Mariel Dawnrider
Wing and a Prayer
From one particular Songwing at least.
After the Silver Jedi Order had arrived on Kashyyyk, she had broken with the more typical insular nature of her kind and learned everything she had been able. Quietly at first. Just watching. The Songwing perching on windowsills and in trees during lessons. More formally later, as time had gone on and finally someone had noticed the dove coloured owl constantly watching and peering in. She chose a name- a combination of a historical Jedi's and the closest translation into basic as her true name came. She worked, and she studied. And she read.
Eventually it had become clear to her, however, that there had been so much lost. Too much, perhaps. Voss. Ossus. Tython. So many histories and records plundered by the Sith. She had found her joy in the histories at the same time she had found her sorrow in how many of them had been lost. Possibly forever. Had the Sith kept them? Hidden them away? Or destroyed them? She didn't know.
But there were other archives. Other libraries. Ones that had not yet been destroyed. And so Mariel Dawnrider had set off. With a hope and a promise. To find what she could. To bring it back. And she had done that. Each trip returning- sometimes with holocrons, sometimes with bound volumes, sometimes with merely copies, but better copies than empty clawed.
Each time farther from Kashyyyk than before. Seeking. Hunting. Bringing back. Piece by piece, book by book. Slowly, slowly, starting to rebuild a history lost.
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