* Comments and constructive criticism always welcomed.

Words

According to Bo-Katan, Corvus was supposed to be a planet filled with forests. They had yet to even enter the atmosphere, and the Child could see red angry lines over the planet's pale surface. Parts of it almost looked like Nevarro. From where he stood on the console, the Child stared ahead curiously.

Just as he thought about returning to the passenger seat, as per his father's behest, something shiny got his attention. It was the little silver ball, currently attached to the console. He hadn't had a chance to play with it much lately. Since the ice planet, it remained on the console so that his father had better control of the ship. And while the mechanics on Nevarro had done a terrific job with the repairs, some aspects were still a little imperfect. It wasn't noticeable to most, but the Child and his father could still feel some shakiness from landing or taking off. As a result, the ball stayed where it was.

He cooed longingly at it, wondering if he would be allowed to play with it once they entered Corvus' atmosphere.

"Hey," his father sternly got his attention. "What did I tell you? Back in your seat."

The Child whined, but he understood why his father was being firm in this instance. So, he climbed down from the console, and then crawled up onto the passenger seat. All the while he continued to whine stubbornly. From where he was now sitting, he could still see the silver ball.

He almost clasped his claws together, and his ears lowered sideways. He questioned the harm in taking it now. After all, more often than not, that gear shift was used for taking off, not landing. He glanced at his father again, whose attention was focused on the planet up ahead. He then raised his hand, eyes squinting and almost closing.

His ears picked up on the sound of metal squeaking as the ball unthreaded. It took some effort, and it made him feel a little tired, but eventually the squeaking stopped.

Something cool fell right into his hand.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the silver ball in his grasp, and he trilled triumphantly.

He always knew that he should use his abilities sparingly, though he could no longer recall the exact reasoning. He most certainly shouldn't use them for trivial things. Only…

...This wasn't really trivial to him.

He held the ball close to his chest, the sleeves of his tunic concealing it in the process. He clutched the smooth metal. His hands were small, and he sometimes struggled to pick things up. But surrounding the ball was a line, a slight indentation that allowed him to keep hold of it. This was just one reason why he was always transfixed by it.

Another was that, to him, it was shiny like the Razor Crest.

As his father landed the ship, there was a slight delay from the deploying skids, as to be expected, but it went as smooth as possible. His father stood, and picked him up out of the passenger seat, unaware of what he'd pilfered. They descended into the hull, and he was placed gently on the floor. His father grabbed the rifle from the locker.

The Child knew that he was some sort of hunter, but lately, he didn't access these weapons too often. He often settled for using what he already had on hand.

He talked as he checked his ammo. "The maps say there's some sort of town nearby." He slung the rifle over his back. "But this planet looks desolate. Makes me wonder if there's even a Jedi here." He retrieved the satchel from the wall. "I'm gonna go outside first, make sure it's all clear. Give it a second, and then you can come out."

The ramp opened.

Barren trees and ashy ground as far as the eye could see. The air itself was heavy with soot. In the distance, they could see the outlines of gigantic quadrupeds feeding off the dead vegetation. Either it suited their diet, or there was simply nothing else left for them to eat.

Still a bit drowsy from using his abilities, the Child slowly walked down the ramp, and plopped backwards with a huff. Given that his father always liked to do some cursory scouting before going onward, he took the opportunity to rest and play for a moment.

His father noticed what he had. "What did I say about that?" He leaned down to gently take the ball from him, not giving in to the Child's sad coos. "This needs to stay in the ship." He stashed it away in an ammo pouch, and turned, looking around with only mild suspicion. "Not much to see out here." He paused. "Never had dealings with a Jedi before." He picked up the Child and put him in the satchel. "Let's head into town. See if we can pick up a lead."

It was a fairly long walk, but this was to be expected. On unknown planets, they often landed the Razor Crest far away, almost tucking it protectively out of sight. Normally, the Child didn't mind this. It always meant that he would get a ride in the satchel, or better yet be held in his father's arms the entire time. However, he was not partial to the smoky air here. It stung slightly.

The Child squinted. He sneezed loudly, spooking one of the nearby beasts. He then felt the cape glide in front of his face, acting as a barrier against the air. He looked up at his father, who he could just barely see around the fabric.

