They walked along in silence for some time. Din wanted to ask her more questions, for every question Marathel answered, she inspired two or three more. Din had never been this curious about another person, much less a bounty – those he preferred to know as little about as possible - but this woman was something else. There was her obvious aversion to the Hold, which wasn't all that surprising. It didn't sound all that great to him either. Strict demarcation of gender roles that centered around adolescence: Child to Change to Whyn to Diwhyn for the girls, then what of the boys? Boys to Change to . . . Elder? Din waited until he saw Marathel dip her head to nuzzle Grogu's fuzzy hair as he floated along beside her, then asked, "How many Elders are there?"

She sighed and straightened. "There are four. The Bishop, The Captain, The Duke, and The Hunter."

"The Bishop is in charge? The most important?"

She was silent for a moment. "I suppose."

"It's always been the same four men?"

Marathel shrugged. "As long as I've known them, yes. Diwhyn Olba told me once that The Hunter used to be a different man, but a boy who changed to a Cyilogg replaced him as a Bryddwr when she was a child. Then he was named The Hunter."

"Does he hunt, this Hunter?"

"No, of course not. He is an Elder Bryddwr."

That struck Din as odd. "What happens to the boys when they change to Cyiloggs?"

"They go to the Round Building."

"And the Whyns?"

Marathel stopped walking and turned to Din, a frown on her face. "Do Bounty Hunters always ask so many questions?"

He came up to her and stood close, looking only slightly down into her eyes. "No."

Her brow furrowed as she tried to see his eyes within his visor. She had the feeling he was making fun of her somehow, so she deflected. "Let's go this way. I want to check the gorugellys." She turned to climb a small hill. At the top of the hill stood a grove of tall, straight trees about 30 meters tall. He heard her breathe, "Oh, no." She took off at a jog to the edge pf the grove, and then stood with her hands on her hips. "They've already picked them." She kicked her feet at the piles of leaves at the bases of the trees and picked up a bright orange fruit that looked broken open. She smelled it but dropped it in disappointment.

"So, what are these gorugellys?"

"A wonderful fruit, my favorite. I saw they were just about ripe a few days ago, and I knew I had to come back soon, but they've been picked by the Hold already."

Din looked up to the treetops. "There are still quite a few up there."

"I can't climb that high. And they split open and rot if they fall to the ground." She sighed. "I'll just have to wait until next season." She began walking back down the hill, stroking Grogu's ear as she passed him. "Sorry, Grogu, no gorugellys for us." Din briefly considered just jetting up there and picking a few, but again, he figured that she had already had enough technical surprises for one day.

They continued back down the grassy hill, but then Marathel veered off towards a large growth of brambly bushes. "Aha! They didn't take the ddrynin fruit!" She dropped her bag and began pushing her way into the thick brush. The branches had some very large thorns that caught on her clothes, and they must have scratched her, as Din heard her softly say, "Ow, ow, ow." He watched her hand reach up through the center of the bush to pluck clusters of small, deep-purple-colored berries. She launched the berry clusters into the air towards Din, shouting, "Bounty Hunter! Catch!" He managed to catch all the fruit without dropping any - gedet'ye, naas wadaas, he thought - and then he held back a few branches to make it easier for her to get out. Marathel brushed some errant leaves and twigs from her clothing and said with a laugh, "I wasn't thinking. I should have sent you in there, Bounty Hunter with armor." As she put the fruit clusters into her bag, Grogu gave a plaintive whine and held his arms out to her. "What is it, child?" Grogu pointed to a deep scratch on her forearm and floated closer. "It's just a scratch, sweet, it's nothing." Grogu softly touched his little clawed hand to her injury, stroking her arm lightly. Marathel felt a warm sensation on her forearm where it had just been stinging with the scratch, and then . . . nothing at all. Grogu floated away with a chirrup. Marathel had looked up at Din, confused, and she dropped her eyes back to her arm. The scratch was gone. Din sighed and waited for the inevitable exclamations. Marathel looked to the child with wide eyes, then back to her arm, took a breath to say something, and then . . . simply exhaled. "Bwthy nybwd," she breathed.

Din stood with his arms crossed. "Yeah. He does that."

