Private One for the Road

[Rin Taal]

Rin watched without interruption as Muad unpacked the weathered bag. Her attention lingered less on the collection of weapons than on the hands arranging them. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing where each piece belonged. Every movement flowed naturally into the next with the quiet confidence of long habit. The gauntlets settled onto his forearms almost without thought. The curved blade found its place at the small of his back as though it had always belonged there. Belt, holsters, sword, cylinder. Nothing was adjusted twice. Nothing needed testing. He was not deciding how to wear them. He was simply putting on another part of himself. It reminded her of watching experienced woodsmen gather their tools before stepping into the wilderness. The axe returned to the same loop. The knife rested in the same sheath. The motions became so deeply ingrained that they eventually ceased to be conscious decisions.

"You move like you were born wearing them," she observed quietly. There was no admiration or criticism in the words, only recognition. "Most people wear weapons because they expect trouble." Her amber eyes remained on him for another moment before drifting toward the mug of caf warming his hands. "You wear yours because they belong there."

Had Muad looked at her with the same attention she had just given him, he might have noticed details the previous night had concealed. The rifle remained slung comfortably across her back, but it was no longer the only weapon visible. A narrow knife rested along one hip beneath the edge of her jacket, another rode low against the opposite forearm where it could be reached with either hand, and a third, little more than a long utility blade, sat behind her belt. None of them were decorative. Like his own weapons, they occupied places chosen through years of repetition rather than preference. There were likely others he still could not see.

She waited until he had settled with his caf before answering the question he'd left open. A small nod acknowledged his decision before she spoke. "I agree." The answer came easily. "You're alive because you stopped pushing long enough for someone else to help. I'd rather not see that effort wasted." Her gaze drifted briefly toward the caravan outside where people were securing cargo, checking harnesses, and preparing the speeders for another day's travel. "We'll still be moving." Her eyes returned to his. "So will whoever you're chasing." She let the thought settle for a moment before continuing. "One day's patience rarely changes the destination." The faintest hint of a smile softened her otherwise composed expression. "You'll recover more riding with us than bleeding somewhere ahead of us." She lifted her mug for another quiet sip. "A wiser fight is usually a shorter one."

Her gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer before shifting briefly toward the tent's open flap. "Do they know what you look like?" It was the question that mattered most now. Names could be changed. Stories could be invented. Faces were more difficult. If the people hunting him possessed only the knowledge that a pilot had survived, the caravan offered anonymity. If they knew his face, then every stop along the road became considerably more dangerous.

The question lingered only briefly before another followed, delivered with the same practical simplicity that characterized nearly everything she said. "Do you want food?" She nodded toward the camp outside where the smell of fresh bread and something cooking over an open pan drifted through the tent. "Mara will probably insist if I don't ask first." The faintest suggestion of a smile appeared, subtle enough that it might have been imagined. It disappeared again as naturally as it had come, leaving only the quiet patience of someone perfectly content to let breakfast and conversation unfold at whatever pace the morning chose.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

“Perhaps I am the trouble … The weapons, well, they've been with me more than most people been alive.”

As Rin spoke, he took the first look at her in the morning light. Like him, she was comfortable with who she was. He spied a blade on one hip, revealed when the jacket flared open. If she were anything like what he assumed, there would be more weapons on her person. And she would be adept at utilizing them. Guide, rescuer, musician … not in any particular order. And much more, he was sure.

“A general description. They know my armor. And my more flamboyant weapons perchance. Oh, and my eyes. Blue eyes that glow are rare. Even in my family.”

He leaned back in the chair and took a larger drink with a sigh. It was good caf, nice and strong. His right hand delved into one of his trouser pockets and pulled out a pair of glare shades, slipping them over his eyes to effectively hide the unique trait therein. Another sip as he flexed his right hand, letting the tingling fade away.

The offer of food was made, and a ghost of a smile appeared rather fleetingly. She was an enigma, a puzzle. It was perplexing. What was someone with her skills and temperament doing on a backwater planet like this? Was she hiding, paying penance for past actions, a foreign asset assigned to a post, an insider for Haymitch, or was it more benign? Was she merely a person in the right place at the right time, or wrong place at the wrong time? She was an unknown entity, and that was an operational risk.

One clear thing was she was as open as he was. A datapad locked behind the heaviest of security. He could respect her privacy. But could he accept it without searching for answers? He watched her from behind the shades and contemplated his situation. Would this be wise or foolish? The fingers of his right hand absently drummed on his thigh near the grips of his pistol.

“Then who am I to deny Mara her hospitality? Even if you beat her to the punch?”

He rose to his feet and smirked as he refilled his caf from the kettle. There was no dizziness this time. The flow of the Force still trickling into his wound accelerated the recovery beyond normal timetables. He was already feeling closer to normal. Or as normal as he ever felt. Closer to baseline. Muad gave Rin a slight inclination of his head.

“Breakfast?”

He retrieved his pack from the mattress and headed for the exit, the mug held in his right hand. The warmth felt good in his hand. The sunlight felt even better. He paused outside and breathed in, letting the scents of the new world fill him. Floral, woodsy, even a hint of spice, though he mused that may have more to do with the food cooking in the center of the camp.

The morning bustle seemed not even to notice the new arrival. Other than several of the people giving him nods or little waves of greeting. Maybe they were used to their musician saving lost and wounded strays. He smirked and headed for where his nose told him the food was. Small fires littered the camp, little pockets of families and friends sharing an intimate meal. His gaze flickered around, mind unconsciously shifting the members of the caravan into three categories. Noncombatants, potential threats, and hard targets. Plenty in the first category. Few in the third.

Rin Taal was at the top of the third.

“What do you know of any old ruins? Ancient buildings? Dilapidated temples?”

Muad took another swig of his mug as he neared the centermost fire pit.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

Rin's eyes lingered on him for a quiet moment after his observation that perhaps he was the trouble. Then, almost imperceptibly, one corner of her mouth curved upward. It was a smile that arrived without announcement and disappeared just as naturally, carried more by the warmth in her eyes than by any dramatic change in expression.

"I wouldn't be especially surprised," she admitted.

The words were delivered with such matter-of-fact calm that it took a heartbeat to realize they were meant in good humor. After everything she had witnessed since pulling him from the forest, the notion that trouble simply accompanied him wherever he wandered seemed less like speculation than a conclusion already supported by evidence. She imagined there were people scattered across the galaxy who would probably agree with the assessment.

As Muad described those searching for him, her attention settled briefly on the weapons now resting comfortably upon his person. Without thinking, she brushed two fingers against the worn hilt resting at her own hip before letting her hand fall away again. The gesture carried understanding rather than comparison.

"Some things stay with us for a very long time," she said quietly. Her fingers rested against the familiar leather for only a moment before slipping back to her side. "We live long lives. Longer than many species." Her gaze remained on him for another thoughtful moment before the faint smile returned. "Who knows. I may still be walking these roads long after you've turned to dust." She let the image linger between them just long enough for the humor to settle before adding, with the quiet certainty of someone who had already reconsidered her own thought, "Though...I rather expect not."

When he mentioned his glowing eyes, Rin nodded in immediate understanding. She had met enough travelers over the years to know that unusual features often announced a person long before introductions were ever made.

"Distinctive features have a way of introducing you before your name does," she observed, her amber eyes settling comfortably on him. "Eyes like yours would be difficult to forget."

She fell into step beside him as they emerged from the healer's pavilion and crossed the waking camp. Travelers greeted them with easy familiarity. Rin answered each nod with one of her own, returned a quiet good morning here, a small wave there, never breaking stride. Around them, the camp was already folding itself back into the road with the quiet efficiency born of countless mornings much like this one. Bedrolls disappeared into storage compartments tucked beneath weathered speeder benches while canvas shelters were lowered, shaken free of the night's dew, and rolled into neat bundles with practiced hands. Most of the caravan's cargo had never left the vehicles at all. Only those things that transformed a stopping place into a home for a single evening. The bedding, cookfires, lanterns, shared meals, and the simple comforts of companionship were packed away again. The speeders waited patiently where they had been parked the night before, dusty and dependable, as though eager to continue the journey the moment the last cup of caf had been emptied.

Before they reached the central cookfire, the broad-shouldered caravan master intercepted them with the easy familiarity of someone who had shared many roads with Rin over the years. A simple, "Morning," was enough of a greeting between them, answered by an inclination of her head and a quiet "Morning." His attention drifted briefly toward Muad before returning to her, his expression asking the question before his words did. "How's he doing?" Rin looked toward the recovering warrior, taking in the steadiness of his footing and the color gradually returning to his face before answering with characteristic brevity. "Walking." The response appeared to satisfy him.

His eyes lifted instead toward the pale morning sky where long ribbons of cloud drifted lazily overhead, their edges catching the rising sun until they glowed like worn gold suspended above the treetops. "Looks like the weather's finally decided to cooperate." Rin followed his gaze, listening for a quiet moment to the breeze moving through the canopy beyond the camp before giving a small nod. "For now." She had learned long ago that weather possessed much the same temperament as people and considerably less interest in keeping promises. A faint smile tugged beneath the older man's beard as he folded his arms comfortably across his chest. "We'll be on the road once breakfast's finished." Rin's attention drifted briefly toward the cookfires where travelers lingered over steaming mugs of caf and fresh bread before returning to him. "That should give the ash another hour to settle." Satisfied with both the answer and the forecast, the caravan master continued on his morning rounds, pausing every few paces to exchange a few words with families rolling blankets or travelers securing the last of the night's comforts before another day upon the road.

Rin resumed walking beside Muad until they reached the largest cookfire where breakfast was already being passed around in well-used tin plates. She accepted one with a quiet word of thanks before reaching for another mug of fresh caf, the warmth settling comfortably between her hands against the lingering coolness of the morning. Glancing toward him, she said, "You're welcome to ride in my speeder if you wish." The offer carried no expectation attached to it. It simply seemed the most practical arrangement while his shoulder continued to heal, and she saw little reason for unnecessary discomfort when the journey ahead promised enough of its own.

His question about ruins gave her pause. She let her gaze wander beyond the camp toward the forests and towering stone spires stretching across Batuu's horizon, where morning mist still clung to shaded valleys and ancient trees hid secrets older than most civilizations cared to remember. Only after a thoughtful silence did she look back toward him, the faintest hint of amusement warming her otherwise composed expression.