"I analyzed the air quality as we landed," his father explained. "It's breathable and safe, but some areas are better than others. The town is one of them." He exhaled tensely. "What the hell even happened here?"

The Child only cooed in response. Then, he felt his own ears perk, as if he'd heard something, but there was nothing. Or, at least it seemed that way. As they walked, he periodically moved the cape away to get a better look at their surroundings. He still saw nothing, but he felt it. A sort of cool warmth. Welcoming, but defensive. Kind, yet reserved. He knew it was nearby. He just didn't know whether it was coming from the environment, town, or elsewhere.

As they approached their destination, his father's demeanor changed. His shoulders squared, and his fingers flexed at his sides. The town was surrounded by an imposing wall that towered over the treeline.

The Child cooed with uncertainty.

"Yeah," his father muttered. "I know." He repositioned the cape, and also positioned his arm in front of the satchel, subtly and protectively, concealing most of the Child.

The air didn't sting here, and yet something wrong and horrible still clung to it.

Despite the many homes, families, and the small marketplace, the town was destitute and oppressed. The people that lived in it were being controlled by a Magistrate and her forces. She even had civilians strung up in cages, forced to stand indefinitely in order to avoid electrocution against the bars.

The entire time they were inside those walls, Din's cape or arm was in front of the satchel as often as possible.

For all his bravery, even the Child understood how horrible this place was, and would sometimes tuck himself deeper into his hiding place. Din was fine with this, wanting him to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He also wanted to be inconspicuous, only needing to get in there, ask around for a possible lead to a Jedi, and then leave.

Almost as soon as he was deeper within the town, the Magistrate wanted to see him. He complied, and some guards led him to another set of gates. Within it was some sort of palace or villa, possibly the only high-end place for miles. The Magistrate owned it. She wasn't a leader, or even a politician. She was a dictator, as well as a negotiator. And she had somehow acquired a staff made of pure beskar.

She also had a Jedi problem. And she wanted Din to act as pest control for her. If he killed the Jedi, she would hand over the beskar.

Din was a reasonable person, even with his ruthlessness. Although he considered beskar to be precious, and undeniably belonged to Mandalorians only, he preferred mutual trades over taking something by force. That said, the situation right now was different. He wasn't here for beskar.

He was on this planet, looking for a Jedi, for the sake of his foundling.

Though the staff was morbidly fascinating – it was traditionally frowned upon to craft beskar into a lethal weapon – it wasn't his priority.

As he inspected it, he felt the Child shifting apprehensively against his side.

He then handed the staff back to the Magistrate. "Where do I find this Jedi," he asked, humoring her.

She smirked a little, most likely thinking she was successful in employing him. She beckoned for one of her guards. "Lang," she said to a tall man with short hair. "Advise the Mandalorian on where he needs to go." Then, her eyes smoothly cast towards Din's left side, where the satchel was. "Do show our…guests the way out," she added, enunciating the plural, and causing Din to flex the fingers of his left hand.

In a place like this, it always heightened his anxiety when someone took notice of the Child like that, especially those with higher ranks. That said, it wasn't like Din could hide him completely. The people of this town had probably already taken notice, even before entering the villa. This was inevitable. And it was also one of the reasons he'd double-checked his ammo before leaving the ship. Just in case.

He followed Lang through the town. On their way to the main gates, Lang gave him the coordinates to where the Jedi was most often sighted. It was a large and vague area, and he knew that he could be looking for hours.

They stopped outside the walls of the town so that Din could get his bearings before leaving. From the satchel, the Child babbled a little. He was only partially concealed. Din had yet to move his arm or cape out of the way completely, and he wouldn't until they were well away from this place.

Lang gestured towards the satchel. "What is that thing," he asked.

The Child's eyes narrowed in what could only be described as an exaggerated scowl.

If that was the case, Din almost snorted at the sass. Instead, he kept his tone curt and sardonic, hoping it left no room for further questions. "I keep it around for luck," he said. Just like the Child, he was also getting tired of people asking him what 'it' was. He was clearly a baby, and how people didn't see that was beyond him.

Lang stared at Din. "You're gonna need it where you're headed."

Din only glanced at him. And he walked away into the smoky forest, leaving the town – and the beskar staff – behind.

