Options. That one word that struck two syllables was enough for Yondir to get his fill of pondering.
Every Jedi had options. In the extreme, some chose to stray, to fall, to submit to the dark side’s grip.
What options did some mere Ranger of Rhunor have? Not many, but no one here would understand.
Master Ikki Ike promised the Knight he would have sleep, if thinking deep as a broken well, dreaming.
Sunny beaches… He blinked at his soup. It wasn’t sunny so much as runny.
Glittering seas… Pretty.
Temple chambers? Yondir felt just as warm within them. Full of scrolls? He would wander aimlessly.
Her hand on his shoulder, as a tutor might to a student, or a companion to companion, but not this.
This gesture was different, this feeling felt, in skin and bone. Like when he had kissed her, lips to lips.
Rest… Yondir Fenn, a Jedi Knight, sighed as Master Ike stepped away. His own expression was silent.
Absent in conversation, thoughts ever so distant, to his world of Rhunor, beckoning him back home.
Fuel and exercise, those were not uncommon knowledge for Jedi. They helped one maintain shape.
Stronger. Sharper. Like a blade. Yondir looked to his contemporaries as Ikki retired to her own post.
What is the point of choice..? A boy had to make a decision, a man, a woman, tonight, until morning.
The child would spend time with his family, to relax and sleep, just as one wise Ikki Ike had advised.
“Trust not in your own judgment,” Yondir offered to parents and their descendents.
“The Force sees.”
Cryptic speech, even he would admit it, but it would suffice beside the firelight in this cold, dark night.
A tent. Yet, admittedly, Yondir had not brought one, only his sleeping bag that hung beneath his backpack.
The survivors of the mountain’s winter retired for the night in the hall, and in the corner ventured one man.
Alone, if not lonely.
No. Who am I…kidding..? Words slipped within his mind as the Knight found his quarry.
A shelter.
The body needs rest. Surely Yondir could slumber in some semblance of comfort, to simply sleep.
After all, outside drifted naught but wind, right?
Winter’s fist in a village long since abandoned.
So Yondir lifted his hand, felt fabric, unzipped.
“Ikki?” He beckoned, entering the tent not his.
Ikki Ike