"Ruins?" she echoed softly. "We're on Batuu." One hand lifted in a small gesture toward the endless wilderness surrounding them. "People have been building things here...and forgetting them...for longer than anyone seems interested in counting. Old settlements. Shrines. Temples. Outposts. Every generation leaves something behind for the next one to stumble across." There was no exaggeration in her voice. If anything, she understated it. Time had a habit of reclaiming nearly everything on Batuu, leaving only patient stone to remember what people had long since chosen to forget.

Holding the plate comfortably in one hand, she met his eyes once more. "What direction do you want to search?" Genuine curiosity colored the question now, born not from idle interest but from someone who knew these roads as intimately as another might know the corridors of their own home. "I can probably tell you..." The almost-smile returned for only a heartbeat before settling back into quiet composure. "At least in a general sense...what you're likely to find."

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

His smile did return, and he offered it freely. One of the people at the fire, a small woman with several children clinging to her legs, offered him a plate of bread and a side of gravy. He dropped the pack at his feet and took the plate with a nod of thanks. With a grunt, he squatted and balanced the mug on one knee as he tore into the food ravenously. Surprised at his hunger, he forced himself to slow and be more civilized. One of the small kids gave him a big grin, his front two teeth missing. Muad stuck out his tongue with a goofy expression, which sent the retreating kids into a cascade of giggles.

Using the bread, he sopped up some of the gravy and chewed thoughtfully on his normal-sized bite. Long lives were not common even among species with longevity. Not in the galaxy they lived in. Rin's comment was revealing as much as it was vague, much like his own. Perhaps they were playing a game of hide-and-seek with their words, a verbal sparring match. Or maybe it was merely innocent conversation.

The interaction between the big man and Rin only confirmed her status and importance to the caravan. The big man was like a foreman, strong, respected, and used to leadership. His deference to the golden-eyed woman was clear. So was the camaraderie she shared with the families gathered around. Only time and shared experiences built that kind of bond. He knew; he shared it with his own people.

Taking another bite, he pivoted on his heels to observe the actions of the caravan. They moved with practiced ease, a familiarity of routine. The young kids played while the older ones did chores. There was a levity in the atmosphere. An ease. These people were family even if they didn't share the same blood. He understood that. It was the Mando way. Family is more than blood. But where did Rin fit? How did she find herself here?

The unknown quality still vexed Muad.

Before he knew it, his plate was cleaned, and a youth collected it, along with others who finished their meals. His eyes followed the kid to a large wash basin, where several others were cleaning and drying the dishes. Muad rose and moved to the basin where he handed over the empty mug.

“Vor’e ad’ikas.”

Muad walked back over to where Rin stood drinking her refill of caf and eating from her own plate. Tents were being deconstructed and stored. The finishing touches of disbandment continued. He leaned down and grabbed the pack, being careful to put the straps over his unwounded left shoulder. It seemed he had a decision. Walk, find another ride, or enjoy the company and ride offered by Rin. He swept his right arm to his chest and flourished with an exaggerated bow.

“Then I shall humbly accept the offer to travel with you, mi’lady.”

He grinned as he straightened. A glance into the sky, and he rotated his body until he faced south and took a few steps. His boots were wet with morning dew as he surveyed the skies, seeing no clouds. While he was unfamiliar with the planet's weather patterns, it seemed it would be a pleasant day at least for a while. His right hand gestured toward the forest and beyond.

“That way. Around two hundred klicks, kilometers. An ancient temple. Jedi in origin. Over a millennia old. I know where they are heading. It will take them some time to find it using that old map. Probably just as old as the temple. I have no idea what they want, but with Haymitch it will be bad. For the galaxy. And for this planet. If it were me, I'd want to practice using whatever it is here before taking it off-planet.”

He ground the toe of his boot into the soil. The earth parted with ease; dark dirt clung together in clumps. Taking a knee, his hand scooped up the mound, and he rose. The damp soil was brought to his face, and he breathed in the scent. Good soil. Good farming land. A memory of a farm: a young Ginnie ran around. Probably looking for something to set a flame. The little firebug. He remembered leaning against the rough-hewn timber of the fence where old Ordo toiled on his farm. It was good, honest work. Muad had visited some of the farms on Siskeen. Happy families content living their best lives.

The soil crumbled between his fingers to fall back to the earth. He occasionally wondered what his life would have been like had he been born into a family like theirs. A simple life where the Force was a fairy tale, Sith and Jedi existed only in holodramas, and the man Muad Dib never entered the galaxy to be baptized in blood. It was a nice dream. For him, it was all it was. His path was forged from the moment of conception. But he could endeavor to protect those who still dreamed, even if it would never be his.

“I'm not a good man. Don't waste your genteel nature on me. I do bad things for good reasons. All I try to do anymore is to protect those who are still good. And I enjoy it. I think I'll walk.”

He turned abruptly and walked away from the woman, heading toward the direction the caravan would depart. A black cloud hung over him, and he could not decipher from whence it came. It mattered little. He was accustomed to walking in darkness. Walking alone. It was better this way.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

Rin watched from beside the cookfire as Muad accepted the offered breakfast with the same quiet gratitude he had shown since waking. Hunger quickly won the first contest, his careful manners surrendering to genuine appetite until he caught himself and slowed. The sight drew no judgment from anyone nearby. If anything, the woman who had handed him the plate seemed quietly pleased to see someone eat as though they intended to keep living. When one of the smaller children grinned at him through the conspicuous gap where two front teeth had once been, Muad answered with an exaggerated face and a ridiculous protruding tongue. The child's delighted laughter spread almost instantly to the others, sending them scattering around the cookfire in a chorus of giggles. Rin's eyes lingered on the scene for a moment longer than they otherwise might have. It suited him more naturally than the hard edges he seemed determined to wear.

Later, as the empty dishes found their way toward the wash basin, she caught the quiet phrase he offered the youth who collected his mug. She did not know every word of Mando'a, but years spent guiding travelers from every corner of the galaxy had taught her enough to recognize gratitude when she heard it. More telling than the language itself was where he directed it. Not to someone in authority. Not to anyone from whom he expected something in return. Simply to a child performing an ordinary morning chore. It was another small thing quietly added to the growing collection of observations she had made since finding him at the wreckage of his ship.

When he returned carrying his pack and answered her invitation with an elaborate flourish and an almost theatrical bow, the faintest laugh escaped her before she could stop it. It was little more than a soft breath touched by amusement, but genuine all the same. She answered the exaggerated courtesy with a small inclination of her own head, accepting the performance with every bit as much sincerity as it had been offered. "Then I'll consider myself fortunate to have the company." The smile lingered for only a heartbeat before settling once more into its familiar quiet warmth.

She listened without interruption as he described the temple hidden somewhere beyond the southern forests. Ancient. Jedi. Older than governments that now considered themselves old. Whatever Haymitch sought there had already justified destroying a starfighter and crossing half a world in pursuit of it. That alone made it worthy of respect. She watched him kneel to gather a handful of dark earth, lifting it to breathe in its scent with an expression that belonged somewhere very far from Batuu. It reminded her of travelers who paused beside a familiar tree simply because, for one brief moment, it smelled like home. Then came the words she suspected had been following him long before he had ever fallen into her world.

I'm not a good man.

She allowed the silence to remain untouched. He turned and began walking toward the road, each measured step carrying him farther from the conversation as though distance alone might make the statement truer. Rin did not follow. Instead, she finished the last of her caf and gave the empty mug to one of the people washing the dishes before lifting her own pack onto one shoulder. Around her, the caravan folded itself back into motion with the practiced ease of people who had spent years living upon the road. The last tents disappeared into storage compartments, dust was brushed from benches and cargo covers alike, children were gently ushered toward waiting speeders, and engines settled into their familiar morning rumble. Morning was ending. The road was beginning again.

She reached her battered speeder and rested one hand against its weathered frame while tightening a cargo strap that had loosened during the night. Only then did she glance back over one shoulder toward Muad. Her voice carried no farther than it needed to, sounding less like someone calling after another and more like someone adding one final thought to an unfinished conversation.

"You made Tavi laugh," Rin said quietly, the words carrying no farther than they needed to. She let them linger for a moment before continuing, her hand resting lightly against the weathered frame of the speeder. "He hasn't laughed like that very often since his father died." A softness touched her expression, born not from sadness but from the simple relief of seeing joy return, however briefly, to a child who had learned too early that the world could be unkind. Her eyes drifted toward the little boy now weaving happily between the waiting speeders, already trying to make another child laugh by pulling the same ridiculous face Muad had shown him moments before. The sight drew the faintest smile to her lips. "I'd imagine he'll spend the next week sticking his tongue out at everyone who crosses his path." The amusement lingered only for a heartbeat, gentle and genuine, before settling once more into the quiet composure that seemed as natural to her as breathing.

"You told me you're not a good man," Rin said after a quiet moment, her amber eyes resting steadily upon him across the camp without accusation or reassurance. "I don't know you well enough to tell you you're wrong." The words were offered simply, neither agreeing with his judgment nor attempting to undo it. She had known him for less than a day; pretending otherwise would have been dishonest. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the children still laughing near the cookfire before returning to him. "I only know the man I've met since yesterday." She allowed the distinction to settle between them before continuing in the same calm, thoughtful voice. "He's thanked strangers. He's worried about people he'll probably never meet again. He reminded a little boy how to laugh." The faintest trace of a smile touched her lips, warm without being sentimental. "Those are simply the things I've seen."

She brushed the fine layer of road dust from the passenger seat before climbing behind the controls. The old speeder answered with its familiar rumbling protest as the repulsors eased quietly to life beneath her, vibrating through the worn frame with the comforting familiarity of machinery that had survived far more journeys than either of them could count. Her gaze drifted southward toward the endless forests where ancient stone waited patiently beneath centuries of growth. Somewhere beyond that green horizon stood the forgotten temple. Somewhere beyond it walked Haymitch, following an old map toward whatever prize he believed awaited him. Neither destination would disappear simply because another morning had passed.

"The temple will still be there when we arrive," Rin said quietly, her gaze lingering upon the distant treeline where the forests stretched toward ruins neither of them could yet see. Somewhere beyond those hills stood ancient stone that had endured centuries of wind, rain, and passing civilizations. It had waited this long. It would wait a little longer. Her eyes returned to Muad with the same quiet certainty that had marked nearly every word she had spoken since finding him beneath the wreckage. "So will Haymitch." There was no attempt to lessen the urgency of what lay ahead or pretend the danger had somehow diminished overnight. She simply understood that some journeys could not be shortened by forcing the first few steps.