Eventually, the Child burbled. Din looked down, and watched him leaning back in the satchel. His ears drooped a little, and he released a deep exhale.

Seeing this, and also seeing that they were well away from the town, Din allowed his shoulders to relax. He had no idea when he'd balled his hands into fists, but he uncurled his fingers. Comfortingly, through the material of the satchel, he rested his palm against the Child's shoulder. A coo resounded, and large eyes stared up at him.

"I didn't like that place either," Din said.

He looked towards the sky, at the blurry sun sitting beyond the dead trees and branches. They had some ways to go until they reached their next destination, possibly not arriving until late evening.

They had a Jedi to find.

That town had been a horrible place. From within the satchel, the Child had heard the people crying from pain and despair, could see detached emotion on the droids' and guards' faces, and he easily saw the cruel smile of the Magistrate. He was glad they had left.

The further they got from town, the thicker the forest got. And the sky was getting darker and darker. Evening was approaching. Judging by the ash in the air that partially blocked the sunlight, the night would most likely be pitch black.

The Child looked around at the looming trees that surrounded them, and he listened to the hushed quiet of the dead forest. He felt no fear, though. Instead, he felt like they were being watched. Again, though, no fear. The cool warmth had returned. He just didn't know what was causing it.

His father held the rifle in one hand as they traversed. He walked with sure steps, but not arrogant. He wandered, knowing very well that he was playing it by ear. The Child often sensed this from him during their travels, and found it strangely comforting. Also thrilling.

"Well, these are the coordinates," his father said, causing the Child to briefly look up at him. "Keep your eyes open. We must be close."

There was a rustling that echoed all around, and his father stopped in his tracks. The Child tilted his head curiously, trying to figure out where it came from. Someone was watching them, not something.

"You hear that," his father asked. A moment later, he slowly took the Child from the satchel to set him on a scorched boulder. "Don't worry," he comforted. "Sit right here. Let me see what's out there." His father brought out the scope, and he muttered something about a false alarm.

Two beams of white light shot down from the sky, directly over top of his father. They were as bright as stars, and the Child blinked against it, listening to the sudden sounds of fighting and weapons colliding with beskar.

In front of his eyes, something flashed rapidly. Like holo-images or messages.

Beams of colored lights. Blaster shots bouncing off them.

Otherworldly humming.

…Screams.

The Child blinked, his ears pinning down flat on his back for a long second before he forced them to go neutral. He ignored the strain in his lungs, no idea what that even was. The images he just saw weren't what was currently happening.

He needed to focus on the fight his father was dealing with. He needed to help if necessary.

The white lights were weapons, and they were being wielded by a cloaked figure, with reflexes that rivaled a Mandalorian's. His father blocked every hit with his gauntlets, clangs and hums echoing.

The Child flexed his fingers, but he didn't raise his hand. He tilted his head from side to side. The wielder of the lights was fast and strong, and while her attacks were aggressive…This was where it was coming from; that feeling of kindness, of warmth.

He lowered his hand, but didn't take his eyes off the fight. The stranger knew how to hold her own. He would protect his father if it came down to it, but he hoped he wouldn't have to.

His father tried to use his flamethrower to keep her at bay, only resulting in the cloak falling off of her. He then switched to the whipcord to wrap around her waist. Effortlessly, she leapt upwards, several feet into the air, letting the line tangle around a branch.

The Child was amazed. He had never seen anyone jump like that before! She didn't even need a jetpack!

She used the beams of light to cut through the line around her waist.

His father reached for his blaster with one hand, and his other hand was raised towards her in a gesture of peace. "Ahsoka Tano," he exclaimed. And it caused the fight to grind to a halt.

She stared at him, stance ready, and eyes vicious.

"Bo-Katan sent me," he panted from exertion, and took a yielding step back. "We need to talk."

Her eyes glinted starkly off the lights. Suddenly, she saw the Child. Her mouth parted in surprise, jaw almost dropping.

The Child raised his hand, and waved good-naturedly at her.

She looked at Din, eyes slightly wide. The lights retracted into the hilts of her weapons as she straightened out of her fighting stance. "I hope it's about him," she said.

The Child cooed. While his father holstered the blaster, Ahsoka walked forward. A second ago, she was ready to fight for her life. Now, she walked calmly towards the Child, as if she didn't have an aggressive bone in her body. Her expression was neutral as she stared at him, eyes relaxed while she analyzed him closely.