Marathel looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "What a . . . useful thing." Turning away, she dropped a kiss on the top of the child's head, exclaiming, "Aren't you clever, too! Thank you, sweet." Din, nonplussed, considered the continuing oddness of this woman. Spaceships scare the living shab out of her, yet Grogu healing her wound gets only mild surprise? Why did that annoy him so much? Marathel suddenly stopped short, saying, "What the . . .", turning her gaze across the rolling hills of tall grass. "Why are they running?" A few feet before her, a herd of Dahls leapt from the tall grass, thundering across the path and down into the rocky valley. She turned her head to the mountain that was behind them. Her eyes filled with fear. "Oh, no."

"What is it?"

"Mist!" Marathel began moving. "Grab Grogu! RUN!" She took off, following the path of the Dahls. Din plucked Grogu out of his pram without question and ran after her. She ran straight and fast, charging down into the valley, preferring to leap over small boulders instead of changing direction to run around them. Din finally recognized where they were: they were coming up to the far side of her hut, by the latrine. At least they were close, he thought, as Marathel looked behind him in panic and put on another burst of speed. She jumped the stream and leapt up the steps of the hut, skidding to a halt on her knees at her sleeping tick, throwing her bag across the platform. "Does your helmet close? Keep out air?!" she shrieked. She flipped over her sleeping tick and grabbed a pile of fabric, scrambling to her feet.

Din joined her on the platform, clutching the boy. He looked behind him to see the blue-grey Mist swirling over her rocky yard towards the steps. What good is this open place against that? he thought. "Yes, it seals!"

"Do it!" she cried, wrapping a long length of soft knitted cloth around Grogu's nose and mouth. Din reached up to seal his helmet, but by now the Mist was swirling around Marathel's bare feet. She ignored it and unfurled the larger piece of heavier, close-woven tarp. The Mist stirred up and she began coughing, and her feet were turning red.

". . . Your feet," began Din, but she ignored him and wrapped Grogu up in the tarp, surrounding him in a protective cocoon.

"Never mind me, make sure this is wrapped around him!" Her breath got more and more ragged as the Mist climbed higher and higher. Wheezing, she seemed satisfied that Grogu was sufficiently covered. Her hands and face were now turning red, and Din looked down to see blisters forming on the tops of her feet. She looked up at Din, pulled up her tunic to cover her nose and mouth, and curled her free arm around Grogu, tucking her head against the heavy fabric covering him. Din flipped his cape over his shoulder, attempting in vain to cover her, and wrapped his arm around her tightly, pulling both Grogu and Marathel against his chest. She was tall enough that she had to only dip her head slightly to fit comfortably under the bottom lip of his helmet. Din listened to her wheeze and cough while the Mist continued to swirl about them. Grogu chattered in annoyance, tightly wrapped as he was. He didn't appear to be wheezing, which relieved Din. The three stood there for an interminably long time, and finally Din asked, "When is it safe to come out?"

Marathel coughed deeply. "The Mist will settle down to dust . . ." She was wracked with another spasm of coughs. ". . . but it's best to wait . . . until the birds start singing again."

They waited. Din's arm remained tight around Marathel's back, feeling each of her rattling breaths against his bicep. Marathel kept her ear to his beskar chest plate, thinking that she could hear his heart beating, although it was probably her own blood roaring in her ears. In time, the nearby birds began their peeping. Marathel pulled her head away from Din's chest, and he released his grip around her, lifting his cape off her head. "Be careful," she rasped. "Don't let the dust fall on Grogu." She pushed away from Din, quickly moved to her shelves and located some cloths, which she soaked in water from the closed reservoir. Din began carefully unwinding the tarp from Grogu, who was now complaining quite loudly at being handled so roughly. Marathel returned with wet cloths to help Din, and they managed to remove the tarp. Marathel pulled the wrap off Grogu's face and began gently washing his face with the wet cloths, disregarding her own discomfort and inability to draw a full breath. In her other hand, she clutched a bunch of dried leaves, which she was shoving into her mouth and chewing. "He should be fine, but just in case . . ." She forced a tiny morsel of the leaves into Grogu's mouth, covering his mouth with her hand to make him swallow. Satisfied, she lurched away, staggering down the steps, chewing another mouthful of the leaves.