Her attention drifted briefly toward the fresh bandages concealed beneath his tunic before settling once more upon his face. "You'll recover more riding with us than walking beside us," she observed, the words offered as practical truth rather than persuasion. Lifting one hand from the steering yoke, she tapped the empty passenger seat lightly with the backs of her fingers, the understated gesture matching the invitation itself. "But if walking is what you need this morning..." A trace of warmth softened her expression, quiet enough that it almost vanished before fully taking shape. "You'll find it empty whenever you decide you don't."

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

“You made Tavi laugh …”

He paused and turned his head, ear cocked as he listened to the woman's words. They weren't loud, just audible enough for him to pick out. Like everything about Rin that he had seen. Always the right amount. She was very specific in actions, words, and deeds. Never more than what was needed. And never less. Measured in every sense.


The caravan began moving even as he stood still listening. Her estimation of Muad was based on what she observed. A small frown turned the corners of his lips down just enough to be perceptible. Then it vanished, much like the blink-and-you-wish-it smiles she shared. Kids were different. They were a bright light in a life of chaos. Too often the joy of innocence was lost early. If he could fan the flame of light, even for a moment, it was something he would do. It was not indicative of what he was. But maybe, just maybe, it meant he wasn't as dark as he felt he was. Damaged and dark.


She spoke truly about recovery riding rather than walking. And she was right when she said he needed time. The offer was made again for the speeder, should he want it and in his own time. His head gave a slight nod in acknowledgment before he again moved with the caravan down the road. The pack was readjusted on his back, and the sling was hooked over his head and across his chest, freeing his arm. He felt the slight pressure on his chest extend to his wound. Not enough to affect the work done by Mara. Just enough pressure to almost bring discomfort. That was life.


The pace increased, and he lengthened his stride, boots crunching the dead grass on the road. His breathing fell into rhythm while he allowed the Force to speed the healing of his wounds. Most of the tingling in his right arm was gone, proof that the nerves were nearly healed. Muscle tissue continued to knit, which itched. His mind cleared as he gave himself over to the repetition of the march. Again, she was right. The temple and Haymitch could wait a while longer.


His eyes spied a piece of dry hardwood on the edge of the road, and he scooped the fallen piece of branch up in his hands. One end was burnt, proof that it was once used for firewood—a thing that was dead, repurposed for the living. The irony was not lost on him as he considered the previous night's events. His right hand went to the small of his back and pulled the curved kal from its sheath, hands working without conscious thought.


The forest on the right began to thin, and the woods surrendered to a large plain. Thigh-high grass rippled in the cool breeze, causing the fields to undulate like waves on the ocean. He eased to the shoulder and moved into the grass, which tangled around his legs. Above, several types of birds cruised along, allowing the wind currents to lift them on outstretched wings. The suns beat down in their distinct places in the sky, three suns easily raising the temperature from cool to just sort of broiling. Day had arrived.


He rejoined the caravan, slipping between a coach drawn by pack animals tethered to the carriage and an old speeder retrofitted with an extended rear which carried odds and ends for the camp. He shook his head and picked up his pace. The trees on the left grew tall and dark. Foreboding to some. Beautiful in their majestic heights to others. Small creatures ran from one branch to another, leaping between trees and bending the limbs with their weight. Leaves and needles drifted in their wake. Life was abundant if you knew where to look.


In his wake were little slivers of wood. His hands absently carved as he watched the people around him. Couples leaned against each other, not in need but in an intimacy grown from their bond—just the desire for tactile comfort. The older youth took turns driving animals and driving old repulsor sleds and speeders, the adults passing on their knowledge and the teens grinning with excitement. Smaller kids ran around, leaping into a vehicle to rest and drink from the water barrels most of the caravan carried at the back of their wagons. Then, after a brief rest, they took off again in another game of imagination.


Muad looked down at his hands and smirked lightly. The wood was transformed into the shape of an animal. A tuk’ata. What many called a Sith hound. They weren't evil creatures. But many of them were bent to the will of dark forces, individuals. However, they weren't inherently bad. Just used by others with dark intent. Traycn, his own hound, was an animal full of life and intelligence. The two were bonded when he found the abandoned pup on Tython. The wooden figure in his hand reminded him of home. Not that he really claimed a single hearth as his own.


A group of kids paralleled him, watching but not coming any nearer. Except for one child. Tavi. That was what Rin called him. The kid slowly eased closer until he walked beside Muad. They didn't look at each other as they moved along the road. From his peripheral vision, he saw Tavi sneak several furtive glances up at him. Curiosity filled the young boy's features as he stared up at the silent man. Almost as though he wanted to speak to the quiet adult.


“Scram. Go play.” Muad didn't turn his head, but he watched the crestfallen face as Tavi began to ease away, back to the cluster of his friends. “Hey kid, catch.” He tossed the newly carved figure, and the boy raised his hands to snatch the carved tuk’ata from the air instinctively. He stopped in his tracks as tiny fingers roved over the carving. Muad heard the shout and the rapid footsteps running to his friends, as unintelligible, excited words were exchanged as he showed off the item. A chorus of laughter followed the group as they climbed on the next speeder, each kid taking a turn examining the wooden toy.


Muad's attention was immediately drawn ahead, where a small group of people passed the caravan headed in the opposite direction. Shrewd eyes scanned the newcomers for several moments before he ignored them. They were what they appeared to be. Simple travellers. Rough-hewn garments and leather footwear. Small packs carried on their backs while two directed a large repulsor sled filled with other belongings. In the back was a near-identical water barrel and a box of tinder and kindling—regular folk and not spies.


He slowed and moved to the right of the road, allowing the speeder Rin was piloting to catch up. The pack was pulled off his back and set onto the rear of the vehicle before he lightly catapulted over the door and landed in the passenger seat. His eyes remained forward, scanning the road ahead.


“You're right. I found the seat empty when I was ready.”


His words mirrored her own earlier. He leaned back, relaxed, and found his healing wound grateful for the respite. He allowed a ghost of a smile to stretch before it vanished. Several clouds began to hover on the horizon, not necessarily threatening rain but saying it could come if it desired. And there was nothing they could do to stop it. Muad found himself enjoying the day, the nature, and, perhaps begrudgingly, the quiet calm of the company.


“Tell me a story, Rin Taal, rescuer, healer, and musician. Not necessarily in that order.”


He left the story, should she choose to speak one, up to her. He wanted to learn more about her, but he chose not to ask for a story specific to her. His arm extended over the door, fingers lightly tapping on the frame while he leaned his head back in a pose of relaxation. His eyes continued to scan the road ahead alertly.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

The old speeder continued its patient crawl near the center of the caravan, its engine humming softly beneath the steady rhythm of boots upon the road. Rin had noticed Muad long before he stepped alongside the vehicle. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he wandered among the travelers, the small carved tuk'ata passing from his hands to Tavi's with a throw that was met by delighted laughter. The little figure disappeared almost immediately beneath a cluster of curious children, each eager for a turn to hold it before racing onward again. It was only after the excitement settled that Muad drifted naturally back toward the speeder, setting his pack behind the seat before vaulting effortlessly into the passenger seat. The suspension dipped beneath his weight before settling once more. The movement drew only the slightest inclination of Rin's head as she guided the speeder onward.

"I noticed," she said quietly. "You weren't the only one." Her eyes wandered briefly toward the rear of the caravan where children had spent most of the morning weaving between the speeders and wagons. "They've all visited at least once." The corner of her mouth lifted with quiet amusement. "None of them stayed."

As the road curved gently around another stand of towering trees, her attention drifted upward toward the gathering clouds. Thin strands of white had begun collecting above the western ridges, their lower edges carrying just enough weight to catch her attention. She watched them in silence, feeling the subtle shift in the breeze that wandered through the valley before passing on again. Nothing about them suggested urgency. Farther ahead, the caravan leader glanced back over one shoulder and caught her eye. He needed no words to ask the question. Rin answered with a small motion of two fingers toward the sky before making an easy circling gesture that spoke of patience rather than concern.

"We'll stay dry," she called, her voice carrying easily down the line of travelers. "Unless something beyond the ordinary decides otherwise."

The older man nodded once before turning his attention back toward the road. Only then did Rin glance sidelong toward Muad as he amended the list of occupations by which he now knew her. This time the smile lingered long enough for him to see it clearly reflected in her profile.

"Don't forget guide."

The request for a story had scarcely settled between them before movement erupted behind the speeder. Tavi appeared first, climbing confidently onto the rear bench with the carved tuk'ata still clutched proudly in one hand. A heartbeat later, another child scrambled in beside him, followed almost immediately by two more until the back of the vehicle was suddenly occupied by four familiar faces wearing expressions that suggested this had happened many times before. None of them asked whether there would be a story. None of them needed to. Rin didn't even turn around. She simply reached behind her seat, retrieved a pair of waterskins from beneath a blanket, and held them out behind her without looking.

"At least pass out some water while you're back there."

The response came as a chorus of theatrical groans, accompanied by exaggerated sighs and playful complaints about always having to drink before the interesting part. Even so, the waterskins were passed dutifully from one pair of small hands to another until everyone had taken a drink. Only then did the chatter gradually fade. The road stretched quietly ahead while the speeder rolled onward, and somewhere, without anyone consciously deciding to do so, even the adults nearest the vehicle found themselves listening.

For a little while the only sounds were the gentle hum of the repulsors beneath them, the rhythmic creak of harnesses farther along the caravan, and the whisper of wind combing through the sea of tall grass that rolled away on either side of the road. Even the children settled naturally into silence, each finding a comfortable place on the rear bench as though they instinctively understood the moment stories began. Tavi hugged the little wooden tuk'ata against his chest while another child absentmindedly braided long blades of grass together. Rin rested both hands lightly upon the controls, her eyes never leaving the winding road ahead. When she finally spoke, her voice changed almost imperceptibly. It remained quiet, but beneath the words ran a gentle cadence that rose and fell with the movement of the speeder itself, carrying the story less like conversation and more like an old melody remembered from childhood.

"Long before these roads had names," she began, "there wandered a swordsman who carried no banner and wore no crest upon his back. His cloak had long since faded beneath years of rain and sun until no one could remember what color it had once been. His boots were patched more often than they were replaced, and every village he entered believed he had walked there from the edge of the world itself."