His father stood directly beside her, trying to see what she was seeing.

The Child looked up at Ahsoka. He tilted his head again, calmly not breaking eye contact with her.

Then, a small smile appeared on her face, but it was beneath tired eyes. The Child thought that, perhaps, she just needed to rest. It was getting late after all, and it had been a fast battle. Although, over the decades, he'd seen tired eyes like these before, on many other people, such as warriors and soldiers.

She clipped her weapons to her sides and knelt down. The action wasn't abrupt, but it seemed to upset his father for a moment. He took a swift step forward, almost getting in between the Child and Ahsoka.

Just as he had done during the fight, Ahsoka showed him one of her palms, and she looked at him out the corner of her eye. "I'm just trying to get a read on him," she explained.

He glanced between her and the Child. "Meaning?"

She sighed through her nose, and gave him a slightly impatient grin. "A reading on who he is." She looked at the Child again, and her smile softened. "He's been doing the same for me since you two arrived here." She snorted lightly. "Thought I felt something earlier. That was you, wasn't it?"

The Child burbled. He hadn't meant to reach out to her. How did that even happen? How did he do that? Should he not have done that?

Her smile widened endearingly. She shook her head, conveying that it was fine, and that there was no need for any type of apology.

The Child looked sharply at her, the tips of his ears pointing straight up as he froze. Did she…She just responded to him. But she didn't use speech! He didn't use speech. She spoke to him in a way that no one ever had before.

Ahsoka nodded in confirmation.

The Child cooed loudly in astonishment, in wonder.

His reaction seemed to catch his father off guard. Not understanding, it caused him to take another step forward. This time stepping almost completely in Ahsoka's path. His shoulders were tensed suspiciously.

Ahsoka's smile faded, and she stood up, her unwavering attention on his visor. She crossed her arms. "You've been searching for me," she said simply.

"Sort of," he said. "Bo-Katan told me where to find you. We've been looking for a Jedi."

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. She shook her head a little, as if a couple different thoughts just spanned through her mind. "Normally, I'd ask why. But I guess the answer is sitting on that rock."

From on top of said rock, the Child cooed.

His father nodded. "Yes," he grunted.

"I see. Well," she breathed, and took a long glance around, searching for something. "Follow me."

His father nodded once, and went over to the Child, who lifted his little arms to be picked up.

She led them away from the area, far away, as if she thought it wasn't completely safe there. Maybe that was why she made the first move during the fight, if she thought she had to defend herself. For a while, the Child stayed in his father's embrace, but was eventually moved to the satchel. On the way, they made minimal conversation, but were quiet for the most part. His father was alert to their surroundings, and Ahsoka was leading them through an intricate trail that had no visible markings.

It was nighttime now. And shadows danced around gnarled branches.

Ahsoka glanced back at him. "Not much further now," she informed.

She soon stopped next to a log. In front of it on the ground was a lantern, which she lit up. "The Child and I will converse here," she said. "We'll need silence for that." She then pointed a couple dozen feet away, to a ring of boulders. "Wait there for us."

His father hesitated, causing Ahsoka to narrow her eyes at him. He explained. "We've only been on this planet for less than a day, and it's already proven to be more than we bargained for. If it's not safe here...I'm his protector," he finished, hoping that would sum everything up.

Her features went neutral. "I know what you mean," she said. "What's happening here is horrific. But you've seen what I'm capable of. I won't let anything happen to him." She paused. "And you'll be within earshot, should he need you."

His father stared at her for many moments, fingers flexing at his sides. Eventually, he made his decision and removed the Child from the satchel. He set him down on a boulder, in front of the lantern. He did this very slowly and carefully, as if debating on changing his mind.

The Child mumbled a little, unsure why he was hesitating.

Ahsoka sat down on the log. After a sure nod from her, his father walked away. Although, he stopped close by, not exactly where Ahsoka indicated. But she seemed satisfied that it was far enough.

"Alright," she said to the Child, and tucked her hands beneath her cloak. "Let's talk." She paused. "Judging by how surprised you were, you don't know how to speak through the Force."

The Child tilted his head.

"Do you know what the Force is?"

