Watto is older and grizzlier than he was during my last visit to Tatooine. He has lost the quickness of wit that once saw him enter a bet with Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. The Toydarian flaps, lop-sided, in confusion until he recognises Anakin. The boy who raced to freedom. The boy become man, over whom Watto no longer holds power.

There is a fierce glint in Anakin's eyes as he asks after his mother, and I notice his robotic arm hovering beside the hilt of his lightsaber. In my mind, I catch a glimpse of a young girl with that same fire in her eyes and my own dark hair, chin raised in defiance.

Shmi's family welcomes us into their home. Anakin winces as Owen introduces himself as brother. I wonder what it must feel like to walk into your mother's home and find it unfamiliar. Cliegg is kind to us, tells us a story that sets my heart racing. I clasp Anakin's hand beneath the table, hoping no one notices.

I want to go with him. Want to help him find her. But a Senator, even one trained in combat and travelling incognito, should not risk themself by walking right into a camp full of Sand People. It seems the Lars family have all given up; but Anakin is strong enough to handle this alone.

Following him out of the hovel, I catch his hand and pull him into an embrace. "Be careful."

He mounts a borrowed speeder bike and jets away. I watch until he is a speck on the horizon, then return indoors.

Beru offers me refreshments, but I cannot stomach them, knowing where Anakin is going. She tilts her head perceptively. "Need something to do? I've got a whole bunch of cabbage to pickle if you want to help. Working with your hands is a good way to take your mind off things."

"Yes, thank you. I would love to help," I tell her.

We strip and chop cabbage, mash spices into a paste and submerge the vegetable in a myriad of flavours. "Not many tasty vegetables around here," Beru remarks. "We've got to add our own flavour. Plus, it keeps better this way, for months when crops are sparse."

"Did you always want to be a farmer?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No. I used to think I'd be a pilot. Born and raised on Tatooine, the stars are the most enchanting thing and I always wondered what it would be like to fly among them." Her cheeks flush red. "But then I met Owen. He loves this place, and I can't imagine my life without him. Moisture farming is much better suited to raising a family than hurtling through hyperspace for a living. I would rather put down roots."

A vision comes to me of a small sandy-haired boy knee-deep in sand, staring up at the night sky in awe, and I place an unconscious hand on my stomach.

"What about you?" Beru eyes me knowingly. "How did you and Anakin meet?"

Hurriedly returning my hands to the work of pickling cabbage, I cast about for a way to tell a small kernel of truth without the whole story. "We are old friends."

She laughs. "Yes, old friends definitely look at each other the way you two do."

"It's a long and complicated story that I would prefer not to tell."

"Pickling takes a while; we have time," she says. We are both silent for a moment. "I take it you aren't a farmer."

I start in surprise. I wear the garb of someone who lives on the desert planet, but Beru does not seem convinced. "What gave me away?"

"Your hands. You can wear rough clothes all you like, but your fingers are callous-free. You clearly don't work with them."

I smile despite myself. "You're very observant."

"There isn't much to entertain around here, so I make a point to notice as much as possible."

"What would you guess that I do for work?" I ask, curious.

Beru pauses in her pickling to size me up. "I think you use your voice."