A flock of pale birds burst from the grasses as the speeder rolled past, their wings flashing silver beneath the morning sun before disappearing toward distant hills. Rin watched them go before continuing.

"He spoke little, accepted only enough food to fill an empty stomach, and slept wherever the stars found him. By sunrise he was always gone, leaving behind little more than footprints and stories no one quite believed."

"One winter he climbed into the mountains where snow buried rooftops so deeply that only the chimneys still greeted the sky. Wolves had begun descending from the high forests every night, lean with hunger, their breath hanging like ghosts between the pines. They circled the village until darkness belonged to them alone."

One of the younger children leaned forward, completely absorbed.

"The villagers begged the swordsman to stay. He refused. He told them misfortune walked wherever he did, and the sooner he left, the sooner peace would return."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the forest bordering the road, sunlight spilling through towering branches in shifting bands of gold.

"That night, while the village slept, he stood alone beyond the gate with nothing but his blade and the sound of wolves moving through the snow. The moon turned the world blue. Frost gathered in his hair and upon the edge of his sword. Before dawn the howling stopped."

She let the silence linger for several heartbeats before speaking again.

"When morning came, the snow outside the gate was carved with great sweeping arcs where steel had passed, and crimson tracks disappeared back into the mountains. No one saw the battle. They only found the swordsman washing blood from his hands in the river before quietly preparing to leave."

"The children ran after him before he reached the old bridge at the edge of the valley."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"They handed him a little carving they'd made from pine, shaped badly enough that only they knew it was supposed to be a wolf."

Quiet laughter drifted from the back seat as Tavi looked down at the tuk'ata resting in his own lap.

"The swordsman thanked them... then tried to give it back. He told them he wasn't a hero, only someone who happened to be passing through."

The road curved gently between towering stone outcroppings, sunlight spilling across the speeder before vanishing again beneath scattered clouds.

"The oldest woman in the village watched him argue with children over a piece of carved wood until she finally laughed. She told him something no sword could ever cut apart."

Rin's eyes remained upon the road stretching endlessly before them.

"'A man who spends all his time staring at the darkness behind him,'" she said softly, "'rarely notices the light he leaves in front of him.'"

No one spoke. Even the wind seemed to soften as the caravan continued along the road, the distant hills rolling beneath the light of three patient suns while only the steady hum of the speeders disturbed the quiet. After allowing the silence to settle naturally around the story, Rin continued in the same calm, almost melodic voice.

"No one remembers where the swordsman came from. No one remembers where he finally went. But every winter, when the snow returns to those mountains, the children place little wooden wolves upon the old bridge..."

A quiet smile touched her lips, one meant less for the people listening than for the story itself.

"Just in case he ever decides to come home."

The story ended as quietly as it had begun, leaving only the gentle rumble of the speeder, the whisper of the grasses brushing one another beneath the breeze, and four children sitting a little more quietly than before, each unconsciously imagining a lone figure disappearing into snow-covered mountains with a weathered cloak trailing behind him.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

Her words wove with honeyed intent. Despite himself, Muad felt himself enthralled by her voice. It neither needed volume nor pitched emotion. Instead, the words wove a tapestry that you could feel. Spoken with almost intimate knowledge of said events. He almost turned, expecting to see an old tattered cloak wound about an ancient sword strapped to her sparse belongings. His eyes closed, and he embraced the imagery provoked by the intricate story.

When it ended, there was a pregnant pause, as though even with the story over, more remained unspoken. But the children, being children, hopped from the speeder and searched the ground for sticks long enough to be wielded as swords. Having found their “blades”, they ran off fighting imaginary wolves as they played the hero and protected the village. It was an endearing sight to see as he opened his eyes and turned his head to watch them fall behind, engrossed in their story-fueled game.

With his body angled towards Rin, it was easy for him to observe her. Her amber eyes watched the road, the people in the camp, nature itself, never coming to a stop on any single thing. His eyes fell to her lips, wondering at what would cause them to lift, ever so slightly, the corners piqued and her eyes lighting with the motion. He found himself wanting to be the cause—just one more time.

“Rescuer, healer, musician, guide, and now storyteller. You remind me of a bard I met once … often they would sing a song, forging tales from their own truth. I would enjoy listening to one of your songs. I've heard it said words can lie, but a song tells truths hidden in layers. I wonder what layers would be revealed.”

A smile blossomed on his face, lasting longer than all others he'd shared. The cool breeze blew across his face, and he turned his head and raised his chin. Smells of hardwood, flowers hidden from his eyes in blossom, the musky scent of pack animals, and disinfectant blew over him. Disinfectant and the familiar aroma of tibanna gas used in blaster packs.

His head jerked forward as he searched the empty road ahead. The path curved ahead, turning towards an outcropping of boulders covered in green moss on one side. Large enough to hide a small group of travelers but not large enough to stage an ambush for a caravan of this size. Nothing hinted at hidden bodies, except for his nose. His left hand went to the pistol holstered on his thigh and pulled it free, keeping both hand and gun low, blocked by the dashboard and his body. His left leg drew up, adjusting as though he was merely finding a more comfortable position. However, it was set so he could spring out of the speeder at will.

Muad knew, without knowing, that Rin would have seen his movements and registered the potential action that caused them. She was smart, experienced, and possessed senses that would have alerted her as quickly as his. He couldn't explain how he knew; he just did. Of all her lists describing who she was, he believed one was missing. Warrior.

He let his head fall back against the cushion of the seat in a lull. Just a fellow traveler relaxed in the comfort of his chair. The caravan rounded the curve, and he saw them. Four figures in cloaks, possibly locals. Except for the shiny black boots at the hem of the garments, the lumps that could easily have been canteens as well as weapons, and the pale skin of their hard faces. Faces accustomed to a starship, not the rugged effects of a robust, nature-filled planet. A hint of pink showed on their foreheads and cheeks from the kiss of the sun. And their eyes scanned the caravan with a hard glint.

Ahead, Muad saw the grizzled foreman look in their direction, and he willed the big man to pay them no mind. The soldiers wouldn't engage. The caravan was too big. But any untoward action could precipitate an unwanted confrontation. There were too many innocents for it to happen. He forced himself to stay relaxed—just another member of the caravan. A battle now would have collateral damage. And that was not something Muad would risk.

The caravan snaked around the outcropping, and a few members raised their hands in greeting. The soldiers mimicked the gesture, left hands raised while their right remained within the folds of their cloaks. Most likely hands on the grips of their weapons. It seemed like an innocent enough exchange, but Muad noticed the birds and scampering animals were gone. Something foreign was here. Not the caravan, which seemed to have been accepted as the norm for nature. Something else.

He turned his head in Rin’s direction and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Muad would do nothing to endanger her people or place Rin in a position to be hurt. His intention was clear: let the danger pass. It would have been simple to act now, but he wouldn't. Why he chose this path was a question for another day.

“Just another day on the road, hmm Rin?”

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

The last echoes of the story lingered in the air long after Rin's voice had fallen silent. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, as though released from a spell, the children erupted into motion. Tavi leaped from the rear bench first, the carved tuk'ata held proudly beneath one arm while his other hand seized the nearest stick long enough to pass for a sword. Three others followed in a scramble of laughter, each claiming their own "blade" before charging into the grass beyond the road. Within moments the wolves had returned to the mountains, the village was once again under siege, and four very determined little heroes raced off to defend it from imaginary monsters.

A quiet laugh escaped Rin, warmer than the one she'd offered his theatrical bow earlier that morning. She watched them disappear between the wagons before returning her attention to the road, the lingering smile refusing to leave quite as quickly as it usually did.

"I'll tell another one at the campfire tonight," she said, almost as though the decision had only just been made. The smile deepened by the smallest measure. "Perhaps I'll even give them some music to go with it."

As the words settled between them, she caught the subtle shift beside her without needing to look directly at him. The relaxed posture. The careful adjustment of his leg. The way his hand disappeared toward the pistol hidden beneath the dashboard. To anyone else, he still looked like a weary traveler settling into a more comfortable position after a long walk. Rin merely added another quiet observation to the growing collection she had been making since the previous evening and kept guiding the speeder toward the bend ahead.

The caravan rounded the moss-covered outcropping, revealing four cloaked figures waiting beside the road. They stood with the practiced stillness of people accustomed to watching rather than participating, their faces shaded beneath travel-worn hoods while polished black boots betrayed lives spent somewhere other than dusty roads like these. The caravan leader offered the same easy wave he had given every traveler they'd passed that morning, and Rin answered with one of her own, casual and unhurried. The strangers returned the greeting with equal politeness, though their right hands remained hidden within the folds of their cloaks.

Beside her, Muad gave the smallest shake of his head. It was enough.

Rin let her hand settle once more upon the steering yoke without another glance toward the cloaked figures. The caravan maintained its easy pace. Conversations continued. Children laughed farther back along the line. Pack animals plodded patiently onward beneath the morning sun while the speeders hummed across the worn road. Within moments the strangers slipped behind them around the curve, becoming just another group of travelers heading in the opposite direction.

Only then did Rin reach for the waterskin resting beside her seat. She uncorked it, took a slow drink, and looked toward Muad rather than toward the men who were now somewhere behind them.

"Are we going to have to deal with them later?"

The question arrived with the same conversational ease one might use to ask whether the weather would hold through the afternoon. There was no alarm beneath it, no urgency, only practical curiosity from someone who already suspected she knew the answer.

His quiet reply drew the slightest tilt of her head. The corner of her mouth lifted once more, the expression clearly visible in her profile as sunlight filtered through the trees and danced across the windshield.

"Another day in paradise, my friend."

Her hands remained steady upon the controls as the battered old speeder carried them onward with the rest of the caravan. Whatever waited farther down the road would wait a little longer. For now there were only travelers, the whisper of wind through the grass, and another story waiting for the campfire when evening finally found them.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

“Are we going to have to deal with them later?”

The way she spoke the words it sounded like a statement in the form of a question. Yeah, she knew the answer. Even if they hadn't helped him the four men would have been a potential threat to the caravan. And he wasn't in the mood to lose any of his new found acquaintances. But not now.

“Yes.”

