she had to keep running. She knew she had to keep this bird—and what an inadequate thing to call it, this massive, decrepit-looking creature—within her line of sight. Had to keep it within reach.

And then she felt it—the shift, the sudden calm in the air. The bird paused in its flight, then dove to hover over her, close enough to touch. If the Force was an ocean, then here the waters would still, the lighthouse bright and in view. Sure enough, when Ahsoka pulled herself out of the Force and back to the sick house, she saw that Cygni was lying still, his chest rising and falling steadily. The pained furrow of his brow had eased, and his skin had cooled to the touch.

Ahsoka felt herself grin, swelling with pride and relief—but that was nothing compared to the warm glow that filled her when she looked up and saw Anakin beaming at her, his eyes brighter than the suns.


When they left Mos Eisley, the first of the twin suns had already dropped behind a jagged spine of barren mountains, painting the desert in crimson and rust. Ahsoka suspected it would be dark out by the time their landspeeder reached the Lars's homestead, and she couldn't help but be reminded of Owen's story.

"What happens at sunset?" she asked, as she watched the skyline of domed huts and walled docking bays disappear behind them. "If First Dawn is Unso escaping, then what happens to him when the suns come down?"

"You said it yourself," Anakin said. "The story has no ending. I suppose Unso must still be running."

Ahsoka sat back, frowning. "I think I like your version better. At least he has a good reason to keep running. Whatever happened to Ama?"

"They say his grief was so great that when he wept, his tears became stars."

She grimaced. "Does Tatooine have any stories that aren't so miserable?"

That startled a laugh out of him. "Not very many. Which reminds me . . ." Anakin patted around his pockets then held out an intricately carved wooden pendant. "Here. Matta wanted me to give you this."

Ahsoka took the pendant, turning it over in her hand. It was pale and smooth, etched with delicate lines that resembled the symbols she had seen back at the Rock Palace. "What is it?"

"It's a japor snippet, for good luck. It's supposed to be—" Anakin hesitated, glancing down at the pendant then back to the control handles. "It's supposed to be aluk."

"Aluk," Ahsoka repeated, trying the word out on her tongue.

"There's no direct translation in Basic. The closest I can think of is an offering. A gift."

"Why would she give it to me?"

"Consider it a thank-you."

"Aluk," Ahsoka said again. It sounded strange in her Coruscanti accent. "Why isn't there a direct translation?"

"Aluk has many definitions. Matta meant for it to be a gift, but it can also mean repayment or an exchange. Or a blessing." Anakin glanced sideways at her. Haltingly, he explained, "Daylight is important to us. The desert is too dangerous after sunsdown, so everything we need to do—everything important—has to be done during the day. If you make aluk, that's daylight spent. Time you cannot get back. That is what you are giving, when you give aluk."

Ahsoka looked away, fingering the pendant thoughtfully as she watched the terrain outside slip past. Just yesterday she had looked at this forlorn sweep of desert and thought of how disappointingly desolate it all was. But now she thought of Matta and Amee and Seek—of that Dug boy and the Rodian healer—of the man who went by Cygni. All those beings who found some measure of happiness in this bleak place, enough to call it home.

"Oh," she said quietly. She pocketed the pendant carefully, though she wasn't sure she deserved to have it. "Thanks, Skyguy. Should I make her one too?"

"You already have," Anakin said.

Ahsoka shook her head. "But I didn't do much. I barely did anything, really."

They had spent the day with the convalescing patients at the Rock Palace, doing for them what they had done for Cygni. Ahsoka wasn't sure what to call what it was that they did—she knew it wasn't a proper healing trance, and she knew it wasn't actually healing their ailments. But she had also felt the way their fatigue and all their doubts and fears had been washed away, replaced with a lightness of spirit. In the Force, it had felt like they were heaving a great sigh, like they had been holding their breath for so long and were finally breathing out.

If Seek had had any objections, he had kept them to himself. He had spoken with Anakin a few times, pointedly ignoring Ahsoka as they discussed some business with the Lirra system. Each time, Amee had been quick to drag Ahsoka away to help with some sort of task—making tea for the patients, mostly—before she could pry about it.

"You helped," Anakin insisted. "You did what you could. I say that's enough."

"I couldn't heal any of them though."

"I am no healer either. I can't cure wounds. The best I can do is accelerate the process."

Ahsoka looked up at him, a little surprised. "You never learned?" With the ease he displayed when he used the Force, she would have readily believed him if he had claimed otherwise.

"To use the Force in that way requires precision," Anakin said. "Focusing on one thing in one place, and shutting out all the rest. I am not good at that. I can only use the Force in everything at once or in nothing at all."

