Silver Star

Outfit: Hiking
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Uneti Flute
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When Valery spoke, the words were soft, reverent, and true. Eve didn't answer aloud — didn't trust her voice — but she nodded slowly, her fingers curling gently in her lap. A quiet acknowledgement. Yes. She still carried it. She always would.
And then, mercifully, the moment passed, lightened by Mariana's story and Valery's teasing elbow bump. That set off more giggles between them, and Eve leaned slightly against her Master, cheeks still pink but glowing now with something softer. Something steadier.
When Valery turned to her mother and offered that final quiet thanks, something inside Eve fluttered. She looked over, silver eyes bright in the lowlight, and saw it written in Valery's face, not just fondness, not just warmth, but pride. Real, honest pride. For her. It made her cheeks warm.
Eve didn't say anything in response, nor did she need to. She just smiled, small, and full, and quietly luminous.
And just like that, the conversation resumed, not with any fanfare, but like a stream returning gently to its path. They spoke of memories, of stories, of things long past and dreams not yet lived. The moon climbed higher as they talked, and the stars turned overhead, unnoticed through the window, but present, like old friends listening in.
It would be a long night. One filled with quiet laughter, gentle stories, and the unshakeable comfort of family.
* * *
Morning came softly, ushered in by birdsong and golden sunlight that filtered through the shutters. The Vale household stirred slowly, the kind of slow that came from peace, not lethargy — a pace born of knowing there was no rush to greet the day, not really. In the kitchen, steam curled from cups of herbal tea as Mariana hummed a low tune, her hands busy slicing a fresh loaf of crusty bread, still warm from the hearth oven. A dish of soft cheese sat on the table, beside a pan of herb-roasted roots and pear preserves.
They all ate quietly at first, the kind of quiet that needed no filling. The kind that lingered in the echoes of last night's laughter and old photographs. Every now and then, Mariana would reach out to refill a cup, chattering idly about weather signs and which trail might be less muddy after the rain. She didn't ask where they were headed, not exactly — just kissed Eve's temple as she passed, the way a mother does, and told her to bring back something shiny or strange or sweet. She gave Valery a wrapped bundle of travel provisions, with the firm but fond warning to "keep her out of trouble." Eve could only giggle at that.
With packs slung over shoulders and cloaks drawn loose against the cool morning breeze, the two Jedi stepped outside. The day was crisp and bright, the scent of dew and damp soil heavy in the air. Bees buzzed lazily around the herb beds. Beyond the fence, the first hints of wildflower bloom painted the hills with colour. Eve grinned at the thought of what she had in store today.
As they started down the familiar dirt path, heading toward the small stable nestled in a grove just beyond the homestead, Eve glanced sidelong at her Master and grinned.
"So," she asked, brushing a silver strand from her cheek. "Ever ridden an orbak?"
The teasing lift in her voice said she already knew the answer, or at least, she thought she did. And from the way her eyes sparkled in the morning light, it was clear; today was going to be fun.
At the stables, two sturdy orbaks waited under the shade of the trees, their shaggy coats gleaming in the sunlight. One let out a deep huff at the sight of Eve, ears flicking with recognition. She approached slowly but confidently, offering her hand first to brush along the creature's neck with the kind of quiet reverence only someone raised around them could have. Then she reached to the other to offer the same.
"Whisper. Bramble." A warm, loving smile touched her lips as the two creatures released low, contented huffs, their breath rumbling with quiet approval.
Then, with the ease of long-practised familiarity — though she did pause once mid-motion with a sheepish mutter of "Ugh, I'm a little rusty..." — Eve grabbed a handful of Whisper's mane and swung herself up in one clean motion, settling into the bareback saddle like she'd never left Eshan. She gave a little bounce in place to find her balance and grinned down at Valery.
"They're gentle, but big," she said, patting the orbak's flank affectionately. "Best way is from the left side, just behind the shoulder. Keep your grip light but steady. They don't like tension. And once you're up, just move with them. Don't try to force the rhythm. Let them guide you, and you'll be fine."
She leaned forward slightly, whispering something to the orbak, who gave another pleased snort.
"You ready?" Eve asked, glancing back to Valery with a cheeky glint in her silver eyes. "I promise I won't let you fall."
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