A simple answer. And the truth. Already he was calculating the likelihood the men would stay at the boulders. A good ambush spot and a reasonable defensive position. They'd stay there. Probably another day or two to try their luck. But their luck would run out, much sooner than they anticipated. He reholstered the pistol and hung his right arm out the door again as he enjoyed the cool breeze. On the horizon the clouds brewed and steeped into dark blues and purples. Still in the distance. A shadow crossed across the speeder and he glanced up. The birds were back. And so we're the animals in the forest. The planet’s rhythm had reset now that the Interlopers were well behind.

Another day in paradise indeed. He could see the appeal. A close-knit community. Friendly conversation and filling, if simple, food. Somewhere to the rear a deep male voice rang out in song that was quickly echoed throughout the caravan. He could definitely see the appeal. The thought crossed his mind as he removed the glareshades and showed them in a pouch of his trousers.

“Nice story. If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back. Nothing remains unchanged.”

A chorus passed and the second verse filled the air though the melody remained the same. Absently he reached into his boot and pulled a straight, long blade from a hidden sheath. It was made from beskar, dark and old ore shaped in a time long passed. A gift from the Betna clan. One piece of beskar, the handle merely the haft of the knife twisted into coils that lent itself to a firm grip. At the tip of the drop point the blade ended in two points, the center of which was hollow and open. The double edged was razor sharp. But along the flat portions of the knife were holes. The base of the hilt was hollowed out with an odd flat portion.

As he listened to the tune of the song he tossed a wink at Rin before gripping the flat of the blade and raising the end of the hilt to his mouth. His fingers found the correct indentions on the blade and he filled his lungs and breathed out. A high, airy tune escaped the tip. The sound wove into the song as the singers, emboldened by the music, sang louder. The melody of the instrument wove into the song and for several minutes the song was all.

Then their words trailed off and all that was left was the lonesome note held for several seconds more. And then it ended. He lowered the hilt from his mouth and looked at the bes’bev. A deadly instrument. Muad smirked as he remembered his friends, long gone, before sheathing the blade back into his boot.

He looked out and watched the wind as it picked up and whipped the grass meadow into a frenzy. The birds circling above turned into the wind and headed home. Home. An interesting concept. Like the story, some never found home. But others did, and never returned. Words slipped out, quietly.

“I guess the question is what is home?”

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

Rin inclined her head almost imperceptibly at his simple answer. There was no surprise in her expression, only quiet confirmation of something she had already suspected the moment the four strangers came into view.

"As much as I expected."

The words carried neither disappointment nor resignation. They were simply another fact added to the road beneath their wheels. Her attention drifted once more toward the horizon where the clouds had continued their slow gathering. What had begun as harmless wisps had thickened into towering banks of deep slate and violet, their sunlit edges steadily giving way to darker bellies that promised rain before long. The breeze shifted against her cheek, cooler now, carrying the unmistakable scent of moisture long before the first drop had fallen. She studied them for several moments before glancing toward the line of wagons stretching around them.

"Before dinner..." Her eyes remained upon the weather another heartbeat. "Or after?"

It was less a question of if than when. If the storm continued to build at its present pace, the caravan might choose to make camp early beneath the shelter of the trees rather than risk the open plains after nightfall. If it skirted north as she suspected it might, they would eat first and let the rain find them later. Either way, there would be time enough to deal with the men on the road.

The caravan's song drifted comfortably around them, first carried by one deep voice and then joined by another until the melody rolled through the procession as naturally as the turning of the wheels. Rin said nothing while Muad reached into his boot, curiosity replacing conversation. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the strange knife before understanding settled in as he lifted it to his lips. The first clear note floated into the morning air, light enough to ride upon the breeze yet strong enough to weave effortlessly between the singers. She listened without interruption, allowing the music to become part of the landscape itself. When the final note lingered and slowly dissolved into silence, she found herself smiling again.

"If you want to..." The warmth remained in both her eyes and her voice. "...we can play together tonight."

The invitation carried no weight beyond exactly what she had said. Music beside a campfire. Shared melodies beneath the stars. Yet there was a quiet openness to it all the same, reflected in the small glimmer of amusement that lingered in her amber eyes before she returned them to the road.

His final question settled between them more gently than either of the others. Rin guided the speeder onward for several long moments before answering, the road humming beneath them as the grass bowed in waves beneath the strengthening wind. At last she leaned back just enough to look fully at him. Without ceremony or hesitation, she lifted one hand from the steering yoke and rested her closed fist lightly against the center of her own chest. After a quiet heartbeat, she extended the same hand toward him, pausing only long enough to give him every opportunity to refuse before gently resting her knuckles over his heart.

"Home..." Her voice had softened almost to a whisper. "...is here."

She held the touch only for a moment before withdrawing her hand and returning it to the controls. No further explanation followed. To Rin, none was necessary. Roads changed. Worlds changed. People came and went like seasons. Home had never been where she slept, nor the campfire she returned to each evening. It was something carried quietly within, shared for a little while with those who walked beside you before the road carried each traveler onward once again.


Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

“If you want to … we can play together tonight “


The warmth and amusement in her eyes at the invitation caused Muad to color slightly. He didn't know what came over him. Just the sudden urge became an unconscious action to play the ancient bes’bev. And now he considered what it would be like to play music in tandem with the curious woman that piqued his interest. He couldn't remember the last time he placed his lips and fingertips to perform music with another.

His own amusement was shadowed on his face while he shook his head. Laughter escaped before he spoke, waiting for an answer. From within? Or on the wings of the departing birds. Maybe the breeze would have an answer. But his eyes were drawn back to Rin as she offered her answer—one unexpected.

When her fingers hovered above his chest, he raised his brows, not denying her. Her touch wasn't invasive. If anything, it was tentative. Gentle. As though she was confronting an animal unaccustomed to such affection or intimacy. Again, she wasn't wrong. If anything, he was like the tuk'ata, unfamiliar with common decency and familiar with how the galaxy worked. Power was right; weakness left you for dead. So he became power to keep those he considered weak safe. A fair trade. One soul for countless others to keep theirs. And he never regretted it.

Her hands returned to the controls to drive while his gaze followed the slender fingers. Strong yet gentle. Much like the woman they belonged to. She was an enigma wrapped in a riddle and compounded by a mystery. Soft as a feather and strong as beskar. He had seen both in less than twenty hours. It was in that moment, despite all the unknowns, that he decided to trust her, which was out of character for him. He rarely trusted anyone.

Rin's words had stirred in his chest. Home wasn't a place; it was what you carried with you. His eyes closed, enjoying the cool breeze that threatened rain. The children played, and the caravan moved with a monotonous routine. Conversation echoed down the line. For them, this was just another day in their life—familiarity born from a simple existence. Muad almost envied them.

“Can you stop for a moment?”

He opened the door as the speeder continued at walking pace, then stepped from it. The plain was still wide open, gentle rolling hills sloped down toward a valley. A pack of herbivores loped along the bottom, a larger specimen pausing to let the others roam ahead as he turned a horned head to look in their direction. Once the herd had receded farther down the slope, he tossed his head and released a loud bellow before trotting after the others.

A stream wandered along a ravine in the valley. More of a brook, actually. Muad wasn't sure if the scent of water came from the brook or the building rain clouds. If it rained, the stream would swell and become turbulent. Animals would flee the encroaching storm, taking shelter in the trees and rocks. And boulders.

He turned and looked the way they had come. The soldiers would do the same. Take shelter from the storm in the boulders they watched from. That was where he would meet them. Nature, after all, was all about power. Survival of the fittest. Muad shrugged his shoulder without a grimace or discomfort. In his estimation, he was plenty fit. His hands plucked a long blade of grass, and he returned to the speeder.

Thoughtfully, he chewed on the length of grass and leaned back in the seat, the door closing with a soft thump. A spring poked his lower thigh and his arm burned from the heated door panel. The three suns baked the dashboard's cracks. The breeze carried the woman's scent toward him. Sweat and musk and a layer of pheromones. His eyes blazed. A hunt was in his future. And he felt the stirring of excitement. Feeling alive. It was always thus. Conflict. Battle. A fight. He embraced the rush. Soon he would answer the call. However, as he looked at Rin and her people, he paused the instinct. Blood would fall soon. But he was looking forward to a few more moments of respite. With Tavi, Mara, the kids, the big foreman. And with Rin. He learned long ago that you can't always pick your battles. That didn't mean that you couldn't pick the time and place for some of them.

That night, when the moving village slept, he would stand apart from their gates and move toward the wolves with sword in hand. All he was missing was the tattered cloak.

But for now he would embrace the ride, let the suns bake his flesh, listen to the sounds of good people living their lives, and enjoy the company of the beautiful stranger he found himself liking. It was a surreal day. One he didn't imagine when he traveled to the system. Peace for a small window of time. A pleasurable dream.

“Do you dream? I tend not to. But today was a waking dream. Enjoyable memories I will cherish.”

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

Rin eased the speeder to a gentle stop when he asked, offering no question as he stepped out into the open plain. One hand remained resting lightly upon the controls while the other settled against the weathered edge of the door. She watched him wander a short distance from the road without feeling any need to follow. She knew that kind of pause. It was not uncertainty. Hunters stopped to read the wind. Guides stopped to read the land. Warriors stopped to read where a battle had not yet been fought. Muad belonged somewhere among all three, and she had already learned enough of him to recognize that interrupting such moments would accomplish nothing. Some thoughts needed open skies more than conversation.

While he stood looking across the valley, her own attention drifted toward the weather gathering beyond it. The clouds had grown heavier since morning, their bright white edges giving way to deep blues and muted violets that rolled slowly across the horizon like great ships beneath the three suns. The breeze shifted again, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of rain long before the first drops had fallen. Far below, the herd he had been watching had already begun angling toward the shelter of scattered trees, the oldest among them lingering only long enough to ensure the youngest had gone first. Even the birds had changed their course, abandoning the open sky for darker branches farther ahead. Nature seldom hurried. It simply knew when it was time to move.

By the time Muad returned, thoughtfully chewing upon a blade of grass, the speeder had already settled back into its place within the caravan. Wheels turned. Repulsors hummed softly above the road. Somewhere farther back, a child laughed, answered by another only a heartbeat later. A woman began humming the melody they had sung not long before, and one voice quietly became three before fading once more beneath the rhythm of the journey. Life returned to its familiar cadence as though the brief pause in the valley had simply become another verse in the day's song.

His question lingered between them with an unexpected gentleness.

Do you dream?

