Equipment : One(1) shoto lightsaber, One(1) industrial-strength syntherope (20m),
Libeta (under eyepatch), One(1) encrypted comlink transmitter
Objective: The Old Stones
Tag(s):
Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
, Open
Ahch-to was a wild place. Vidalu Na'an liked that.
Ever since the
Hawk had airdropped her on one of the planet's tiny windswept islands, Na'an had felt a sort of fierce kinship with the place, despite having never been there before. She'd heard the stories as a girl, of course--of the Skywalker's long sojourn here, searching for the Jedi's most ancient secrets--and had imagined every inch of what it must have been like to have been there herself, in a place so thick with the Force that the ghosts there could touch the living world with ease.
It turned out to be...strangely familiar.
At the present moment, Na'an found herself sitting cross-legged on a huge mossy boulder just outside what amounted to a
village on the island, clad in only a thin shirt and breeches. Her boots were at the base of the boulder, as was her jacket and even her eyepatch. The scowly fish nuns who ran the village didn't seem to mind the mess; if anything, they skirted the place where she sat with the same strange deference most people would give a feral cat. Not that Na'an minded either--she was presently too lost in the
feel of the world around her
to mind. The wind, pleasantly cold, whipping her hair into a tangle and stinging against the bare flesh of her arms...the moss of the rock, soft and strangely warm between her toes, contrasting with the rough texture of the stone under her fingertips...the smell of wet earth and salt and the tingle of ozone...
and the sounds.
The porgs, trilling in the surf as they fished.
The scratch and scuffle of small rodents so rare as to have their species unnamed.
The mellow burbling of the nuns themselves, living their simple lives.
And...and the air itself, whistling against the tall outcroppings of rock all over the island, as if the entire landmass were some kind of crude instrument. Or as if the island itself were singing, just as much as every living thing on it did.
If it hadn't been so cold, Na'an might have almost thought she was on the green world. Or in the fields of Dantooine. It was someplace she could have felt at home.
She leaned into the feeling, her senses settling into it with a vague sense of purpose, reminding herself she wasn't just here to enjoy the sheer alive-ness of the place. The island contained a Nexus, one of many, and there were things it could teach her, if it would allow. The creatures living here all seemed to be attuned to the Nexus in some way, as a natural part of their landscape that connected them like cells of a greater body. If Na'an could melt into the landscape the way they did, the rocks and the moss, the porgs and the nuns, maybe the Nexus would just....open itself to her, too. The stories seemed to indicate that it was more willing than most, after all. She inhaled, filling her lungs with cold clean air, exhaling with the natural rhythm of the island as best she could. Inhale, exhale. Let the smell and the sound and the feeling of the island sink into her skin, her blood, her lungs, her heart, until--
Wait.
wait.
She wasn't alone.
Na'an cracked open her good eye to see a familiar-looking Mirialan girl run past her perch towards the village.
"Oi," she called before she fully passed, loud enough for the wind not to carry her voice away entirely.
"Padawan! Vendar, wasn't it? You should know, the natives don't like to interact directly with Jedi when they can help it."
She raised a hand to give a tiny wave. "They find it disrespectful. I think. I don't know, they don't really speak Basic."