Din released the seal on his helmet. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Din disagreed with that; there were now small blisters on the backs of her hands and near her hairline, and she continued to wheeze. "Just take care of Grogu . . . clean the dust . . . from your armor . . . so it won't touch his skin. . ." Marathel stumbled into the stream, falling to her knees. Din moved to the edge of the steps, realizing what she was trying to do: rinse the dust from her exposed skin. She had crammed the remainder of the leaves in her mouth, and she was scrubbing water into her face and hands, as she furiously chewed and swallowed the leaves. He heard her mutter "Yffyrn agef", and she submerged herself completely in the stream. After a few moments, Marathel lifted herself to her hands and knees, sputtering, and then sat back on her heels, finally able to breathe. She weakly pushed her hair off her face and just knelt in the stream for a moment before falling to her hip.

Grogu chirped, and Din turned to see that the floating pram had finally caught up with them. Quickly wiping the dust off the closed lid, Din opened the pram and placed Grogu in it, so he could go see to Marathel. She had gotten to her hands and knees again and was slowly crawling back up the bank to sit on a rock on the edge, keeping her back to him. Din tried to not notice that her soaking wet, woven clothing now hugged her like another skin. He stepped down to her, putting a hand on her back. "All right?" he asked. She nodded weakly with a wave of her arm, attempting to push him away from her. She took a deep breath, then another, and then she slid off the rock to her knees, leaned over the rock, and vomited violently. Din immediately took a step back, turning his face away, closing his eyes with a grimace. Osik, it had to be vomit. He did not handle vomit well. Blood, entrails, whatever, he could slice a bounty lengthwise and show them their own lungs, hell, he could handle Grogu's backside blow-outs better than he could handle vomit – and he had had to handle quite a few of those while they both figured out what was appropriate for the child to eat.

Marathel's back arched as she vomited again. Din opened his eyes, which fell on Grogu in his pram. Grogu pointed at Marathel, saying that little word patu? that he said quite often. Din sighed and sat down on a rock next to Marathel, reached over, and gently pulled her wet hair off her face to hold it back as she continued to vomit. In between bouts, she would mutter, "I'm okay . . . I'm okay . . ." after which she would promptly vomit again. Din kept his face turned away so he wouldn't be able to count the vertebrae that stood out from her spine as she hugged the rock, or the way her pants were rucked up over her long, strong thighs, or how her wet tunic clung to her ample backside. After what seemed like forever, Marathel settled back on her heels, put her head in her hands, and groaned.

"All done?"

"I think so." She groaned again. "Better out than in."

"The leaves? Those get the Mist out of your system?" he asked. She nodded weakly. "I'm not looking for your toenails in that mess."

She chuckled weakly, a single hoarse bark of laughter. "You can let go of my hair now." Din tried to let go, but it was wet and tangled around his glove, so that took a moment, eliciting an "ow" or two from Marathel before getting up to search out towels from her myriad of baskets. Finding the largest towel he could, he came back down the steps and draped it over her like a cape. "Come on," he said, gently gripping her upper arms and pulling her into a standing position. She groaned again and kept her face in her hands. "Is Grogu okay?" she asked.

Din said, "Yeah, he's fine." They both looked over to the child, who grinned happliy at the two of them, just as he spit up a bit on his robe, still grinning. Marathel laughed a bit as Din sighed again. He kept holding her arms as he helped her up the steps. "I'll take care of him, you go . . ." She ignored him and staggered over to her loom and uncoiled her woven "calendar" rope, counting bits of yarn again. Dismay filled her face as she breathed, "Oh, no . . ."

Oh, dank ferrik. "Now what?" asked Din. "Hordes of Jawas? Blood-thirsty dycwingens? What?"