Rin did not answer immediately. Her fingers traced an absent circle against the worn leather wrapped around the controls while her gaze remained fixed upon the winding road ahead. It was not a difficult question. Only an unfamiliar one. Few people ever asked what occupied her thoughts once sleep finally claimed her. Fewer still waited patiently enough for the answer to arrive in its own time.

At length, the smallest smile found her profile, quiet enough that it might have escaped notice had he not been watching her already.

"Sometimes."

The word disappeared into the wind almost as soon as it had been spoken. She considered it for another moment before continuing, searching less for the right answer than for an honest one. "Not very often...and not the way most people seem to." Her eyes wandered across the landscape unfolding before them, where another ribbon of road disappeared between gently rolling hills. "I don't remember conversations. Or faces." A flock of pale birds rose suddenly from a stand of long grass, wheeling together before vanishing toward the forest. "Mostly I remember places."

The road dipped into a shallow hollow before climbing again, revealing another sweep of hills, scattered trees, and long grass bending beneath the strengthening wind. To Rin, it was another page in a landscape that never seemed to tire of rewriting itself. Her eyes followed the ribbon of road as it disappeared over one rise only to reveal itself again beyond the next, winding patiently through the countryside as though it had all the time in the world. "Roads I've never walked. Forests that don't exist anywhere I've ever been. Mountains whose names I've never learned." Her voice remained soft, almost thoughtful now. "Sometimes there are campfires waiting beyond the next hill. People are sitting around them, laughing as though they've known one another forever." A faint warmth touched her expression. "When I reach them..." She paused just long enough for the breeze to carry the unfinished thought away. "...it already feels as though I've arrived where I belong."

Her smile faded slowly, not from sadness but from acceptance. "Morning always comes before I learn their names." The words were spoken without regret, as though she were describing nothing more remarkable than the changing of the seasons. "By then the road is different again." Her fingers settled comfortably upon the controls. "Perhaps that's simply the nature of dreams." She did not mention that much of her waking life had often felt the same. Travelers arrived. They shared roads, meals, songs, and stories. Then one morning they followed different horizons, leaving behind little more than footprints and fond memories carried away by the next wind.

Only after several more peaceful moments did she glance toward Muad, the warmth returning to her eyes with quiet sincerity. "I think that's why I like stories." She looked ahead again, watching the caravan wind its patient way across the open country. "For a little while they let people stay together longer than the road usually allows." A child shouted somewhere behind them, answered almost immediately by another burst of laughter that rolled easily through the caravan. The sound drew the faintest smile back to her lips. "And every so often..." She let the words settle gently into the steady hum of the speeder before finishing in that same quiet, thoughtful voice. "...you wake to discover you've been given a day worth remembering."

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

Her response, like everything else about her, was measured, thoughtful, and sincere. He liked that about her. Too often people blurted out the first thing on their mind. And rarely was that worth the breath to utter. A form of verbal vomit. Nonsensical words that held neither real meaning nor importance.

Even with her ease of statement, there always seemed to be poetry in what she spoke. A moral to the story. It was layers, hidden meanings, and thought-provoking conversation that kept him raptly listening. He could almost see what she described with flowery intent, his imagination filling in what wasn't uttered. A beautiful symmetry. It almost made him wish that he could dream. But in truth he didn't need to.

"I think, perhaps, that is one of the things I like the most about my existence. I get to travel—a new system, new planets, new terrain. I often get to see new things I've never experienced. And I get to meet new people. Most aren't worth getting to know. But a few, a rare few, strike a chord. Like two notes on different instruments. Completely different, yet the same tune."

Muad had watched her fingers tracing the leather, seen the soft smiles that appeared and disappeared like mists hovering over a lake, even the musical melody of her laugh. Maybe he was beginning to understand her.

"Every landscape has its own inherent beauty. The sands of Tatooine and Geonosis, the rolling hills of Siskeen, the equal parts desolation and hope of Manda'yaim, the emerald waters of Eris, even gas giants have that spark of life you couldn't imagine existed. But if new worlds were a meal, the people you meet are the spice."

He smirked and looked away, observing the approaching weather. In the distance, you could see a distortion, rainfall hovering at the edge of clouds. The clouds thickened above the caravan, beams of sunlight piercing through the veil in several spots. An ethereal vision, one part eerie, one part brilliant. That was life—the duality of nature.

New voices rang out. Parents calling their children closer. Kids moaning and begging for a few more minutes. The cool breeze from earlier in the day grew cold, a chill that had the animals bellowing. The persistent wind nearly flattened the meadow to the right, while in the forest to their left, leaves rustled and flew from stems, and lighter branches broke and fell to the earth.

"I guess I have … difficulty around new people. I don't trust easily—occupational hazard. But sometimes you find yourself connecting unexpectedly. A blossoming friendship at a bar at the beach. Or two strangers ordering the same meal only to find the spices were trying to kill them with the heat and laughing over a bowl of frozen yogurt. Maybe a random sparring match at a dojo on an odd little world. Or being rescued from a crash landing. Life has a way of throwing a shifter card into a hand of sabaac. You never know what happens next. That's probably the best gift."

His smirk grew as he spoke. Too many people were worried about what tomorrow would bring and missed the joy life offered in the moment, like this caravan. They could have mapped out every stop, each potential problem that could come with randomness, made plans for when things fell apart, but instead they lived a life marked a day at a time. And only when that day was over. They were prepared for eventualities brought by times of distress. However, they seized the life they lived today, in the moment. It was refreshing. Inspiring.

"You answered one question about dreams. Here's another. Do you have dreams for the future? And I have to know, was I hallucinating from pain or did I see you have a tail?"

Muad arched a brow as he gazed at Rin. His query clearly risked ostracizing her with its personal nature. But he was curious. Continually curious. He was aware that if she chose to answer, he would be opening himself up for questions of a more intimate nature. Worth the risk, he mused silently to himself.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

The corner of Rin's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly as she listened, her amber eyes remaining upon the winding road while Muad's thoughts drifted comfortably between them. There was something quietly satisfying about the way he spoke of people. Not as obstacles to overcome or strangers to endure, but as notes waiting to discover whether they belonged in the same melody. She found herself nodding once, the movement so slight it almost disappeared beneath the steady sway of the speeder. The road rolled gently beneath them while long grasses bent and straightened in the strengthening breeze like waves upon a quiet sea. "To instruments in harmony." The words carried the easy warmth of a toast shared between fellow travelers, spoken not because they required acknowledgment, but because they deserved it.

His thoughts wandered naturally from people to worlds, and hers followed with effortless ease. The road dipped between low hills where scattered wildflowers painted ribbons of crimson and pale gold across the meadow, only to climb once more into open country washed by shafts of sunlight breaking through the gathering clouds. Every few moments the changing sky transformed the landscape, bathing it first in warm amber before cool silver swept across the grasses like another season arriving without warning. Rin watched the light travel over the hills before quietly adding, "To the spice of life." The almost-smile that accompanied the words arrived without invitation, lingering only long enough to soften the calm lines of her face before the wind carried it away again.

When Muad spoke of beauty, of deserts that breathed beneath twin suns, emerald oceans, forgotten worlds, and the quiet wonder hidden even within gas giants, Rin turned her head just enough to study him properly. There was no challenge in her gaze, only quiet understanding. Beauty had a curious way of leaving footprints deeper than hardship ever could. Her eyes held his for only a moment before returning to the road ahead. "To the dangers of beauty." A thread of gentle amusement colored her voice. "It's very good at convincing people to stay longer than they planned." Whether she spoke of places, roads, or people was left deliberately unresolved.

She listened once more while he spoke of distrust, of lives that collided unexpectedly before drifting apart again, of friendships born over shared meals, ridiculous circumstances, and the strange generosity of chance. The breeze had cooled noticeably now, carrying with it the scent of wet stone and approaching rain. Farther along the caravan, blankets disappeared beneath cargo straps while parents quietly called wandering children closer to the wagons. No one hurried. No one panicked. They simply adjusted themselves to what the day intended to become. Only after Muad's words had settled completely did Rin answer.

"Trust often brings pain," she said quietly, the observation offered without bitterness or warning. The road stretched patiently before them while the speeder hummed beneath her hands, its familiar vibration becoming part of the conversation itself. After a thoughtful pause, she continued, "So does never offering it." Her fingers rested lightly upon the worn controls, tracing the smooth leather where countless journeys had polished it over the years. "Every road asks something of the people who walk it. Trust is simply one of the prices." There was no lesson hidden within the words. Only acceptance from someone who had paid that price often enough to stop resenting it.

His final question earned a slight tilt of her head, and for perhaps the first time since they had met, genuine amusement reached her eyes before it reached her voice. "Yes." The answer was simple enough that it almost invited him to believe there was nothing more to it. Then she shifted comfortably in her seat, lifting herself only enough for something concealed beneath the back of her long coat to slip free. A long, thick tail the color of polished amber eased naturally into view before settling beside her with the quiet grace of something that had always belonged exactly where it was. It was neither displayed nor hidden. It simply existed.

The dark tuft at its end gave the smallest absent flick before becoming still once more. There was nothing theatrical about the movement, no flourish intended to draw attention. It carried the same unconscious ease as someone stretching tired shoulders after a long drive or brushing loose hair away from their face. Rin seemed almost unaware of it herself. She glanced sideways toward Muad, amusement still lingering softly in her expression. "You weren't hallucinating." The admission was delivered with such matter-of-fact simplicity that it transformed what might have been an extraordinary revelation into something almost ordinary.

The tail settled comfortably across the seat between them, its weight shifting slightly each time the speeder rolled over another gentle rise in the road. Sunlight slipping between the clouds caught the rich amber of its fur, warming it to burnished copper before shadow softened it once again into honeyed brown. Rin paid it no more attention than she did the sleeves of her jacket or the boots resting lightly upon the pedals. It was simply another part of her, long since accepted, requiring neither explanation nor apology. If Muad wished to ask more, she would answer. If he did not, she was equally content to let silence carry the moment onward.

