She didn't want to admit it, but she was getting old.
Already her son was turning 10, and she couldn't help but think: has it really been a decade? She couldn't help but think of herself as that same foolhardy young woman raiding some poor bugs on a rock in the Roche Asteroid Field, hoping to score some Phrik. That was a long time ago though, before she became famous as the Relentless, or as a Merchant, or as a Mercenary, or a Bounty Hunter. Instinctively, she could feel every scar on her body, and briefly her body remembered her prosthetic wasn't her own arm, forcing her to remember just how old she was. Triam was a lot of things, and if she was being honest with herself, she never did take herself for someone who could be a mother.
Fate had other plans, she guessed. Retirement plans.
Which brings us to the planet of Pantora, a new world to her, which was visiting as part of a celebration for its recent convergence with the Coalition. She figured she could sell some stuff, and network with people, maybe get her son interested in the business while keeping him entertained by the festivities. She hoped he liked it, it was difficult sometimes getting him interested in anything other than fighting or looking like a Mandalorian. He was already upset with her for not taking him into a battle on his ninth birthday like a Mandalorian is supposed to. She's tried reminding him that he wasn't a Mando by heritage, but he would frequently remind her of Uncle Preliat Mantis, and she would quickly retort that technically they weren't family, just old friends. Then he would get nasty and say that all of her friends were old.
Boy, that last one hurt. It still hurt because it happened five minutes ago. Ouch.
Crol H'hurut chuckled a bit and said, "How's it feel Triam?" The old Zeltron jabbed at his boss, after years of being called old himself.
Shrugging it off, the trio walked through a bazaar that was still setting up for the full celebration to kick off.