He babbled a little. He'd heard people mention that word before. 'May the Force be with you,' they would say. But its meaning was lost to him, if he'd ever heard its meaning before. Although, whatever the Force was, it seemed mystical, given how Ahsoka had communicated with him earlier.

Mystical. Like his abilities.

He looked down at his claws. He held one of his hands up and squinted his eyes, but he didn't do anything. He was only asking her, hoping she'd understand.

"Yes," she nodded. "Technically, that's the Force. But that's only a small part of it. For now, focus on communication. You're already doing it. Don't worry too much about words, and just focus on me."

He lowered his hand slowly. He understood what she was asking, but he just didn't know how to do it.

"You'll figure it out," she said. "Tell me about you. Where did you come from?"

That question was simple enough, and Ahsoka waited for him to answer. She said to not worry about words, and focus.

He fell silent and thoughtful. He'd never really talked to anyone before, at least not in the way she was expecting. He had to figure out how to tell her about the settlement on Arvala-7, and the old pram that housed – imprisoned – him for so many years. He mumbled a little, anxiety and claustrophobia gripping at him. It was where he was from, but it wasn't much, and he really didn't want to think more about it.

A troubled and alarmed crease appeared between Ahsoka's eyes. Then, he felt something against his mind, a soothing warmth. Like the soft glow of the lantern.

He burbled his thanks. It seemed like he'd been successful after all.

Ahsoka sighed. "What about your home," she asked.

His ears perked a little. Also simple, and a much better topic. The Razor Crest.

The sadness in her eyes lifted away, and a chuckle huffed in her throat. But she shook her head. "I mean your home world."

Oh. Well, he didn't have one. He and his father travelled everywhere. There was no planet they called home.

The amusement Ahsoka had exuded was replaced with confusion, and concern. She frowned, almost apologetically at what she was going to ask of him. "I want you to go as far back as you remember," she requested.

The Child hummed. It was a tall order. There was so much, and yet so little he could tell her. His life had been a long one so far, but he could only remember small portions the further back he went.

"Tell me whatever comes to mind," she suggested. "You decide what to say. And I will listen."

He…did as she asked, but it was with a lot of difficulty. Right off the cuff, it was tiring for him.

He recounted his time in the settlement, with a little more detail, but he did so hastily. There really wasn't any significance in those memories anyway. He tried to go even further back than that, but he wasn't sure what were memories and what were nightmares. They felt one and the same to him, time eating away at their lucidity.

He had been on Nevarro for a very brief time, years and years ago. He was surrounded by the cold stares of scientists and Imperials, their harsh hands manipulating him this way and that. But he wasn't there for very long. Nikto mercenaries had somehow found him, and his pram. Next thing he knew, he was at the settlement for the next stretch of years, possibly decades.

But long before that…The only thing that came to mind was Coruscant. Or, at least the place seemed to mean something to him, but these memories were very hazy, like static on a cracked screen. It was a sprawling city, dazzling lights and tall structures that seemed to touch the sky.

It was either a windy day, or perhaps he was high above the city. Blasters firing, too. Beams of humming lights. These were small details that were important. Extremely important, like he needed to remember all of it. And yet he understood none of it. And…

And…

And a shiver jolted his nerves.

Quickly, he brought his hands in close to his body. He dug his claws into his tunic, his abilities crackling at the tips of his fingers. But he couldn't use them. He had to leave Coruscant. He must protect himself. Need to hide. From something. From everyone.

But there was nothing there, not anymore at least. For some reason, he didn't want to think about that place anymore. He shouldn't think about it. Whatever had happened on Coruscant was long ago. It wasn't happening now.

He blinked rapidly.

He was on Corvus, not Coruscant. He was speaking to a Jedi.

And his father was nearby. He could hear his boots against the ground. The familiar noise was so inexplicably calming to him. He inhaled and exhaled sharply, the action burning his throat and lungs. He whimpered, sagging, placing his palm on the boulder to keep himself upright.

Ahsoka listened intently, to everything that had just flashed through his mind.

The Child could feel it, the way her silent attention was focused solely on him. But her expression was extremely stoic and tense. He hadn't expected the bombardment of his own panic, his fears that he could scarcely even recall. And he got the impression that she also wasn't prepared for any of that.