She covered her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes. "I knew . . . I knew the Mist would be coming today, I had counted it out, but I forgot . . ." She was weeping fully now, and she fell to her knees, crawling over to Din's feet. "I'm so sorry, I'm SO SORRY . . . I put the baby in danger!" She sat up on her heels, head bowed low, but holding her hands up flat to Din, palms up, sobbing. "I beg your forgiveness, please!" As she continued to weep, holding her hands up for her presumed punishment, Din looked closer at her hands. Across the palms and the pads of her fingers were multiple fine lines, latticed back and forth across the flesh. They would strip her hands, he remembered her saying. He felt angry at someone who would purposely hurt her, especially as a child, and even more especially her hands, which were strong and marked by a lifetime of hard work, but still soft enough – he assumed – to make fine fabric as well as comfort and protect his verd'ika. He dropped to a knee in front of her, making her flinch. This raised his ire even more, but he was careful to keep his tone even as he gently took her hands. "Hey," he said softly. "You did nothing wrong. You saved Grogu's life." She shook her head, breath hitching with her sobs. "Yes, you did. I didn't know Mist existed until you told me to run. If the two of us had been on the ship, it most likely would have killed him before I knew what it was. That does not deserve punishment. Now stand up," he said, standing himself and gently pulling her to her feet again. Once standing, she kept her head down, her hands seeking out her sleeves. Din let out a long breath. "So now what do we do?"

Marathel scrubbed her nose with the back of her blistered hand, sniffled, and said, "Well, I'll get cleaned up, mop up this dust. Make dinner, I guess. If Grogu is hungry."

Din shrugged. "Well . . . he's empty now, so I'm sure he is hungry." Marathel chuckled. She took a dishpan of warm water to her sleeping area, cleaning off the dust from her sleeping tick, and then closing her curtains. Din cleaned up the boy, changing him into a clean robe, and then set about damp-mopping the dust off all the surfaces of her house, unable to ignore the soft splashes of water and cloth behind the privacy of her curtains. Marathel emerged a short while later in clean, dry clothes – another set of layered tunics and pants in light shades of brown this time. She sat at the table to comb her long wet hair, which she tied up into a tight roll at the base of her neck. She got up to retrieve her bag, looked into it, and said, "Ew."

"Hm?" asked Din. The floor was finally clean to his satisfaction, so he lifted Grogu out of the pram to let him run around a bit.

"Well, the Not-a-Rabbit and the ddrynin berries shmushed togetherinto quite an ugly mess in here. I think I'll just throw this to the Dahls."

"I could go hunt something . . ."

"No, I have enough for today." Marathel pulled out several closed jars and other sundries from the bag that she could salvage. "And Diwhyn Olba gifted me with more leavening, so I can make bread, at least. I seem to have run out."

Late afternoon waned towards sunset. The remaining dust had been cleaned away, mostly by Din, which surprised Marathel. The Hold boys' chores certainly did not include cleaning anything, and the notion of this armored Bounty Hunter doing something so . . . domestic was almost unnerving to her. She was grateful for the help, however, as it gave her time to proof leavening for fresh bread as well as make some dinner for the three of them. It was simple enough: pan fried tubers with vegetables and rehydrated sausage, but Grogu had eaten with his usual impatience. She assumed the Bounty Hunter enjoyed it as well, as he had emptied his plate, but after he had left the dark curtains, he kept stealing glances to the kitchen where the heavy pans held the rising bread dough.

Din was sitting on the steps, watching Grogu toddle around the yard, chasing fluttery bright-colored insects from flower to flower. It had been a tumultuous day, but Din found that he now had a sense of calm, leaning towards tranquility. It was so seldom that he got to simply sit. As he grew older, he found that he needed more moments like this one . . . and now that he had this child, he relished these moments even more. He heard soft footsteps behind him, but he didn't turn. He already knew the sound and pattern of her footfalls. A soft clunk as she placed a mug of tea, covered with a saucer, at his hip. Marathel moved to the other end of the steps with a handful of different objects: a puff of something fluffy, a mug, a clay jar. She sat down slowly with a small groan, put down her load of items, and began to apply some sort of aromatic salve from the clay jar to the tops of her feet. Din watched her from the side of his visor without turning his head. After applying the salve to her feet, she moved on to her hands, leaving a thick layer on the backs. She was carefully rubbing the salve on the tips of her ears when Din finally asked, "Are you hurting?"

Her hands stilled immediately, and then moved to the back of her neck. "Not so much. The salve will help. I think my feet got the worst, but that's just on the tops. The bottoms are still working. They should be fine by tomorrow. My knees, though, took a beating when I fell on them so many times in a row. Those will bruise a lovely purple." She lifted her cuffs to show him, but he looked away.

Din watched Grogu pull at the flowers. "You run quickly."

She smiled and set the jar down. "I know the hills well. That helps."

"What do you normally do when The Mist comes? This hut provides no protection for you."

