When Din began to wake the next morning, he hadn't the faintest clue where he was. He felt he was floating in a cloud of fragrant herbs and dried flowers. He could discern light, but it was softly diffused, and it rippled gently. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, and in the background, he could detect the aroma of frying meat. He groggily felt beside him and felt only soft fabric and the crackle of dried rushes. His mind, somewhere in the ether between sleeping and waking asked, Where's Grogu? He was certain that Grogu should be right beside him, that was where the child was when he laid down, but the slight imprint in the sleeping tick was empty. Grogu's missing, said the still-sleepy part of his consciousness, and then his eyes snapped open, and he lurched to his feet, shouting, "Grogu? Grogu!"

"He's right here, Bounty Hunter! Frith save us!" Din blinked a couple of times, still trying to acclimate his mind to his surroundings, still groggy. He turned to the voice to see Marathel standing at the fire, holding a frying pan in one hand and a wooden spatula in the other. Grogu was on her chest, cozily ensconced in a large wrap that Marathel had tied around herself, eating what appeared to be a cracker. "I woke up to find this one curled up against me, the cheeky little devil. And now he's dropping crumbs down my bodice, thank you very much. Oh, may he eat fruit?"

Din rattled the helmet on his head, still not quite awake. "What?"

Marathel tilted her head with a smirk. "Bounty Hunters are not morning people?" Din grunted in response as he tried to shake off the dark curtain that had wrapped itself around his leg. Marathel turned back to her counter. "Now there's . . . wait . . . I thought I had more bread than that." Din fell still. Late last night, when all was quiet, he simply could not help himself and had absconded with another hunk of bread that he ate furtively over the dry sink. He came over to the table, feigning casualness. "You need not cook for me."

"It is already done," replied Marathel, holding a plate in his direction. Fried meat, some sort of cereal cake, dried fruit. "I can give Grogu his while you eat." Grogu, for his part, did indeed look cheeky as he snuggled against Marathel's bosom. And there were tell-tale crumbs on the fabric of her green and grey layered tunic, as well as the scoop of pale skin that was above her neckline. Grogu turned his head to look up at her, and Din watched Grogu's large, petal-shaped ear drag softly across her skin. She smiled down absently at Grogu, and then looked back at Din, brandishing the plate. "Take it. Go. Eat." Din snapped out of his reverie, took the plate, and returned to the curtained cubicle without a word. Marathel shrugged and sat down, her back to Din to give him privacy. For a while, all Din heard was the clink of utensils and Marathel speaking softly to Grogu as he enjoyed his breakfast. Din felt distinctly uncomfortable as he quietly and quickly ate. She had given him privacy – in fact, she was pointedly ignoring him – but she still felt too close. He replaced his helmet as quickly as possible and stood to return the plate – but for a moment he watched her from behind his curtains as she stood and lifted Grogu out of the wrap that had held him against her. Grogu cooed and smiled at her, and then belched mightily into her face. Marathel squinched her face up tight and gave a little cough, saying "Goodness." She then looked into Grogu's eyes, took a breath, and belched right back, adding an ending soft blow of breath that ruffled Grogu's hair. Grogu squealed with laughter. Din almost laughed himself. He stepped out and placed his plate in the dry sink. "Sorry about that," he said.

Marathel chuckled. "No worries. All the children growing up together, we all learned silly things."

"I'm not good at teaching manners."

She plunked Grogu back in Din's arms. "Oh, I suspect you do just fine." She began filling the sink with water to wash dishes.

Din wiped Grogu's chin. "If we are to stay here for the next few days, I should go back to the ship for supplies."

"So, you did come here by boat."

Din looked at her back. "No. I came by ship."

She shrugged. "Boat, ship."

Okay, now we're back to this shab, thought Din. "Where did you think I came from?"

"Somewhere far away. I've never seen anyone like you."

"Far away, yes. I came from Nevarro."

"And where is that?"

"A planet about five days from here by hyperspace."

Her head snapped around at this, her hands dripping with water and holding a cup. "What are these words? Planet? Hyper . . . Hyper . . . "

She has to be taking the piss, Din thought. "Hyperspace. I flew here."

Her face broke out into laughter. "Flew here? I've never heard of such a thing." Din simply stared at her. Finally, her smile fell, and her cheeks colored. Turning back to the sink, she stammered, "I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't learn anything like that at the Hold. You must think that I'm . . ." Her voice trailed away, and she went back to her dishwashing with vigor.

Din decided that she was neither taking the piss, nor was she mentally deficient. She simply didn't know. Her frame of reference was so limited. What was it that she said? Girls didn't learn things, but the boys did. That seemed like a sad state of affairs to Din, who had a limited education himself, but at least he grew up equal to all the other children in the covert. Without thinking further, he asked, "Would you like to see it?"