Ahead, the caravan continued threading its way across the open country with the unhurried confidence of people who belonged to the road as much as any permanent home. Children's laughter drifted back on the strengthening wind, while, farther ahead, another voice resumed the morning's song, quiet at first before others joined in one by one. The melody rose gently above the steady hum of engines and the whispering grass, weaving itself into the broad landscape until it became difficult to tell where music ended, and the world itself began. Rin listened without speaking, one hand resting lightly upon the controls while the other remained relaxed against the door, content to let the road, the weather, the song, and the unexpected company beside her carry the day forward one peaceful mile at a time.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

The words, "Can I touch it?", almost came out of his mouth. The absurdity of his first thought made him laugh—a lot. Tears sprang to his eyes as he scrubbed them away with the back of his hand. Finally he got a hold of himself, sure that he looked like an idiot. Not that he cared about appearances.

His breathing settled after the episode, and he glanced down at her tail, lying between them on the seat. The end twitched, and he shook his head at his thoughts. Looking back up at her face, he had a choice. Throw his laughter off onto something else, or share what just transpired in his mind. Why lie?

"Sorry about that. The first thing that popped into my mind was, can I touch it? I know, normal adults wouldn't go there. Kids probably, but not sane adults. I guess that puts me in either one of the two categories. Maybe both."

Of course he didn't know how sensitive she was about her tail. Or how sensitive her tail was. He recognized the touch could have been as simple as a pat on the hand or a handshake. Then again, it could have been as intimate as a kiss on those lips of hers that twitched into a smile.

Muad glanced at her lips and then away. Perhaps he was aware of what he said. He shifted in his seat and looked up to observe the clouds. Heavy with the portent of rain, lightning flashed through the deep blue and violet storm clouds. The crash of thunder came about a dozen seconds later. The earth-rumbling sound caused some of the animals in the caravan to let out a sound. The song paused in the moment, then continued a bit more muted than before.

Her words came back to him. Trust, and the road traveled. It was one of the parts he enjoyed about meeting new people—the opportunity to be yourself. Unlike the risk of being vulnerable to people in your life, it afforded freedom. Although he found himself wishing the caravan was located on Olanet or Siskeen. That way he could visit whenever he wished: Mara, Tavi, the big foreman, and Rin. But alas, they were far from his system.

"Some roads are shorter than others. You have to embrace every moment. Then, other roads seem like a short journey but turn into a lifetime. Those are rare indeed. How old are you?"

Again, there he went. Sometimes stoic and measured. Sometimes random and impulsive. Much like the weather, which went from calm and peaceful to gusts of wind that led to storm clouds, Muad was equally chaotic.

Another fork of lightning illuminated the heavens. Beautiful and dangerous. Another thunderclap sounded, and parents called their children closer. Tarps were pulled from storage in the backs of speeders and wagons in anticipation of the skies opening up with nature's fury. The caravan slowed slightly, spaces between the assorted vehicles closing like ranks.

Muad plucked the blade of grass from his mouth and held it out the door, allowing the wind to whip it from his grasp and carry it along to deposit somewhere beyond his sight. Sometimes that was all people were—a thing to be carried along a path unmapped, unplanned.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

Muad's laughter caught Rin entirely by surprise.

She turned her head just enough to study him, quiet curiosity replacing the calm concentration she'd worn since taking the controls that morning. The sound filled the little speeder with unexpected life, bright enough to rise above the steady hum of the repulsors and the whispering wind slipping across the open plain. He laughed until tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, one hand brushing hastily across them while he tried, with only moderate success, to recover what remained of his composure. Rin simply waited. She had discovered that interruptions often stole the ending from good stories, and this one seemed worth hearing in full.

When he finally admitted what had started it all, her expression softened in a way that had become almost familiar over the course of the journey. The corners of her mouth curved upward, not into laughter but into genuine amusement that reached her golden eyes and stayed there. She regarded him for a long moment before answering, the silence itself becoming part of the joke.

"It would probably surprise you how many people have asked that."

There was no embarrassment in her voice, no hint of offense, only the quiet acceptance of someone who had long ago stopped finding the question unusual. Her eyes lingered on him another heartbeat longer than necessity required, amused less by the question itself than by the complete sincerity with which he had confessed it. It was difficult to imagine many people admitting such a thought out loud. Somehow, with Muad, it felt perfectly natural.

As the speeder rolled over another gentle rise, Rin shifted comfortably in her seat. The movement was small, almost unconscious, but it allowed the long amber tail resting behind her to slide across the worn bench until it came to rest lightly over his lap. Sunlight filtering through the gathering clouds warmed the rich copper hues along its length while the darker tuft brushed softly against the back of his hand. She made no dramatic gesture of offering it, nor did she draw attention to what she'd done. Instead, she glanced sideways with that same quiet smile still lingering.

"Go on," she said with quiet certainty, as though inviting him to examine an interesting stone rather than something far more personal. The smile lingering at the corners of her mouth deepened by the smallest measure as her amber eyes remained on his a heartbeat longer than they needed to before drifting back toward the road. "Just don't pull it," she added, the warmth in her voice making it impossible to mistake the remark for a warning. A tiny pause followed, deliberate enough to acknowledge the humor without ever calling attention to it. "Not that I think you would...on purpose."

For perhaps the first time since they'd met, the joke belonged equally to both of them. Whether she recognized every possible interpretation or only the obvious one remained delightfully impossible to tell. She offered no explanation, simply allowing the comfortable silence to reclaim the space between them while the tail continued resting lightly across his lap as though it had wandered there entirely of its own accord.

His next question settled between them much more quietly. Outside, the wind carried the cool scent of approaching rain across the open country while broad shadows drifted over the rolling grasslands beneath thickening clouds. Lightning flashed silently along the distant horizon, illuminating the deep blue heart of the storm before fading once more into soft gray. Farther ahead, the caravan leader lifted one broad arm and slowly circled it overhead, the familiar signal passing backward through the line with practiced ease. Drivers eased off their throttles, wagons drew a little closer together, and hands disappeared beneath benches in search of bundled canvas before the first drop had even touched the road.

Rin watched the movement ahead for a quiet moment before answering. Her fingers remained lightly wrapped around the worn leather grips of the controls, polished smooth by decades of travel.

"You probably won't believe me," she said, though there was no challenge in the words. If anything, they carried the patient acceptance of someone who had watched the same expression cross countless faces over the course of a very long life. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the rain-dark horizon, where the storm continued to gather strength, before returning to him with quiet warmth. "As I said...I'll be around for a very long time." The faint smile returned, softer now, touched less by amusement than simple truth. "One hundred fifty-four."

She let the number settle between them without embellishment, then tilted her head ever so slightly in his direction. Her eyes rested on him just long enough to watch the answer arrive before they returned once more to the road, giving him the courtesy of absorbing it without feeling observed.

The foreman's arm rose again farther ahead, this time pointing toward a broad stand of ancient trees nestled against a rocky rise where the caravan would find shelter from the weather. Rin followed the gesture before a soft breath escaped her, halfway between a sigh and an amused concession.

"So much for my prediction of another hour."

The smile returned as she eased the speeder gently out of line toward the place where camp would soon rise once more. Beyond them, thunder rolled across the hills like a great beast stretching awake, while the first heavy drops of rain finally began striking the dusty road, releasing the rich scent of damp earth into the cooling afternoon air.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

As her tail drifted down to his lap, he arched a brow. Several jokes leapt to the fore of his mind, but he didn't give them a voice. Not even within. Rin offered a part of herself to him. His right hand lowered and gently caressed her fur. It was as soft as he imagined it would be. Emboldened, he swept his hand along the length, feeling the musculature beneath the fine dander of her feline tail. For a moment he wondered if she purred.

Amusement traced the lines of his face as he realized they had yet to shake hands. This was the closest they had come to that. Her tail was silky between his callused fingers, fine fur parting with even the lightest stroke. An intimate gesture he felt humbled to partake in.

Even as he pondered what he could offer to compare with the prized experience, he remembered the night before. When no breath escaped his lungs, and his heart ceased to pump life through his veins. Even in the afterlife, he felt the soft touch of her hand upon him, felt the warmth, and felt the Force flow. He didn't comprehend it then, but she had touched him and brought him back. A lifeline he was ignorant of, yet a lifeline regardless. And he remembered his words of warning. Was it for the darkness he carried? The Doashim patron? Or was it fear of something else? Something he was hesitant to give a name to—a thing she gave freely to him at this very moment.

While he stroked her tail, he concluded, with very little thought, that he was not treating her tail like a pet Lothal cat or hound. He was, for all intents and purposes, caressing her flesh. An intimate, personal exchange. His eyes turned to hers with trepidation and came to a sarcastic conclusion.

Rin was a witch. Confounded and discombobulated in her presence. Where was the Mad Master, the crazed force of personality he embodied, the tool of chaos? Instead, he sat here, in a speeder, with a woman he'd known for less than a day and spoke of poetry, music, dreams, and seizing the moment. It was a side of him he thought long dead. However, here he was, living.

"One hundred fifty-four."

The weight of his gaze lingered long after her eyes returned to the road. Muad was surprised. And not. Physically, she was in the prime of her life, young, sure of her physical abilities, supple, athletic, with hidden strength. Nothing seen by the eyes could correspond to what she said about her age. However, her bearing and manner made it appear she possessed a wealth of personal knowledge—hard-earned experience. And the way she spoke revealed a patience not learned in a single lifetime. The cadence of her words, the delicate choice of what to utter. Even the control over her emotions. A mature woman in thought, though not in form.

"It would be unjust for me not to alleviate any apprehension you may feel. See, this new information makes many things about you clearer. I've known my fair share, and then some, of individuals with long lifespans. Naturally long-lived species, or technological intervention, or through the Force. And I had this opportunity because of my own lifespan."

He paused here, allowing his eyes to meet hers. There was no ageist bias. No judgment. Only acceptance of the piece she shared.

"I was born before the fall of the Old Republic and the rise of the first Galactic Empire. Through a series of unfortunate events, wrong-place wrong-time, or plain bad luck, I've skipped many of the centuries between them and now. I'd wager I'm still a good few years your senior. Anyways, I always preferred older women."

The caravan slowly turned and entered a small clearing nestled into the forest. An alcove still dotted by a few massive trees. Slowly, the lead speeder circled the perimeter of their haven for the night until it closed with the rear wagon. A circular formation as old as time itself. Before unloading anything, first the people pulled out tarps, sturdy tents, and other means of shelter designed to keep them dry. Youth and children were sent to gather any usable wood for the fires quickly. He had seen many of the vehicles traveling that day keep a box of wood for the very same purpose. But it was always better to use what was at hand than to dip into supply reserves—more wisdom in the life of a nomad.

