tea time
SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
News of the New Jedi Order's scattering in the wake of the collapse of the Galactic Alliance weighed heavily on Sela Basran, even though she had parted ways with that particular Order some few years ago. It had not been a dramatic parting of the ways: no fits, no fights, no feuds, merely an acknowledgment that they had grown apart. Rather, that Sela had grown away from the Order and the Code to which they held. The occasional frustration with fellow Jedi who sheltered behind doctrine and dogma did not dampen the grief she felt each time she received word that another friend, another colleague, another former student had become one with the Force during and after the catastrophic events at Coruscant and Atrisia.
It was moments like this that the Master leaned against the Shirayan Code. The Code did not chastise her grief as a consequence of an inappropriate attachment. Still, she kept a close eye upon it, spent more of her free time meditating on it. That was her obligation, as she understood it, to the Force, to the light side. Attachment was a danger, not an evil. It must be examined and understood n order to limit the danger. And so she did.
Grief was not the only emotion that lay heavy these days. There was anxiety, too, and fear. The galaxy was precarious these days, and events seemed coiled, waiting for a reason to spring. Sela tried not to let it show or manifest, something she had to recommit to after flying off the handle and snapping at a Knight making a ruckus in the archives earlier in the week. Not her finest moment. The Knight had, in Sela's defense, dribbled mustard on an ancient scroll which would require months of rehabilitation. Still, it had not been appropriate for Sela to threaten to return them to Corellia by way of a very, very small crate.
Apologies had been rendered, of course, but she hadn't seen the Knight in the archives since then.
All this to say when she came across a young Padawan wandering alone down a hallway, humming leisurely to herself, during the time set aside for morning lessons, Sela took herself in hand to check her emotional status, confirmed that she was not on the edge of a fraying nerve, and approached serenely. "Have you not got somewhere to be, Padawan Toranor?"
Lilya Toranor was a Zabrak of about nine years old, a waiflike, dreamy kind of girl. It was not unusual for her to be out during class hours. But Sela did not wish to jump to conclusions. It could well be that Lilya was on some sort of errand for the instructor. Lilya turned toward Sela and then lowered her head in a short bow. "Master Basran. Er -- yes, Master, I'm on my way now. I had to go back for my other shoe." She must have seen the quirking of Sela's brow, because she went on: "I -- I forgot one of them in the meditating garden."
"I see," said Sela, her eyes drifting down to see that she indeed had one shoe on. The other was in her hand. She tried -- and failed -- not to smile despite herself. "Perhaps you would like to put the other one on now? That way you can arrive back to class fully prepared." She smiled fondly. The girl was one after Sela's own heart, for she, too, liked to take her shoes off to meditate. The Zabrak girl nodded and then leaned over and tugged her little boot on, wriggling her foot on the flag of the flooring to get it fully seated. "Have you heard from home recently, Lilya?" Iridonia was far-flung, now, but still home.
"Yes, Master Basran, I had a note from my parents last week."
"And all is well?" Sela asked.
Lilya looked up at her, quizzical. "Yes, Master Basran."
Sela nodded, thoughtful, and gave the little Zabrak on the shoulder. "I think you should be well-prepared for class now, hm? Off you go." She watched as the Zabrak nodded and scampered off, no longer humming, no longer wandering, but with purpose and perhaps a little chagrin. Sela kept watching until the girl rounded a corner, then turned and let herself into her small office. She left the door open, as was her wont, because she looked to be a source of guidance or knowledge or comfort or whatever she could offer to whoever needed it, and sometimes a closed door was enough to make one hesitate.
In these trying times, Sela did not wish for anyone to hesitate.
She put the kettle on first -- as usual -- and then settled herself at her desk, pulling an leatherbound tome toward her, an envelope tucked into it, and she pulled it open at that stage. Her research on Jedi Codes -- historical Codes, recent Codes, well-known Codes, obscure Codes -- was progressing slowly. War didn't make things easy, certainly. But she rather enjoyed the challenge. It gave her mind things to turn over and investigate. Work to do and meaning to seek, which was a comfort in these difficult days.
