"How much?"

Greef chuckled. "You won't believe it."

"Try me."

"167 Ossum Aurodium coins."

"You're full of shit."

"I won't argue with that, but that's what the man says, as far as we can tell. He's using a language that we don't recognize. I've run it through all the translators that I have at my disposal, and it sounds like 'Dooch ay mi mara thel ay ur dal red woor.' That's why no one's touched it, that and the Aurodium. No one thinks it's a genuine bounty. And the fact that the system is so far off the maps it's not even on the Empire's radar."

"What's the name of the system?"

"Unmanarall."

"Never heard of it."

"No one has. But it has … sketchy coordinates. It's way out there …. 4 or 5 days by hyperspace. Perhaps more."

"Is there an image of the target?"

"No."

"No?"

"Technically speaking, this bounty didn't even come through the guild. It was a sub-space message on a really broad broadcast. The message starts with "Bounty Hunter", and then the "Dooch ay mi" whatever. Over and over. So, I downloaded it to a puck, but that's all I have. Take it or not, I don't care. It's probably not even as worthwhile as a blue milk run, but it would get you and the kid out of town, and you might find something interesting."

"Or I waste all my fuel and my time and come up empty."

"Challenge of life, my friend."

Djarin stood unmoving for a long moment. This trip would probably be nothing but folly, but the fact was he was bored and Nevarro was getting on his nerves. Greef had been continually teasing him regarding a tract of land to "retire" and raise the boy in some sort of pastoral contentment. Grogu really should be in training at the cloister with the other younglings, but Djarin hadn't been able to bring himself to do that, much to his dismay. "Content" was a word that he was struggling with, and the terms "mercenary" and "aurodium" had a much stronger pull. Djarin took the puck off the desktop and plucked Grogu from the spinning chair. "Ret'urcye mhi."

"Right back at you, friend."

- Day One -

The trip was long and uneventful, closer to five days than four. The coordinates that he had – which were indeed sketchy – seemed to take him to the actual outer edge of the Outer Rim. There were a couple of rocks in this system, revolving around a mediocre yellow sun, and one of them was an insignificant blue-green ball with a small moon, and that seemed to suit the purpose. Djarin deftly maneuvered the Razor Crest through the outer atmosphere and through a thick cloudbank to reveal a large landmass with a brilliant blue sea, many river tributaries, and a mixture of mountains, rocky plains, and dense forest. It was the same as a thousand other planets in the galaxy. What he didn't see, though, was the sign of established life. No cities, no towns, no farms … not even a castle keep tucked into the crook of a mountain pass. He began a heat signature scan and immediately found that the planet was full of critters, but nothing that seemed be of a humanoid nature, not that he knew if whom he was looking for was even human. He had listened to the scratchy message on the puck over and over and didn't hear any more than what Greef had told him.

'Dooch ay mi mara thel ay ur dal red woor.'

He knew a smattering of some other words in some old languages, and of course Mando'a, but the words that he knew didn't make any sense when he used them to attempt to translate the message. The furthest he got was "cranial tit ovary" and he decided to leave it there.

'Dooch ay mi mara thel ay ur dal red woor.'

He had even played it for Grogu a few times, but the child made a face, as if he didn't care for the tone of voice on the recording, and then bit the puck.

'Dooch ay mi mara thel ay ur dal red woor.'

The planet itself was fairly small, so he continued his scan. This was probably nothing more than a waste of time after all, but he had to admit that the big blue expanse of ocean was an amazing sight. For a planet beyond nowhere, it was pretty. Lush. Quiet. Then there was a series of beeps from the scanner: it had found a partially metallic set of structures that resembled buildings. A further look showed bipedal heat signatures.

"Strap in, Grogu, I think we found where we're supposed to go."

As the Crest approached, the tiny fort came into view. From above, there were two large buildings: one round, about three stories tall, and a long flat building. A large yard separated the two, and the entire area was surrounded by a tall stone wall. A large garden occupied part of the yard – this had people working in it - and a small river tributary came through the walled section. Small, but fortified well. There seemed to be no space for any kind of craft to land, and as he brought the Crest over the yard, the people looked up, and then scattered back into the low building. There was no sizable flat area to land his ship adjacent to the fort, so Djarin was forced to touch down some clicks away. After locking down the ship's systems, Djarin checked his weapons, slung his familiar bag over his shoulder, and settled Grogu into it.