Marathel took the ball of fluff and started picking at it methodically. "The wraps that we put on Grogu; I use those. Lay down. Take a nap."

"What about the Hold?"

"Oh, they have doors and shutters that close. The Mist holds no danger for them."

Din noticed her continued use of them when referring to the people at the Hold. She was not a part of them, they were separate from her. But that Bishop wanted her back, her and the Dahl eggs that she could provide. Din still didn't understand why they were so important. He supposed it didn't matter. Handing her over to The Bishop seemed less and less like something he wanted to do, though. What harm was it that she was out here? He turned to look at her and saw that she was holding a wooden something that looked like an upside-down toy top, which was spinning as it was suspended by a long thin thread that came from the ball of fluff. "What is that?"

Her eyes flicked up to his. "A drop spindle. I'm spinning."

"Spinning what?"

"Well, this is plant fiber from rushes I found down where a river flows into the sea. I think it will make a nice lightweight yarn that I can weave with."

"Did you weave all these fabric panels?"

"I did. The fabric for my clothes too."

Din had never seen this part of the process of making fabric. "It seems inefficient."

Marathel laughed at that one, a deep belly laugh. "I suppose it is. The Hold has large wheels that make this process much faster. Some as tall as me. But there's only so much Diwhyn Olba can smuggle out to me. A wheel would be missed, and I do not have the tools or the skill to make one myself." They sat quietly for some time. Din forgot to watch her surreptitiously and turned his full attention to her as he watched her methodically spin yarn. She would stretch out the fluff thin, set the spindle in motion, and wait for the weight of the spindle to set the fiber into a twist. Then she would stop the spindle, wrap the twisted fiber around the spindle, and then begin again. After some time, her spindle was getting full. Din was about to ask her what the next part of the process was when he noticed that she was letting the spindle dangle: her attention was somewhere out past the yard. Din looked out in that direction and saw nothing. The heat sensor in his visor showed something living, but fairly far off. "What is it?"

Marathel set her spindle aside. "Dahls. They want to come closer."

"How many?" Din instinctively for his blaster that was not there; all his weapons were in the basket per Marathel's wishes.

She stood up and tilted her head. "Oh, quite a few. It's only my eleven that want to come over. You stay there, and don't move." Only eleven? thought Din. Marathel set her spindle aside, stood up, and walked to the center of the yard, where Grogu was also standing at attention, gazing out into the distance. He heard Marathel softly call, "Kush-kush-kush, pets. It's okay. Kush-kush." She stood still, waiting. After a time, the tall grasses in the near distance parted, and the Dahls began to slowly approach. They were just as hideous as Din remembered from the day before . . . walking skeletons with grey skin, hollow bellies, and long thin legs. He had never seen any animal that had so little muscle that could still stand up. But here they were, snapping their teeth and making keh-keh noises as they cautiously moved. Grogu moved closer to Marathel and wrapped his arm around her ankle, making a nervous sound. Marathel dropped to one knee, putting a hand on Grogu's back. "It's all right, Grogu, they just want a smell on you. There's nothing to fear." Din disagreed; he figured those teeth alone had a lot to fear. But he remained sitting as per her wishes, tensed and ready to spring into action if needed. The largest of the Dahls, this one with mottled grey and brown skin, came forward, twisting its head to peer with one large black eye at the little green morsel. Marathel reached out with her other hand. "Rodanthe, you're being silly. Kush-Kush. Come here." The Dahl came closer, reached out with its large head on its long neck, and stroked the side of its face along the top of Grogu's head. Grogu squealed in surprise. The Dahl leapt back, and then crept closer again, head low to the ground. Grogu reached out with a small hand and touched the snout of the Dahl. The Dahl snorted in response, which made Grogu squeal again. The Dahl rubbed the side of its face against Grogu again, and then opened its large mouth to actually hold Grogu's entire head within its teeth. Din started to jump up, but Marathel sharply signaled to him to stay where he was. Grogu stayed stock still as the Dahl kept holding the child's head within its teeth, breathing loudly. After a few moments, the Dahl let go of Grogu's head, and then crouched down before Grogu, making a yawp noise and waving its long, bony tail back and forth. The other ten Dahls bounded forward; apparently Grogu was found to be safe. The Dahls twisted around both Marathel and Grogu, rubbing their faces against both of them over and over. Grogu was delighted and reached out excitedly to pet his new friends. Marathel sat down in the yard and hugged and petted each Dahl as they came to her, cooing at them. "Oh yes, the Mist was bad, wasn't it, pets? I'm so glad all of you are safe." She laughed as they kept butting their heads against her, knocking her down a few times. The one that Marathel had called Rodanthe made a louder keh-keh noise to the rest of the Dahls, and they all stilled their movements. Rodanthe had moved a few feet closer to Din, staring at him with one eye, but now it had stopped again, a low snarl emanating from its throat. The other Dahls began to snarl in turn. Din remained motionless.