Although whatever happened on Coruscant frightened him terribly, the beams of light didn't. They were similar to the ones that Ahsoka had. He held up both of his hands, trying to mimic the way she had held wielded them. He was hoping she would allow him to see one of them. Their humming and starkness were more dazzling than scary. While they definitely startled him, they were also bright and brilliant and mesmerizing.

She gave a long exhale, clearly relieved to be discussing something else. She glanced away, in the direction of his father, who still paced. Her smile was despaired, a residual from what the Child had just told her, but her response to his silent question was mildly amused. And the Child got the impression that it was best to leave the weapons aside for now. His father might not take kindly to it.

The Child realized that was all he had to talk about. Coruscant, and then Nevarro, and then the years trapped in the settlement. That seemed to be the timeline, bleak as it was. As far as he knew, that was his past.

And every instinct, every fiber of his being, told him to leave the past where it lay.

Ahsoka nodded, exuding that she understood.

He muttered apologetically, knowing that he couldn't tell her anything more about it if he wanted to.

And she nodded again. "Don't worry," she said softly, speaking up for the first time in minutes. "I think I can fill in some of the blanks."

He pointed at Ahsoka, cooing a question. He wanted to know more about Jedi, and who she was. To his surprise, she shook her head firmly, her jaw clenching for a split second. She jutted her chin towards him, urging him to keep going.

He glanced around, unsure what more she wanted. His eyes landed on his father, looking at him for the first time since their talk began. He was only a little far away, with the light of the lantern just barely reflecting off of the beskar from this distance. A dull light flickering in the darkness. He was pacing between clearings and trails, slowly, with all the time in the world, and not once looking away from the conversation currently taking place.

The Child looked away from his father to stare thoughtfully at Ahsoka, asking her to elaborate. Unless she wanted to know about his more recent memories. Those were easier, images that were crisp and clear in his mind. His distant memories were not happy, or filled with anything worth remembering, but his recent ones were vastly different. Only some were bad, like angry Imperials, hungry spiders, and fangs the size of speeder bikes. However, most were good, like the speed of hyperspace, a cozier pram, or the reparation of their home. Or taking a nap against a shiny pauldron.

These were only a few memories and instances, and they were all priceless to him. He trilled contentedly. During these rapid and random recollections, Ahsoka continued to listen, face neutral and calm. She occasionally tilted her head, or managed a small smile that was sometimes sad.

It was at the mention of beskar that she broke eye contact to glance at his father. She had a question, one that held obvious hints of suspicion, before she turned her attention back to the Child.

He recognized the trepidation, as most regarded his father in such a way. He remembered first meeting him – he would not soon forget it for however long his life would be. The way the pram opened, allowing strong light and fresh air to surround him. That day was the start of something that the Child could never have anticipated.

It was the start of his freedom.

The freedom to be curious and explore what he could. The freedom to call out, to babble, and express his opinions on things. To finally traverse the galaxy, with someone who cared for him and calmed his fears and worries.

After the settlement, he was no longer alone, and his world kept getting bigger with every passing day.

Ahsoka's smile was large. But the glint in her eye wasn't one of mirth. It was still very sad, of perhaps her own memories that she couldn't share. He also sensed relief from her, her suspicions of his father's presence assuaged.

That was good. And unfortunately, that was all the Child had in him. He glanced down at the ground, blinking slowly and tiredly. It didn't exactly feel like he'd been using his abilities – the Force – to talk to her, given how easy it was for him. But he definitely had been with how drowsy he felt. He exhaled heavily.

Her smile never faltered, and she leaned back a little, patiently waiting for his cue.

Weakly, he lifted his arms and asked, staring up at her.

She straightened up, and lifted him into her arms. She stood there for a moment, glancing contemplatively between him and his father. Perhaps it was because he was too tired, but he suddenly couldn't read her thoughts. Her face, however, told another story. It was stoic again, and very haunted, but for only a second until it vanished. She nodded once, mostly to herself.

She picked up the lantern, and she walked towards the circle of boulders. The Child could hear his father following them, his boots slow and at a respectful distance as they crunched quietly over the dead leaves.