The adults worked quickly and efficiently even as the first fat drops splattered the group. Nature offered no apology for cutting their day short, nor did it offer a small reprieve to allow them to set up camp. She was fickle that way.

"Anywhere you recommend me lending a hand?"

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

The first fat drops of rain struck the road with slow, deliberate taps, darkening the dust one circle at a time before the scent of damp earth rose to meet them. It always happened in that order. Rain announced itself first to the nose, then to the ears, and only afterward to the eyes. Ahead of them, the wind bent the tall grasses into long silver waves while the distant treeline disappeared behind a soft gray curtain already swallowing the far hills. Lightning wandered lazily through the bellies of the clouds without yet committing itself to the ground, each pale flash lingering just long enough to illuminate the underside of the storm before fading once more into muted blues and violets. The weather had finally made its decision.

Rin listened to Muad's answer with the same patient attention she seemed to give nearly everything. There was something quietly reassuring about the way he spoke. He never hurried his thoughts, never seemed interested in filling silence simply because it existed. Each answer felt considered before it was offered, shaped with the care of someone accustomed to weighing words before releasing them. She found herself wondering how many lifetimes it had taken to cultivate that habit. Ever since she had found him resting beneath the old tree beside the shattered remains of his starfighter, curiosity had remained an increasingly familiar companion. He had answered far more questions than he likely realized, while somehow leaving twice as many behind.

His confession about preferring older women drew another smile from her, one that lingered long enough to soften the calm lines of her face before she answered. The humor was impossible to miss now, warm without becoming teasing.

"That does make things rather difficult," Rin observed, the words accompanied by a smile that lingered longer than most of the fleeting expressions she allowed herself. Her golden eyes drifted toward him for a quiet moment before returning to the road ahead, the amusement remaining even after her gaze had moved on. "Finding older men has never been particularly easy." The corner of her mouth lifted another fraction, as though she had only just appreciated the irony herself. "I'm rather glad I haven't given up looking." The humor settled gently between them, warm without becoming flirtatious, leaving behind the comfortable ease that had slowly begun to grow over the course of the day.

After a thoughtful silence, another question quietly resurfaced in her mind. She turned her head just enough to look at him again, curiosity resting plainly in her expression without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. "You said my age makes many things clearer." Her head tilted almost imperceptibly as she studied him, interested not in defending herself but in understanding what he'd seen. "What did it clarify?" The question was offered with genuine openness rather than any need for reassurance. She had lived long enough to know that every person noticed something different, and those observations often revealed as much about the observer as they did about the one being observed. She simply wished to understand what he had seen.

Before he could answer, the lead speeder slowed.

The signal rippled backward through the caravan almost invisibly. No shouted orders followed. None were necessary. Drivers eased from the road one after another, guiding wagons and speeders into a broad circle nestled between towering trees whose broad canopies would soften the worst of the coming storm. Pack animals were led inward while children, laughing despite the weather, darted from vehicle to vehicle gathering loose blankets, toolboxes, and bundles of kindling before the rain could claim them. Older hands unfolded weathered canvas with the effortless confidence of people who had performed the same routine through seasons beyond counting. Someone drove stakes into the dampening earth while another pair stretched ropes overhead, and before long the first outlines of a familiar village emerged where only travelers had stood moments before.

Rin guided her own battered speeder into its accustomed place within the growing circle before reaching beneath the dashboard. Two worn catches released with practiced clicks, and the roof lifted smoothly from behind them, swinging overhead until it settled into place with a reassuring metallic clunk. The little roadster transformed into a snug shelter against the weather, the rain now drumming softly on the canvas above rather than falling directly into the cabin. She gave one of the support braces an absent push to make certain it had seated properly before resting her hands once more upon the controls. There was something quietly domestic about the familiar routine, and she found, not for the first time that day, that she did not mind sharing the small space beside her.

Only then did she look back toward Muad as he offered his help.

Outside, the camp continued blooming beneath the rain. An elderly Ithorian couple struggled good-naturedly with one corner of a canvas awning that seemed determined to become a sail each time the wind caught it, while two younger men pretended not to notice until the fabric lurched skyward and nearly carried one of them off his feet, earning easy laughter from everyone nearby. Mara was already directing a pair of teenagers toward the cook wagon with armfuls of herbs rescued before the rain. Tavi and the other children scampered triumphantly through the gathering drizzle carrying bundles of sticks as though they had personally defeated the storm itself. Everywhere Rin looked, people moved with quiet purpose. No one issued orders. No one needed to. They simply belonged together.

"There are always people who appreciate another pair of hands," Rin said, her gaze drifting naturally across the camp until it settled upon the elderly couple still wrestling with their stubborn awning. The sight drew another faint smile before she looked back toward Muad. "See if any of the elders need help getting their shelters up." Quiet amusement lingered in her eyes, born from years of watching the same familiar exchange repeat itself whenever weather interrupted the road. "Most of them will insist they're perfectly capable," she continued, watching another playful gust tug insistently at the canvas. "Help them anyway." The words sounded less like instruction than the gentle certainty of someone who already knew exactly how the conversation would begin and exactly how it would end.

As Muad climbed from the speeder, Rin remained where she was for another quiet moment, listening to the steady rhythm of rain gathering upon the roof overhead. Her fingers rested lightly against the worn leather of the steering wheel while she watched him make his way across the camp toward the waiting elders. It occurred to her then that scarcely a day earlier he had been little more than an unknown stranger she had discovered beneath an old tree beside the wreckage of his ship. Now she found herself wondering what answer he would give to her question, what story he might tell after dinner, what melody he might choose if they truly played music together beneath the lantern light. She smiled to herself, almost without realizing it. Curiosity, it seemed, was proving every bit as persistent as the rain.

The thought lingered only a moment before she reached behind the seats for the lantern and the folded canvas she would need later that evening. The storm had arrived precisely when it wished, asking the road for one more evening instead of another mile. To Rin's quiet surprise, she found she didn't mind granting the request.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

He shared her smile and amusement. People said age was just a number, but it was more than that. Rin asked why her answer clarified things for his own mind. It was simple, really.

"Your demeanor is elegant without meaning to. You have a poise that is normally earned after many, many years. There's this inherent patience you have. All of these are more than training or upbringing. It takes a great deal of time to acquire these traits. You are also very specific with your words and timing."

One hand gestured to her form while his other continued to stroke her tail absently.

"Then there's your appearance. You're too young to carry yourself the way you do. Obviously you command the caravan. But you do it in a simple, benign way. Most people in their twenties or thirties still feel the need to exhibit a persona, physical strength, a gruff tone, or even lead by example. You remind me of many colonels. Those who have earned their position and no longer feel the need to show why. Their actions and words are all that is necessary. Then there is the quiet reserve you carry as though you have seen this all before, many times. And it takes a special type of person to command the respect shown by both Mara and the big foreman. Despite being visibly your senior."

The caravan closed ranks as the camp began to leave their respective rides to raise their domiciles for the night. Rin latched the top of the speeder down, securing it against the falling rain.

"And your tracking skills are superb, not to mention the observation you have for anything around that would affect your people."

She directed him to some of the elderly in the group with a soft warning of their resistance. Muad smirked and tossed her a salute before leaving her behind in the speeder. Already the low divots in the ground were beginning to fill with the slow, persistent rainfall. A glance at the darkening skies revealed that they would soon be caught in heavier showers. As he approached the older couple, he raised his hands slightly, as though entering a hostage situation. Which, in a sense, he was. The wind whipped the tarp around their heads, keeping the two at nature's mercy. The older man cast a disapproving eye at the encroaching stranger.

"We don't need no help from a tenderfoot like yourself." The words weren't meant to be unkind; they were just his way of making their stance on independence clear. Getting old usually meant being ornery, stubborn, and fiercely self-reliant.

"Oh, I wasn't wanting to help you. Actually, I was hoping you would help me. See, I don't really know how to set up a lean-to, tents, or anything of the sort. Typically, everything is prepared before I arrive. You would do me a kindness by showing me what to do. That way I don't embarrass myself later if I have to do it by myself."

Muad's expression was honest and eager. The older woman placed her hand gently on her husband's shoulder. "Paulos, why don't we let this young man help? Really, we'd be teaching him to be self-reliant. A man of his age should learn how." The old man gave Muad the evil eye before looking at his wife. His countenance changed, and he nodded before turning a scowl back to Muad.

"Okay, son. This is what you need to do …"

Ten minutes later, the tarp was secured by two trees and the back of their wagon. Another tarp was staked down along the rear to create a wall, then pulled over the first tarp to stretch it by four meters as an awning. The old man showed him two sturdy limbs he used to hold the opening up with further rope and stakes to hold them in place. Muad was even allowed to unload a large black pot and arrange several stones for a fire pit under the stern eye of the elder man. After failing to start the fire, the old man squatted on his haunches and showed Muad how to use kindling and some fat lighter to catch a spark from the flint, which ignited the nest of small twigs and wood accelerant.

Muad thanked them for their help in showing him how to set up a campsite and moved on, back into the stinging rain to assist another older couple struggling against the wind. Paulos turned to his wife and muttered, "You really think he didn't know what to do?" She stroked her husband's brow and whispered into his ear. "That poor man would freeze to death. He couldn't light a fire with a torch. At least now you showed him how." The couple went back to their wagon, feeling proud that they had helped a man who should have known better learn a new skill for survival.

After he helped two more families, the last of which was a pair of grandparents with a gaggle of grandkids hovering around, he was thoroughly soaked. The grandparents were trying to pull an old potbellied stove from their sled when he approached. Their pride denied they needed any help. Muad offered a trade. He would unload the massive beast and set it up if he was allowed to swing by later and have a bite of food and a hot cup of tea. They agreed. He spent an extra dozen minutes breaking the rusted-on tires loose. He used some tallow from one of their jars to grease the small axle on the stove and reattached the wheels, which now spun freely. That would make it much easier for them to load and unload the massive piece of equipment.

He returned to the speeder, unsurprised at Rin's absence, and unhooked the gun belt to stow inside. At a second thought, he deposited the beskad on the seat too before closing the door and heading to the large pavilion already erected. His boots slogged through the muddied puddles, and water dripped from his hair and into his eyes. His tan tunic was soaked, but thankfully his trousers were water-resistant. When he reached the tent, he ducked his head under the awning and smiled.

"Permission to enter? I'd rather not drown tonight, but there are worse ways to go."

Rin Taal