That made sense. Obi-Wan had described the healing arts like that too. You have to tend to the roots first, one tree at a time, he had said. Pour too much of the Force, and you'll flood the entire forest.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Anakin turned to her with a faint smile. "You should get Obi-Wan to teach you. He's good at this sort of thing."

"You've seen him do it?"

"Once or twice. I've known him a long time."

Ahsoka frowned. There had been an odd wistfulness in his tone just then. "Yeah, I gathered that. Why do you hate him so much, anyway?"

"I don't hate him," Anakin said, and he sounded genuinely surprised that she'd asked.

"You fight with him all the time," she pointed out.

"Only because I disagree with him."

"I know. You do it very loudly."

Anakin sighed. "We do not see eye to eye on a lot of things. The same goes for the Jedi Council. That's all."

Ahsoka felt a surge of protectiveness for her Master. That's all, Anakin had said. As if Obi-Wan didn't wear his regret like a heavy cloak, whenever Anakin was around. That's all, as if his well-worn sadness meant nothing. Did Anakin really not know?

"I'm guessing people here don't like the Jedi much either," she said. "Your friend—Seek. He figured out who I was pretty quick."

Anakin pursed his lips. "He's wary of everyone from the Republic. The Jedi most of all. I can't say I blame him too much."

Neither could Ahsoka, if she was being honest. She had been an Initiate at the time, too concerned with her Trials and with finding a Master to keep up with the news on galactic politics, but even she'd heard about what had happened during the Slave Revolt.

"The Jedi would have helped," she said, feeling defensive. "We wanted to. But the Senate . . ."

Ahsoka let her voice trail away, wincing. Saying the words aloud made it sound worse than it had in her own head.

Anakin obviously thought so. "But the Senate voted against it?" he finished wryly. "That didn't stop the Chancellor."

Yeah, well, he's the Supreme Chancellor, Ahsoka wanted to argue, but she knew it was a moot point. She remembered well enough how big of a deal it had been back then: the Senate had refused to lend aid to Tatooine for fear of provoking the Hutts, but Chancellor Palpatine had done so anyway. There had been calls for him to resign after he had so publicly gone against the Senate's wishes. But more planets and systems had followed his example, and had offered their support to the Rebellion. It had turned out to be the right thing to do, in the end.

But at the time, it had been a gamble. If Anakin hadn't succeeded—if his Rebellion hadn't won—then the Republic would have gone to war with the Hutts. It was no small wonder, really, that so many in the Senate disliked the Senator from Tatooine.

"Another thing Obi-Wan and I have never agreed on," Anakin muttered. "He doesn't much like His Excellency. I don't suppose that has changed."

"Not really," Ahsoka said. The sour look Obi-Wan couldn't quite keep in check every time he heard Palpatine's name made it plain as day what he thought of the man.

Anakin made an amused hum. "I thought not. What's he like to study with?"

Ahsoka felt herself stiffen. "Obi-Wan is a great Jedi," she said, carefully picking her words. "He's wise and patient and knowledgeable. I've learned much from him. I'm very fortunate to be his Padawan."

"But you think he can be a little too demanding."

"I didn't say that!"

Anakin gave her a knowing look that made her skin prickle. "But you think it. Of course you do. I'm sure he thought the same of his Master. As did Qui-Gon Jinn. I know I thought that about my—" He paused, as if trying to find the words. "About my father."

"It's not the same," she said tersely. "Jedi aren't supposed to have fathers."

But even as she said it, she thought of Obi-Wan and the comforting weight of his hand on her shoulder. She thought of a memory from a lifetime ago—strong arms wrapped around her, the sound of warm laughter in the air. That voice might have been her father's. Or it might have been her mother. It might have been no one at all.

"I know," Anakin murmured. "And I know that sometimes Obi-Wan asks for too much, even if he doesn't quite realize it."

"Sometimes I—" Ahsoka stopped, her stomach twisting into a tight knot. Already she felt as if she had said too much, but Anakin was still giving her that too-knowing look. Half of her wanted to snap at him to keep his eyes on the road, so he'd finally look away. But the other half . . . "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be good enough for him."

Anakin gave her a reassuring smile. "I know that feeling too. But all things must pass. Even this. One day it won't matter what he or what any other Jedi thinks. All that matters is following where the Force takes you."

Almost reluctantly, she felt herself smile back. "Is that what you do?"

"I like to think so." At last, Anakin looked away. But she could still see the small smile on his face as he said, almost too softly to hear, "For what it's worth, I think he's fortunate to have you as a Padawan."

Ahsoka swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She managed to mumble a thank you, but it wasn't nearly enough for the way his words had loosened the knot in her stomach. Anakin didn't seem to mind, and so she found herself content to let the silence fall as she watched the stars flicker to life.