"See what?"

"My flying ship."

Her hands fell still. "Where is it?"

"Near the Hold. In a flat field beyond the trees near the gate."

She nodded. "I know where you mean. I do have things I need to trade at the Hold. Give me a few moments, I will go with you." Marathel finished up the dishes and disappeared into her curtains, emerging a moment later with a fresh over tunic and a wrap. Din dragged his basket of weapons down to the steps and began to replace them on his person, feeling much less naked with every piece. Marathel gave him a withering glance, and then climbed on the table, reached up and collected bunches of dried herbs and flowers that were hanging there. These she put in her gathering bag, which she wore across her body. Hopping down from the table, she came to the steps. She gestured to Din, who was clipping on his jet pack. "Really?"

"Always be prepared."

"What are you expecting?"

Din simply shrugged to that, and then placed Grogu in his own bag. He looked down at her bare feet. "Don't you need shoes?"

"No, I do not." With that, Marathel stepped down and began walking briskly away to the rocky field and the path Din had followed the day before. Din followed and caught up with her as she paused to pick up a number of rocks from the ground. She put the rocks in her pocket. He thought about teasing her about her choice of weapon and then decided that she was prickly enough. They walked in silence for a long while, listening to the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Her feet made no noise at all, and if the gravel was hurting her feet, she gave no sign. Soon, they were crossing the grassy field before the switchbacks that led up, when Marathel paused and gazed out into the distance. Din stopped as well and looked out in the same direction. "What is it?"

"The Dahls."

"I don't see anything."

"Wait." After a few moments, Din heard yip-yip-yeh noises in the distance, and then a Dahl reared up some distance away from them. The Dahl kicked out with his back feet, launching a second Dahl into the air. Another Dahl joined the fray, and two of the creatures fended each other off while standing on their hind legs, barking their high-pitched yips. Marathel's lips curved into a small smile. Grogu watched with fascination at the large creatures.

"What are they doing?" asked Din.

"Showing off." She turned and continued on the path.

"How many were out there?"

She stopped and gazed out over the field. "Twelve or fourteen, I think. I'm not sure. There are only two out there that I've bonded with."

"How many have you actually bonded?"

"Originally, six." Marathel began walking again.

"And how did that come about?"

She took a breath and stole a glance at him. Her hands went into her sleeves. "I was younger then. I was changing but I was still in the kitchen. A basket of eggs had been brought in the day before. Diwhyn Olba - she raised me, and she was a Whyn then – kept me there even though I was changing. The next night, I kept hearing crying. It wasn't like a baby crying, or even an animal I knew, but the crying was keeping me awake, so I went to where the fires were. The eggs were kept in a clay pot near the fire to keep them warm, and that was where the crying was coming from. So, I spilled out the whole pot of eggs. Six of them hatched right in front of me, and they stopped crying immediately and tried to climb into my gown. I put all the rest of the eggs back and ran to the cooler room to feed the hatchlings – they're hungry when they hatch, you know – but Diwhyn Olba found me. She was so furious with me! I thought for sure she would strip my hands, but I told her I had to, because they were crying. It was that same night that she . . . she took me out of the Hold and took me to the old herder's hut, where I live now." She fell silent.

They continued to walk. By now they were at the switchbacks, and they had to walk single file. Marathel took the lead, her head down, her hands in her sleeves. Din watched her walk, her hips swaying back and forth in that way that only women walk. Finally, he asked, "How old were you? When you left the Hold?"

"How old? I don't understand those words."

"Your age, how many years?"

"You say many things I don't know. I was changing at the time, so I was not a child, but I wasn't a Whyn yet. Does that make sense?"

"How long have you been living at the hut?"

"Oh, I don't know. Many seasons, many cycles of the Luad Dycwingen." Din considered these words. She kept saying changing, so he assumed that meant she was an adolescent when she bonded with the Dahls and was brought to the hut. How long ago that was, he couldn't tell, as he didn't know what the moon cycle was. Her hair might be silver, but he'd been around long enough to know that hair color didn't dictate age. How long had she been alone?

