CRACKLE, CRACKLE.
POP!
The flames sent sparks shooting to the stoney ceiling of their shelter.
Heavy rain pattered against the soft earth and luscious plantlife.
Millions of little droplets dripped from the top of the cave's entrance, collecting into a clear, drinkable puddle at the bottom. The sweet smell of pine and moss filled Qui-Gon's nostrils and made up for the cold, uncomfortable dampness in his robes. And a faint rumbling of thunder peppered the otherwise quiet atmosphere.
Thanks to Obi-Wan's quick-thinking and skill with animals, a kkraon dragon had swooped in to the rescue. It had carried them far from their pursuers and hid them in the thick underbrush of the Irenic-Ironia Sector, a peaceful, isolated system inside the Outer Rim.
War had once ravaged the system to the point of near extinction. Most of the sentient inhabitants had either fled or died. Now all that remained were scattered villages, vast forests, mountain ranges, oceans, and its vast variety of creatures. Such as the majestic lizard quadruped Obi-Wan had summoned through the Force.
The kkraon had the body the size of a speeder and the wingspan of two shuttles with four lengthy tails that worked like lengthy thumbs and extra mouths for hastened feeding. It was known for its ability to camouflage with any environment and its uncanny intelligence. And while it wasn't strong or mighty like some of the other vicious creatures on the planet's food chain, it could outsmart any predator given the right circumstances. It was smart. Scarily so. Hence, it was almost a pity to see it go. But Qui-Gon could sense the growing restlessness in its wild, animal mind. Even Obi-Wan saw the necessity before Qui-Gon mentioned it.
Qui-Gon observed as Obi-Wan bid farewell to the sleek colorful kkraon. With one hand resting on its long, muscular jaw, Obi-Wan tenderly plucked out each individual thorn the creature had picked up on their hurried flight to safety, Force-healing what he could of the glaring wounds lacerating its quivering body. Then the kkraon flew soundlessly away, leaving Obi-Wan standing alone in the rain. He stared after it, his tunic soaking, before he sighed and kicked at the mud. Moments later, Obi-Wan turned back toward their shelter, blushing sheepishly when he realized he'd been watched. Qui-Gon smiled at him and nodded in approval. Satine witnessed the event too, finally having stirred from her trauma-induced slumber.
Head wrapped in strips from Qui-Gon's outer robe, her arms were wrapped around her legs and her chin rested atop her knees as she smiled fondly at the Padawan. Obi-Wan smiled back.
Their soft murmur of conversation hummed in the cave as Qui-Gon listened to the two teens converse. It wasn't the typical heated debate over politics or passive-aggressive teasing he was used to, but a quiet discussion about light topics. The kinds of things most people their age would discuss. They brought up the issue of bounty hunters several times, but Qui-Gon dismissed it, claiming they were safe for now. Obi-Wan had flashed him a few dubious looks, but hadn't pressed the topic, for which Qui-Gon was grateful.
It was soothing listening to them. Well…almost.
Anxiety trickled in the back of Qui-Gon's mind. There was still the matter of getting off the planet. They had no ship and no direction to the nearest village. And there were bounty hunters combing the area for them. The fire was a risky luxury, but Qui-Gon felt it was worth it.
Gradually, the fire died to embers, the white glowing ashes cooling to smokey husks. Qui-Gon decided now would be as good a time as any to discuss the matter at hand.
But, exhausted as they were, the two teens were sound asleep. They were out cold, the events of the day, and even months, finally catching up to them. They needed this.
So Qui-Gon quietly tended to his torn up calf instead.
The blaster bolt had taken him by surprise, nicking him just as he had boarded the shuttle. And he had promptly fallen, body slamming into the bumpy metal docking platform. Obi-Wan, ever faithful and eager to help, had hurried him to his feet as Satine fired up the engines.
Embarrassing, but deserved. He should've sensed the blaster bolt coming.
Blood seeped from the burnt area and a swollen redness inflamed his calf. Qui-Gon winced as he put pressure on it, but, due to the amazing pain tolerance that comes with being a Jedi knight, it felt no worse than a sprain. A small hunk of the flesh had been torn off, but he had managed to hide it from Obi-Wan and treat it adequately considering their sorely lacking supplies. It was a miracle the Padawan wasn't awake fretting over it, apprehensively waiting for Qui-Gon to keel over.
