A/N: Yes, this story is still alive! Honest...I do apologise, I keep starting other projects and never finishing anything...
Anyways, I digress. I got back into playing SWTOR recently, so there are a couple more chapters on the way! Thank you for sticking around this long! As always, I own nothing, please review if you liked it :)

3 – Saviour

Ramilla thought that she would never tire of the scenery in Tython. The hills and the mountains were, tonight anyway, bathed in a murky orange light, the sun casting rays that stretched far across the rocky landscape.

If only there weren't so many Flesh Raiders to ruin the scene, she lamented, panting as she swung her training saber and cut down yet another beast. Some of them could even use the Force, and that was worrying. She was starting to feel nostalgic for the early days of her time on Tython, where the Flesh Raiders were only armed with blasters and the point-and-shoot routine.

The area was temporarily cleared of Flesh Raiders, but she knew that more would return if she stayed there for too long. Right now, the sun was setting, and if she didn't get back to the temple before nightfall she would be unwittingly letting herself in for even more dangers that even she didn't want to think about. She stumbled along the faded paths, saber drawn despite her exhaustion, and almost lost her footing as she tripped over a large bundle of cloth sitting in the middle of the track.

"What in the world...?" she muttered, turning to look at what she had tripped on. She would have avoided it if she wasn't so tired, blast it. Ramilla was also duly surprised when the bundle moved, making a sort of growling noise.

Reaching out a hand, she cautiously moved some of the folds of cloth, attempting to get a closer look. The bundle rolled around, still growling, and Ramilla caught a glimpse of pink skin and beady, black eyes.

Shavit. It's a Flesh Raider.

A baby one, though. It can't do any harm, right?

Flesh Raider. It's in the name.

But it's hungry, look! Look how it's wailing. Just a baby, Ramilla.

Ramilla wrestled for a while with her conscience. She was fairly certain that there was nothing in her Jedi teachings which would tell her about the ethics of leaving Flesh Raider infants to die. It was still growling, although the longer Ramilla listened, the longer it sounded like unhappy mewling. Perhaps it was hungry. Right. She would give it some food, and then leave.

"Here," she said, pulling a ration bar out of her backpack and throwing it at the baby, "Have this."

It devoured it in no time, its many sets of teeth – which seemed quite, quite well formed to Ramilla –gnashing away at the protein bar. Still, it somehow managed to grin – grin? – at Ramilla, which made her smile, just a little bit. If you squinted, the thing was almost...cute. Her mind ticked as she remembered overhearing one of the Jedi Masters in the temple cafeteria talking animatedly about studying Flesh Raider infants.

"They would be absolutely fascinating to study, if you ask me! After all, they can't be born that vicious, can they? It's only a shame that we can't get close enough to their encampments to even get a glimpse of their nurseries. They're obviously very protective of their young."

It was a terrible idea. She knew it was a terrible idea. But...she didn't want to let it starve. It seemed quite helpless, as it couldn't walk on its stubby legs yet. (She watched it try.) And if it helped Master Quilb and the Jedi Council find out more about the Flesh Raiders, then surely that was something?

Sighing, she stooped and picked up the bundle, grimacing as it squirmed in her arms.

"Look," she told it, "I'm trying to help. Have another ration bar." She gently squeezed the bundle into her backpack, leaving the bag open so the thing could breathe. "There's some meat in there too. Eat that."

The thing wriggled in her bag, and Ramilla sighed. She still had a long walk back to the Temple, and the light was fading quickly. It wouldn't exactly help her situation to be caught in the dead of night, alone, in the middle of Flesh Raider territory. Carrying one of their infants, no less.

Sometimes, she surprised herself. She had gained a reputation over the last few years – since her initial rejection from the Council – as a cold, unreadable force of nature. An unfair assumption, she thought, but perhaps not entirely unfounded. Ramilla had never found it easy to get along with others; it was much easier, sometimes, to just stay silent and get on with the task at hand. She suspected this was the reason for being held back at the trials: what use was a Jedi who couldn't forge connections with others? The sole purpose of the Jedi order was to serve and protect the galaxy, but if you weren't able to get along with people then your purpose was almost rendered useless.

She had hoped Tython would be a new start for her – after so many second chances, this was her time to finally change things. Deciding that it had had enough of Ramilla's pondering, the Flesh Raider infant squealed loudly from her bag. She tried to shush it, worried that its cries would attract the attention of the very monsters she was trying to avoid.

"Shh – please, be quiet!" she whispered, attempting to calm the infant, sending relaxing vibes through the Force in a last-ditch attempt to stop its wails. Much to her surprise, the infant simply grumbled softly and closed its eyes, causing Ramilla to smile, slightly. There. Maybe she was getting through to someone. Even if that 'someone' was a mewling infant born from an enemy currently trying to kill the Jedi.

Several hours had passed, and it was almost pitch dark. Ramilla's feet were aching – although she had the advantage of the Force, even the strongest Jedi get tired sometimes. The damned infant had eaten all of her food supplies, and she'd had to resort to scavenging and hunting wild animals to stop it from yowling and attracting more Flesh Raiders.

"I hope," she panted, "That you realise...how much effort...I'm putting in for this..." They were on the final stretch now, according to Ramilla's holomap, and she could see the outlines of the temple in the dim twilight.

The infant merely grumbled mournfully, wriggling awkwardly in Ramilla's backpack. She rolled her eyes, and sighed. "Well, we're almost there. I'm sure Master Quilb will be able to feed you when we arrive."

Ramilla ignored the slightly alarmed faces of the Jedi stationed outside the Temple as she made her way up the steps. She realised that she must look quite a state – she had been out in the wilds of Tython all day. She'd almost forgotten what she had gone out for in the first place.

Her once-clean robes were soiled with dirt, dust, and if you looked closely, blood. She had acquired several new burns on her face and arms from where she had only just managed to deflect blaster bolts. Overall, it wasn't what one would expect the Order's best and brightest to look like.

Eventually, she found Master Quilb standing at the foot of the stairs that led to the Council Room, studying a datapad absent-mindedly. She walked up to him, a determined expression on her pale face.

"Master, could I have a moment of your time?" Briefly, she explained her findings to the Master, whilst brushing dust off of her robes.

"Well, well, well!" exclaimed the Cathar, smiling. "It seems you have a penchant for knowledge as well as combat, Padawan Ramilla. I'll take this youngling to the research station here on Tython and see what we can learn from it. You've outdone yourself, my dear." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "All of the Jedi I spoke to on these matters laughed at me. They said it was too risky, a fool's errand. I am glad you could prove them wrong."

Ramilla smiled at the praise. "Happy to help, Master." She bowed and turned to leave, but hesitated. "Will, um..."

"Yes?"

"Will the infant be harmed at the research station? I mean, will it be, uh, looked after?" She tried not to let the worry show on her face. For all that she'd been wanting to get rid of it, she had grown quite fond of the little thing on her journey back to the Temple.

Master Quilb chuckled. "Don't worry, Padawan. I'll make sure it's well cared for at the research station."

Ramilla nodded, trying to hide the relief she felt.

"Of course. Thank you, Master."

With that, the older Jedi bid his farewells and left her standing at the foot of the stairs. For a moment, she stood there in silence, contemplating. There was much still to be done, and Bengal Morr was still at large. She should probably have a shower and get some sleep if there was going to be any chance of defeating him.