By this time, they'd come to the top of the switchbacks between the two large boulders. Marathel stopped short, as if reluctant to go further. Finally, she said, "The Hold is just ahead. Go before me and go directly into the trees. I will follow." She stepped against the boulder to let him pass, and he followed her directions, waiting in the trees. He watched as she slowly stepped up to the level ground. Then she rushed forward, dropped her bag, knocked on the door in a complicated pattern, and then rushed into the trees to hide. They waited. Marathel watched from behind her tree, a nervous hand tapping on the smooth bark. After a couple of minutes, the gate opened just enough for a woman wearing a faded red gown and a full-face veil to come out. The woman exchanged the bag Marathel had left for another one. The woman looked out into the trees, and she must have seen Marathel, as she raised a hand in a small wave. Marathel returned the wave, and the woman disappeared back behind the gate, closing the door. Marathel waited for a few moments, ran to collect the bag, and hurried back into the trees. For a few moments, she leaned her back against a tree, breathing hard – not from exertion, but panic – with her eyes closed. Din waited silently. Marathel made an effort to slow her breathing, and she opened her eyes to see Din watching her. Looking away, she dashed the tears off her cheeks and walked past him. They walked again in silence, until they were interrupted by the chatter of the same kind of furry creature that had startled Din when he had first arrived. They both stopped walking. Marathel spotted the critter in a tree. She kept her eye on the furry thing and reached into her pocket. Din whispered, "What is that?"

"A dycwingen," she whispered back.

"That's . . . not a rabbit."

She chucked a stone right at the critter, beaning it between the eyes. It fell to the forest floor. "Whatever it is, now, it's dinner," she said, collecting the carcass. Grogu chattered in approval, and she stroked his furry little head, accidentally brushing her fingertips against Din's hip. She pulled her hand back quickly, and Din pretended to not notice.

A short while later, they finally reached the clearing where the Razor Crest was parked. Marathel came up short, just staring at the ship. Din watched as she crept closer, tilting her head this way and that. She finally got close enough to reach out a tentative hand. "Don't touch that," he said, more sharply than he had intended. Her hands went immediately into her sleeves. More gently, he said, "This way." He led her to the side of the ship, and he opened the ramp, which slowly opened with a loud grinding noise and a blast of steam. Marathel jumped back about 3 meters at the sound. Once the ramp was opened, Din walked halfway up, turned, and reached out a hand to her. "Come on. It's okay." Grogu also called out to her with his babble. Eyes wide, Marathel approached, and lifted her bare foot to tentatively set it on the ramp. Feeling the metal under her foot, she looked at Din. "The ramp might be slippery for you. Take my hand." Slowly, she reached out, and he took her bare hand in his gloved one. She swallowed and bit her lip but allowed him to assist her up the ramp. She let go of his hand as quickly as she could, and then stared at the ship's interior. Her eyes could not possibly get any larger as she turned around and around, looking at every surface. Finally, she asked, "This thing flies?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Din couldn't help it; he was smiling. Her bewilderment was charming, somehow. "There are these propulsion engines, and they . . . " Marathel continued to gape. "It . . . just does." He gestured to the ladder that led to the cockpit. "Come on up." He climbed the ladder. She climbed up after him, and he again gave her his hand to assist her. Once she was off the ladder, he dropped her hand immediately and lifted Grogu out of the bag and into the captain's chair. "Watch this," he said, flipping the switches that brough all the controls to life. The ship responded with a loud hum. Marathel felt the vibrations through her feet and into the center of her, and she grabbed the co-pilot's seat with a small shriek. The controls all came to light, which seemed to startle her even more. She gripped the chair until her knuckles turned white, and she cried out, "Stop it! Stop it, please!"

Din immediately killed the engines, holding out a hand towards her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

She still looked panicked. "I'm all right, I'm sorry . . . Just . . . let me out."

By this time, Grogu had climbed into his pram, which floated out of the cockpit and into the main part of the ship. This startled Marathel all over again, and Din had to talk her down the ladder. She ended up sitting on the floor in the cockpit to get on the ladder, reaching out with an impossibly long leg just inches from Din's face. When her feet were finally on the floor, she rushed down the ramp, her feet sliding on the last few feet, launching herself about 2 meters away. The pram floated down towards her, which she stared at with confusion as Din said, "Just wait there. I'll be right out." He spent a few minutes collecting some supplies for himself and Grogu. By the time he had battened down the ship and come down the ramp, Marathel seemed much calmer, and was on the hands and knees on the ground, waving her hand under the floating pram. Sitting back on her heels, she said, "Well, I'll be."

"it's useful."

"It's clever, is what it is." She stood back up, brushing off her knees.

"All you all right?"

She nodded. Her head went down, her hands into her sleeves. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If it's something you're not accustomed to . . . it can be frightening."

She looked up at the ship again. "It's . . . so cold."

"I do have climate control on the ship."

"No, it's . . . just . . . cold." She was obviously struggling for the words but decided not to continue. "Let's go back this way. I don't want to go by the Hold again." She turned away and began walking. Din followed, with the pram in tow.