Coming down the ramp, Djarin took in a breath of air – clean and cool, with no hint of pollution. That was a change. He ambled through a copse of tall, thin trees, the sunlight dappled through the leaves. Stepping over a low shrub, he disturbed a small furry creature that shot out from under his feet, scurried up a tree, and then hissed at him. Startled, Djarin took a step sideways, cracking a stick underfoot, which in turn set off a covey of some sort of brightly colored bird-creatures, their flapping wings sounding like a hurricane. Djarin watched them go. Grogu pointed and cooed, entranced.

"Well, it's at least a nice place, huh, kid?"

Stepping out of the trees, he could see the fort not far away, past a rocky area with tall grass. As he got closer, he got a whiff of salt air from the ocean. Yes, this was a pleasant place indeed. Coming up to the enormous wooden doors, Djarin pounded on them to announce his presence.

No answer. Djarin pounded again, waiting for a face to appear at the small slit in the heavy doors above his head. But all was silent. He even tried to pull on the doors, although he was certain they wouldn't open – the manner in which the people scattered out of the garden as he flew over was evidence that they weren't accustomed to people just suddenly arriving. He listened at the door and heard not a sound.

Djarin stepped back to consider the doors and his situation. He could not confirm that he was at the correct fort, much less the correct planet. He had no name of a contact or a mark, or even the knowledge of having a mutual language by which to communicate. Technically, he had naas. Haar'chak. Grogu blew a raspberry, almost as a response. Djarin absently stroked the child's head and turned away from the doors. Gazing out over the rocky field, Djarin thought he could see a small footpath that led between two larger boulders. Going to it, he peered between the two boulders and confirmed it was indeed a path. Following it, he started down a series a switchbacks that led down the rock face to a lower grassy plain. Here, the path was less visible, but there was enough grass disturbance that he was able to follow. This led through another section of trees, thicker this time, but the path remained. Coming out of the trees along another rocky ridge, Djarin was calculating how far he'd come when a stone the size of a gorg egg careened off the rocks near his head. He immediately stepped back behind the ridge, removing his blaster while placing a protective hand in front of Grogu. He waited. Nothing. Waited some more. In time he peered around the rock face, and another stone whizzed toward him, this time pinging off his helmet.

"I DON'T HAVE TO MISS."

Djarin ducked behind the rock face again. A small stone, to be sure, but with good accuracy. "I BELIEVE YOU."

A few moments passed. "WHO ARE YOU?" A feminine voice. Slightly shaky. Definitely frightened.

"A BOUNTY HUNTER."

Another pause. "WHAT IS THAT?"

What the shab? "WHAT PART DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?" No response. "LISTEN. HOW ABOUT YOU PUT DOWN YOUR ROCKS, I PUT DOWN MY BLASTER, I COME OUT THERE, AND WE TALK TO EACH OTHER?" Nothing. Djarin stowed his blaster, gently pushed Grogu down into the bag and put his empty hand out to show her. "SEE? NOTHING." Still no response. He moved slowly out from behind the ridge, exposing his other hand, free of weapons. No stones yet, so this was going well. He continued to move slowly towards the direction of her voice, and then saw a low, flat roofed, open-sided building against the rock face opposite. The structure was raised above the rocky ground, and the roof was thatched with braided grass. a thin line of smoke came through a small metal chimney that rose from the roof. Near the far side of the building, he could see a figure, standing stock-still. As she stood in the shadows inside the structure, He could only see her bottom-half, wearing some kind of knee-length tunic over loose calf-length pants. Her feet were bare. He came a little closer, and she immediately shifted sideways, raising what appeared to be a short spear to her shoulder. Djarin stopped moving. "I thought we were putting our weapons down."

"You said rocks. This is a stick."

Djarin almost chuckled. "Fair enough."

She shifted again, with the stick masquerading as a spear still at the ready. She had come forward a bit, out of the shadows. She was tall, and he couldn't tell her age, other than that she was not elderly and certainly not a child. Her hair fell over her shoulders and was a dark silver not unlike the color of his beskar. Her eyes were wide, and her jaw was set with a look of murder. They stood off, motionless, for a few moments, and then she said, "Who are you?"

"Like I said, I'm a Bounty Hunter."

"And that is?"

"I find people."

She shifted the stick again. "Are you looking for me?"

"I'm … honestly not sure." He slowly reached into his bag and pulled out the puck. She took two steps forward and raised the stick higher. He put his hands in front of him again. "Let's … lower the stick. Listen to this." He set the puck to play the message. "Bounty Hunter. Dooch ay mi mara thel ay ur dal red woor." At the sound of the voice coming from the puck, she gave a small shriek, dropped the stick, and backed up as far as she could. The message played again, and this time her face contorted into panic, and she pressed her back so hard into a low set of shelves that she pulled herself on top of them.

"That's The Bishop's voice! How is The Bishop's voice in there? What is this thing?"