"They want to smell you," Marathel called out.

"I'm just sitting right here."

"No, no. They're frightened, because they can't smell you." The Dahls began pawing at the ground. "Take off your gloves, Bounty Hunter. Reach out to them. They need to know they can trust you if you're going to be near me." Din did not move, which confused Marathel. Why won't he take off his gloves? Then it occurred to her. The Bounty Hunter could not remove his gloves before her just as he could not remove his helmet. Marathel sat, turning her back to Din. She drew up her knees and dropped her face to them, covering her head with her arms for good measure. "I can no longer see you, Bounty Hunter." Din waited for a moment. Marathel was motionless, deep in the yard. Trusting that she could not see, he slowly removed his gloves, laying them on the step beside him. He tentatively reached out with his left hand, waiting. The Dahl called Rodanthe began moving closer, almost touching the tip of its snout to the tips of Din's fingers. The Dahl's nose was warm and wet, and Din could feel the warm breath of the Dahl waft across his hand. The Dahl came another step closer to hold Din's hand within its teeth, just like it had held Grogu's head. Din felt the animal breathe deep, taking in the scent of his skin as it stared back with its black, black eyes. Closer now, Din could see that the Dahl had a swirl of silver same as the silver of Marathel's hair and eyes, deep within its black eyes. The Dahl dropped Din's hand, seemingly satisfied, and it rubbed its head along Din's arm. The other Dahls came forward to do the same, Grogu following excitedly. Grogu climbed into Din's lap as each Dahl rubbed its head against Din in turn. Din realized that the skin of the creatures was actually covered with a soft short layer of fur, so soft that it was silky and pleasant to touch. A Dahl rubbed its head right under the bottom edge of Din's helmet, holding it there, as if it could smell Din's breath from beneath the helmet. Din reversed his opinion of these creatures . . . they were actually charming, and certainly loyal. They seemed to trust him now, so he replaced his gloves, which the Dahls discovered made scratches on their large ears that much more pleasant. If they somehow protected Marathel – and made her happy with their presence - so much the better. And as the dark of night came to the yard, the Dahls ran back and forth between Marathel and Grogu, dancing on their long legs.

Eventually the Dahls left. Grogu, worn out from play, was sleeping on Din's lap. Din was gazing at the sky again, plotting the points of the stars and planets. Marathel was in the kitchen, putting things away for the night. The tea she had given him was cold by now, but no matter. If it was the sleepy tea, the flavor was just as good cold as it was warm. He listened to her feet on the wooden floor, the clatter of heavy pans on the fire. She came up behind him and placed a round object, wrapped in a clean cloth, on the saucer over his tea. "I'm off to bed. Good night, Bounty Hunter." She disappeared behind her curtains before he could respond. He listened to the rustle of the rushes in her sleeping tick as she settled down, then all was silent, save for the light breeze that blew through the plants in the yard. Din waited for a short while, and then picked up the cloth bundle. Inside was a still-warm, small round of fresh bread. He breathed in sharply. She made this just for me, he marveled. Lifting up his helmet just enough, he bit through the crust, still hot enough to burn his mouth, into the soft center. He held his mouth just as it was, not wanting to bite through right away, letting the texture of the crust and the soft warm center mix together in his mouth. In that moment, with Grogu on his lap, this bread in his mouth, the stars shining down on him in this quiet dark, he felt he had everything he could ever want.

Behind her curtains, Marathel lay on her side, turned away from the Bounty Hunter so that she could not see him, heard him bite through the bread, and heard the soft moan of enjoyment he hadn't known he had uttered. She smiled and fell asleep with a tiny bit of joy in her sad, sad heart.