Cicatrize

[Ayessa Kroan]

cicatrize, verb; to heal wounds through the forming of scars.​

Kiffu, Western Settlement, 10:00 AM Local Time
Interacting with n.a, solo thread ~ A Little Wicked
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The moment she felt the sun on her face she felt at peace. True peace, a tranquility she had not felt since before the Clone Wars. Would it last? Please do.

It was as if every moment leading up to this one had passed by in slow motion. A lethargic tempo to match her weighed mind, dragging her from unimpressive planet to unimpressive planet in a gruelling manner that felt punishing. Every old locale turned new a reminder that 800 years changed a lot of things. But, she hoped against hope, maybe things could just remain the same here. No, her immediately family might not be around, but clan was blood no matter how close. Her people could be here.

“Excuse me,” She’d ask plainly to peers, fellow Kiffar with distinct markings and denominations, some recognizable and unrecognizable entirely, “Do you know where Kroan stays? I've lost my way.” All she knew was that they occupied Western territory, that was all the memories she had concerning geography. Not much to go off on, and it showed.

Those unlucky to be stopped by Ayessa would only stare and shake their heads and with each one the looks became less confused and more tragic, full of pity and the sad recognition one heard when they heard a dead relative's name. And with every escalating expression her heart plummeted deeper and deeper in her chest.

No, no no no...

Finally, one soothsayer elected to give her a break. An elderly woman sitting under a vibrantly dyed covering to keep the sun and dust off, three thin green lines across her face as though a Msak Hound had gored her with paint, weathered brown skin but blazing blue eyes. Her bony hand held Ayessa’s wrist like the way a predator gripped prey in strong jaws, and the Force awoke like a conduit, two near-souls tentatively brushing by. A sensitive? That fact might have been the only reason the Jedi tolerated the senior's relatively uncomfortable touch, cold skin against heated youth.

“You have known great loss,” The woman murmured through crooked teeth and stained lips, staring glassily in Ayessa’s general direction as though she wasn't even standing there, just a mirage in the desert heat, “And so have your people. Follow their pain. High in the canyons is their final site. Their bones do not even rest with their ancestors.” The younger Kiffar stared back blankly, every word dragging her down a pit. Bones. A shuttered, rattling exhale left the elder Kiffar and she dropped Ayessa's arm limply, head lulling back slightly in a manner that was downright unsettling.

“Welcome home, lost girl, clanless girl, ancient soul. That is all the greeting you will find.”

 

[Ayessa Kroan]

Kiffu, Western Settlement, 10:00 AM Local Time
Interacting with n.a, solo thread ~ A Little Wicked
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Ayessa meditated in reclusive silence on the meaning of those words. Follow their pain? Her feet carried her onwards even as her mind spiralled, a scowl evident. Old wisemen and women never spoke plainly, that was still true, but this one was particularly grim. The words ‘final site’ all but confirmed what she felt in her heart.

She wasn't chasing family, she was grasping at ghosts.

It soured things considerably but duty came first. If they were truly all gone, any territory said to be there's belonged to her now. That is if clan laws from nearly a millennia ago still applied and if she remembered the lessons correctly. They had been ingrained in her long before the Jedi came to fill her mind with near-holy knowledge, drilled like one of her Trooper over and over.

‘Ess, what did I say, about our site?’

‘Clans have camps. Camps are home. Home belongs to us.’

‘As long as there’s just one Kroan still breathing, no matter how small, this camp is ours and nobody can take it away. That’s my little spark-dragon.’​

She had little memories of her father but that one panged just a little, mixed with the feeling of deep affection and pride that she had picked up on at the time. Her family must have loved her dearly to let her go. Exhaling softly, she knew then, knew where home was. Her eyes turned upwards blankly, the Force to guide her.

Home was where the hurt was, and the hurting was high in the canyons, which meant a hike. Muttering a curse, she mustered whatever courage remained, purchased some robes appropriate to the climate, and set out.

 

[Ayessa Kroan]

Kiffu, Western Mountains, 10:11 AM Local Time
Interacting with n.a, solo thread ~ A Little Wicked
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Were the sands always so brutal?

As a child, Ayessa couldn't recall. It was too long ago, too distant in time and in too abstract of concepts. A strip of cloth protected her face as she used her other senses to navigate. It was near to being blind, which she was familiar with, the brief brush with hibernation sickness upon emerging from her tomb of carbonite gave her that experience. Whichever one of her boys came up with that idea was a right madman.

‘You’re suggesting what?’

‘...Sir, this could work.’

‘Well-- Well, how long would I be in the trance, do you figure?’

‘No more than a few weeks, sir. Then we could get you off-world, somewhere safe.’​

“A few weeks my hide. What happened, soldiers?”

Sand dunes couldn't answer to the misguided morals of her clones, and she got a few grains in her mouth for her troubles as well. ‘What happened?’ was a question she asked often, despite the trouble it often brought. The Force had no answers for her, and neither did Coruscant, and, Ayessa suspected, neither did Kiffu. Three for three.

Up ahead great red cliffs rose from the plains, shrouded in dust. The sight brought her to a halt in her trekk, her gut a twist of confusing emotions. It was all bitterly familiar. The range itself, she knew, stretched on for some distance past what she was seeing just now. Here was just a sampling, a taste of the predator-laden, rockslide-prone hike waiting someone keen to traverse the entire range.

If her senses were correct, she wouldn’t have to go far. There was a concentration of negativity in the bluffs above. Each step brought her closer, each step bringing more dread to her body than the last.