Din paced. And he paced, and paced. His steps were slow and calculated, as if sizing up a bounty and planning accordingly from a distance. He couldn't settle. His foundling was far away – at least what he considered to be far – and sitting directly in front of someone who'd attacked them less than an hour ago.

This was a Jedi. This was the Child's people. But she was also a stranger, and a Mandalorian enemy nonetheless. He would allow them their meeting and to have it privately, but he would not leave the Child alone with her.

And so he paced. Not only to intervene at a moment's notice, but to also keep himself busy. His nerves were both frayed and frazzled. He had been searching for a Jedi for months now. And now that he'd found one…How the hell was he supposed to feel about it?

At peace? Fulfilled? At one with the Creed?

He felt none of those things. And that had to be the most frustrating part of it. Apart from waiting impatiently, that is.

He also paced because…Nothing was happening. Ahsoka said that she and the Child were going to talk. While he'd heard talking from her earlier, now there was nothing. The forest was quiet and still. The only thing that occasionally broke the silence was small babbling from the Child, which he could just barely hear from where he was.

Every now and then, Ahsoka glanced his way. He could tell by how her head turned against the darkness. These looks never failed to make the hair of his neck prickle, as if he had his back turned to another hunter. Though she didn't strike him as such, she was a warrior nonetheless. Lethal. It made him both defensive and respectful of her.

It made him wonder how much of his apprehension was justified, and how much of it was his protectiveness of the Child. He'd always hoped he would never allow this instinct to cloud his judgment, so he stayed back and merely observed.

Also, every now and then, the Child would look towards him. That was the only thing that would make him stop pacing, if only for a moment. He was waiting for the Child's cue, should something with this meeting go awry. While the Child was certainly naïve at times, he wasn't prone to overreactions, and Din was glad for that. As a result, his fingers never twitched towards his blaster.

Ahsoka stood up, causing Din to stop pacing completely. She stood there, the Child held securely and gently in her arms. She only spared Din one or two glances. Nearly all of her focus was still on the Child.

Seeing this, Din took a deep breath, allowing most of the tension to finally leave his body.

They landed on this planet for a reason. To find a Jedi. To find someone that not only understood the Child, but would also care for him.

Ahsoka picked up the lantern, and walked towards the circle of boulders.

Din followed calmly. He wasn't sure whether his mission was complete. All he knew was that it was now his turn to speak to her, and that his instincts were telling him that she could be trusted completely. He followed that instinct.

Ahsoka and the Child sat down, but Din stayed standing, watching an odd sort of exchange. The Child was muttering to Ahsoka, pausing occasionally, like breaks between sentences. Ahsoka nodded at him.

"Is he speaking," Din asked, awe whispering into his voice. "Do you…understand him?"

Ahsoka paused to warm her hands beneath her cloak, and shrugged slightly. "In a way," she answered. "Grogu and I can feel each other's thoughts."

…

…It took a full moment for what she said to register.

His question came out in an astonished breath. "Grogu?"

The coo the Child made was that of surprise, which was not how he reacted to Ashoka saying it. He turned almost his entire body towards Din. His ears faced forward in a way that Din couldn't remember seeing before, both attentive and surprised. His eyes were wide and bright as he stared up at him.

"Yes," Ahsoka confirmed. "That's his name."

The Child blinked slowly and serenely at Din, before looking away.

All children deserved to be called something, to have a name to who they were. It was why Din always called him the Child, with the knowledge that he had to call him something and to not leave him nameless.

The word was catching in Din's throat, a word that he felt compelled to repeat. He needed to repeat it, not just for his sake, but for the Child's. It deserved to be heard again. "Grogu," he said.

The Child –

No. Grogu responded again the exact same way. A surprised coo and ears raising adorably. His tiny hand came up a little, as if he wanted to reach out for something. Din was frozen to the spot. The knowledge of his name was simple, only a single word, and yet it was enough to render him speechless.

He'd had a name. All this time. And Din never knew.

And Ahsoka, a Jedi, was the one to tell it to him.

He snapped his attention towards her, silently asking for more information and hoping that she had it. If she'd learned his name, then certainly she knew more than that.

He didn't have to verbally ask her. She dove right into it. "He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant," she said. "Many masters trained him over the years. At the end of the Clone Wars when the Empire rose to power, he was hidden."

Din slowly sat down, listening with rapt attention.