Qui-Gon sighed at the thought. Attachments. An ever present struggle for a Jedi. It came and went for his Padawan. But now he sensed it was worse than ever. He could see the conflict in his Padawan's blue-gray eyes, in his furrowed brow. When was a Jedi ever free of the struggle?
His thoughts were interrupted by a—
SNAP
—of a twig somewhere nearby.
Qui-Gon paused and straightened.
Another twig snapped and bushes rustled. Qui-Gon squinted at the overshadowed forest, but it did no good. It was too dark out. Quietly, he reached out through the Force and was instantly affronted by a frigid terror. He blinked rapidly and retracted, his mind tingling with someone else's shocking fear. A barely audible whimpering followed suit, from behind the bushes.
"Hello? Who's there?" he called out warily. His steps squelched in mud and rain matted his hair as he cautiously approached. Another whimper. It sounded young, fragile. Qui-Gon's heart warmed with sympathy. He pulled back the branches and peered in. He found himself staring into the wide-apart, amber eyes of little reddish-brown Mon Calamari girl. She froze, staring up at him in such sheer terror, Qui-Gon felt slightly unnerved. Qui-Gon lowered himself to his knees to be eye level with the young one. But this seemed to jerk her into action. She yelped and burst into a sprint, fleeing deeper into the forest. Qui-Gon cast an exasperated glance toward Obi-Wan and Satine, figured they'd be fine, and then jogged after her.
Branches tore at his clothes, skin, and hair. Sweet Force, the girl was fast. He hopped over a stream and chased the glimpse of the reddish-brown Mon Calamari. Finally, after what felt like miles later, the girl ran out of endurance and huddled inside of a log, trapped. Qui-Gon slowed to a stop, panting slightly.
"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you," Qui-Gon soothed, kneeling next to the log. "My name is Qui-Gon. What's yours?"
The girl looked frantically from left to right. "I…I…can't…I…."
Oh, thank the Force she speaks Basic. Qui-Gon wasn't familiar with the native tongue of Irenic-Ironia. Perhaps she could lead them to a village nearby.
"It's alright," Qui-Gon assured her. "Do you have any family around?"
"F-family?" she stammered. Her eyes brimmed with tears, her hands shaking. She shook her head vehemently. "I miss them. Can you take me home?" she asked hopefully. "Please, sir. I'm lost. They…they…they took me…."
Qui-Gon frowned. "Who took you?"
"They–they did," she sobbed, pointing a finger behind Qui-Gon. She yelped and lunged for Qui-Gon's legs, wrapping her arms tightly around them. Fear racked her boney, thin body, but her grip was intense. Qui-Gon shifted to see what she pointed to.
A shadowy figure emerged from the thicket. It was entirely black, an apparition floating above the ground. Red balls of…something sizzled where its eyes would be. Then there were two of them, then four, then eight, until they were everywhere, surrounding them. Either it was an illusion or somehow they could multiply. The Force screamed the dark side. Qui-Gon's hand immediately flew for his 'saber.
But before he could ignite it, there was a whooshing sound. The figure washed over him, its darkness surrounding him and blinding him. "Mine," it hissed. Cold, invisible arms wrapped around his arms, chest, head, everywhere. A deep chuckle from many voices at once echoed in his ears. "Mine."
Qui-Gon's nostrils flared as he swung his lightsaber blindly at the threat, careful to keep the laser blade away from the little girl. But it was to no avail. The 'saber would slice right through it harmlessly, as if he was striking at air.
He tried to scream, but no words came out.
"No, no, no, no, no, no," the Mon Calamari cried frantically. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! They made me! They made me! I swear!"
Screwing his eyes closed, Qui-Gon forced himself to focus, to remain calm. There is no fear, there is peace. There is no fear, there is peace. And with the focus of many brutal Padawan years, opening his training bond with his Padawan, he roared three words searing into the boy's mind.
Attacked. Many. RUN