Djarin stopped the playback. "It's a recording." She shook her head in confusion. "Can you tell me what The Bishop is saying?"

The woman opened her mouth, closed it again, and then dropped her eyes. "The Bishop is saying …. Bounty Hunter …. Bring me …. Marathel and the Dahlrhddwhyrs."

"All right. Good. Can you tell me what that means?"

"It means me. I'm Marathel."

"Okay. Marathel. Who are the Dahl …. Dahl-reddeth-woors?"

"Well …." She looked to her right. "Those are. Those are the Dahlrhddwhyrs." Djarin looked to where she was pointing, expecting to see more people who looked like her, but instead seeing a pack of quadruped creatures that were chest-high to him. Their gray skin was stretched tight against their skeletons, with enormous sets of teeth, black eyes, and long talons on their three-toed feet. They clawed at the ground, softly snarling. Djarin immediately put his bag into a protective position, drawing his blaster on the creatures. The woman ran forward again, shrieking, "NO! STOP!" At the sound of her voice, the creatures growled, turned, and galloped off towards the foothills past the building. Grogu, annoyed with getting bounced about in Djarin's bag, poked his head out to see the Dahlrhddwhyrs bound away. The woman gasped and immediately retreated to her perch on the counter. "What is THAT?"

Osik, what a jumpy woman. Djarin stowed his weapon again, sighing. Having had enough of this face-off, he said, "This is Grogu. He is my …. companion." Grogu babbled a bit at the woman, and her face softened.

"Your child, then?"

"After a fashion."

"Not your natural son?"

"He is a foundling." The woman gazed at Grogu with a small smile. Shab, I should just carry the kid around like he's armor. He's better at deescalating than anything else I can do.

The woman nodded. "That makes more sense. His ears, your helmet …. it doesn't work."

Djarin blinked. Did she just …. make a joke? The two stood off again, staring at each other. Finally, Djarin gestured towards her. "You are this … Marathel, then."

"Yes."

"And this … Bishop wants both you and these Dahl-reddeth things?"

Her face colored and she dropped her eyes. "The Elders do, yes. Well, not those Dahlrhddwhyrs. They want the eggs."

"Those things lay eggs?"

Marathel raised a delicate eyebrow. "Of course, they lay eggs. What else would they do?"

Djarin tilted his head and considered her. She put her feet on the floor again, walked closer to the steps, and stood tall and haughty. For the first time, he noticed that her best feature was in fact her skin … It was as fair as any skin he had ever seen, with an almost blue cast to its paleness. Her face was pleasing enough: her eyes slightly tilted, her nose straight, her lips full and well-shaped. He stepped forward himself, but she didn't move this time. He raised his foot to rest on one of the steps that led up to the platform. She glanced at his foot, then raised her eyes to where she supposed his eyes would be. "I was correct in assuming that was a weapon?" she asked, gesturing towards his hip.

"Yes."

"What sort of weapon?"

"A blaster."

"What sort of thing is that?"

Djarin could not wrap his head around this conversation. Was she taking the piss or was she mentally deficient? "It …." He searched his thoughts for a frame of reference that this woman could understand. "It shoots out fire and makes things blow up."

Marathel furrowed her brow slightly, as if she had been bitten by a tiny insect. "Well, then, Bounty Hunter, and …. Grogu, of course," she said, gesturing towards the child in the bag, "my home may not be much, but you will not bring your weapons into it. Leave them on the steps."

Djarin smirked beneath his helmet. "But you have a stick and some rocks."

Marathel arched her eyebrow again, but a hint of a smile curved her lips. "Don't make me use them."

Djarin stood stock-still for a long time, challenging her to make some sort of move, or to say something. She did neither. Finally, he removed his blaster and the holster, laying them on the steps. He then removed his smaller blaster, removed both vambraces, the vibroblade, and the force whip. Last, he removed the straps that held his jetpack, and laid it next to the rest of the weaponry. He then stood at the foot of the steps, looking up at her. Finally, she said, "You needed all that to come here?"

"It helps to be prepared."

Marathel blinked a couple of times at the arsenal, and then asked, "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"The child?"

"Always."

"Come in, then, Bounty Hunter, I will make something for him." She turned away to make her way back to the open hearth, where a small pot hung over the fire, and several earthenware pots sat on the hearth. Djarin reached into the bag, pulling out Grogu, settling him into his arms. Grogu looked at Marathel, and then back at Djarin. His large eyes softened, and then he pointed at Marathel. Djarin took a breath, softly said, "Okay, then," and ascended the three steps into Marathel's home.

The Mandalorian is owned by Disney, Inc. Marathel is an OC.