"Someone took him from the Temple," she said. "Then his memory becomes…dark." She paused. "He seemed lost…Alone." Then, she looked at Din, very specifically, as if he was the conclusion to this story.

Din slowly looked away, towards Grogu, whose eyes and ears were drooping. Din hadn't seen him using his powers, but the way he was slumped over was proof of that. He was practically falling asleep sitting up.

"I've only known one other being like this," Ahsoka said. "A wise Jedi master named Yoda." Grogu cooed, looking at her, trying to stay awake. She chuckled quietly. "Can he still wield the Force," she asked Din.

Din was thoughtful, almost not understanding the question. "You mean his powers?"

"The Force is what gives him his powers. It is an energy field, created by all living things. To wield it takes a great deal of training. And discipline."

"I've seen him do things I can't explain." He looked at Grogu, whose eyes were now completely closed. Perhaps he'd used the…Force to talk with Ahsoka. If just doing that was exhausting to him…Din put his attention back on Ahsoka. "My task was to bring him to a Jedi."

Ahsoka looked away, the light of the lantern intensifying the shadows over her face. "The Jedi Order fell a long time ago."

Din felt a slight flash of annoyance, not wanting to accept hesitancy from someone of her obvious caliber. "So did the Empire," he said. "Yet it still hunts him." He paused. "He needs your help."

Which was Din's way of saying that they needed her help. He could gladly take care of any Imperial that came their way, but he was no fool or martyr. If the Jedi could help him protect Grogu, and that the kid could be taught how to use his powers, then that was what he wanted.

Ahsoka was quiet for a while, looking at Grogu or the ground. Her breathing was controlled, deep and steadying. There was a battle right in front of Din that he couldn't quite see, and he got the sense that it was none of his business. But he would not leave or waver, not until Ahsoka agreed to keep the kid safe.

Grogu cooed softly – yet fitfully – as he slumbered.

Ahsoka sighed. "Let him sleep," she said. "I'll test him in the morning."

From beneath his helmet, Din's brow rose. "Test?"

"It's nothing strenuous," she said. "I need to gauge where he is with the Force. And then I'll decide from there."

He nodded once. "Thank you." It didn't feel like progress, but coming from her it sounded like it. Her words and her entire being held conviction that was hard to come by.

She stood up. "You two have come a long way, haven't you?"

"That's an understatement," he said.

Her smirk returned, but only slightly. She pointed at Din as she stood. "Good thing I didn't kill you, then."

He snorted, or scoffed, one of the two. Not like he was too offended. Most people tried to kill him.

"We should all rest," she said. "On Corvus, the days are long, but the nights are only a few hours. If one of us sleeps in, we'll meet by that gully."

She turned and walked away. She disappeared through the forest, her dark cloak mingling with the sooty air and causing her to vanish. Or was that the nature of the Force.

Din didn't sleep that night. Instead, he sat on the ground, his back against a rock. His foundling now slept in his arms, his snores the only noise for possibly miles. Din looked out at the forest, the thermal imaging in his visor activated, scanning for any potential threats. If this area was the Jedi's lair, far from the coordinates Lang had given them, then it was doubtful there would be any intruders. Still, he didn't want any interruption, or anything bad to potentially happen out here, especially when daybreak arrived.

Din sighed. "We did it, kid. We found you a Jedi." There was a shifting in his arms, causing him to look down.

Grogu muttered in response to whatever dream he was having. He blinked blearily, struggling between rest and awake. He soon looked up at Din.

Din shrugged. "You should go back to sleep. Ahsoka wants you to rest. I'll keep an eye on things."

The cape was wrapped around Grogu like a blanket, and he worried the fabric between his claws. Bedtime for the kid had always been a stubborn ordeal, but never unmanageable. He would fall back asleep eventually. However, Din realized he now had the opportunity to say something.

He stared down at the infant in his arms. The same one that he'd found almost exactly a year ago, locked in a pram amongst cargo, nameless and treated like a bounty.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "Hi, Grogu," he greeted.

The kid babbled. The ear that wasn't hidden by the cape twitched dramatically. And then he settled again, burying his face against Din's ribs as his breathing evened out.

Din's hold tightened around him. For the first time in what felt like years, and although no one else could see it, he allowed himself to smile.