Passing Homesteads

[Glade]

Among the Leaves.
Unnamed Temperate Moon

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psuRGfAaju4​

Laying prone while she was healed, spine was gone, family was gone, father was gone, jedi order was gone. Daughter was safe. Strangely she was peaceful with their passing, acceptance, or just couldn’t feel what her healer was doing to her body, maybe her numbness below her hips helped, loss of feeling across much of her body resulting from his herbs. Laying on a small stone tablet while the stranger worked on repairing her injuries best he could, cushioned by local bush. Skilled healer he was, which was why she’d survived her tornado at all, and he was treating her with care.

Corellian by the looks of him. She was wrapped up in comforting linen, herbs and natural aids strapped to wounds, treated gently, as her condition was fragile. Winds as expected blowing around their alter, but he was so careful and gentle, her temperament reflecting their environment in light gusts. He reminded her of Taiden, her thoughts wondering about her friend, she'd been poor friends to them letting them drift so far. Silly thing to be thinking about right now. Around her were other refugees, or homeless, shelter of sorts like she had built on their former Eldorai homeworld.

Quaint little place, nothing but their basics, her memories of her time here were fuzzy, nose itched. She wanted to turn her head, but he touched her forehead to remind her to be still. Minutes passed to hours, murky thoughts and drifting images. Work was going on behind her, building ranches, cattle, lives.

 

[Glade]

Bone set, she felt her ribs when they finally clicked, and drew blood from her own palms. No matter how many pain killers they’d filled her with, digging her nails into her palms, they were not enough. Though her ribs would look unsightly, she was whole again at her side.

Long shaggy hair, leaves and other dirt strewn through her, strands of which began to pick up. Crest of flowers around her forehead coming free before caught by another. Wind circled and blew, noticeable different from her steady breeze earlier, expressions, what she was feeling on her outside world. As her body weakened, seemingly her force connection strengthened, or tried to. Compensation, like any disability, other senses or body parts often became more dominant.

She could not know this, and would not yet, but loss and trauma had sewn new connections to their environment around her. Linen blowing across her body, and disrupting her healer. She had to quell her connection to their winds before they died down, rather than fueling them. Wind, motion, and storm was difficult to stop when started, painful lesson she had learned forcefully, which would carry forward with her.

 

[Glade]

Soft words began, formed inside of her, hummed across her steady breeze.

For memory and glade.

No grief without love,
No love without risking more than we could ever lose,
Sorrow is my glade, where grass flames,
Often hot, but cold fire burns us deepest.

Draped in shroud of choices,
Memory reveals to us what we were,
Sat in company of those we loved,
Memory cannot find what each of us must become.

Those who lived and loved echo within memories and words,
But understanding silence reveals fuller meaning,
When we grief for love lost,
We know we were alive.

- Glade, inspired by Various others.

 

[Glade]

Singing caused her healer's eyebrow raise, pressing her lips for steadiness with his index finger, quieting her. Tired, dimly aware of her surroundings as time passed. Corellian refugees and community, small but salt of their earth. They brought food, water, and often would speak comfort for their delirious patient, while she lay under her healer's care. Man who never left her side, never venturing elsewhere in his steady vigil. Even as their time wore on to pass night and birth day again he remained. Elder woman took his place as morning came, older, wiser and sterner, she had less outward softness but infinite amount of experience, tending wounds for many a reckless Corellian, which she put to use.

Rolling her head from painful bout, aches, first of her knitted muscles remembered what they were. Work behind her slab continued, noisy period shaking her attention. She saw what seemed like metal bubbles, holding crops, containers for plants and animals. Shaggy dry hair blew across her face, briskly cold morning winds, and unforgiving for any local let alone visitor. Winds she helped quell as her attention returned to herself, noticing others around her stumbling, bringing her strewn emotions to forefront of her thoughts. She had not dealt with loss of her legs, unlikely she would for many months. Least she could do was not contribute to pending storms further.

"Where are we?"

"Glade." Her elder said.