Private The Pattern Wounded

[Issar Rae’Velis]

The wind spoke differently here.

It was not the sharp breeze of the upper ridges or the rustling chatter of leaves in good health. This wind circled low, brushing the grass with careful, uneven passes, uncertain, watching.

Issar Rae’Velis moved through the tall reeds with a slowness that was not hesitation, but rather listening. His serpentine lower body coiled forward in long, deliberate strides, smoothing the path rather than disturbing it. Dew clung to the edges of his robe, dark earthen cloth marked with the light touch of spirals and ash. One of his four hands remained loose at his side. The others each served a purpose; one resting on the memory beads coiled around his wrist, another carrying a small satchel filled with herbs, incense and sacred stones, the third bearing a weathered wooden staff.

He had been walking since dawn. The trail was not marked on any map. But he did not need direction. The Spiral brought him here, not through vision or voice, but the way weight shifts in the Force when something beneath the surface is not yet settled.

The light around him was soft now, filtered through slow-moving clouds. Insects chirped. Somewhere distant, a bird called twice and fell silent.

Ahead, the ruins began.

Old stone, hunched low to the ground. A shell of what once stood proud. Twisted roots pierced the edges of the structure, but the walls still breathed. The Hysalrian paused as he approached the crumbled threshold. Not out of reverence, but out of recognition.

The air changed. Colder. Heavier. This place remembered pain.

He passed beneath the broken archway, letting his fingers trail the stone as he entered the circle of what remained; a sunken chamber, partially caved, its centre ringed in faint scorch marks that no wind had cleared. The ground pulsed here, softly, like a bruise beneath the skin of the Force. Issar coiled inward.

He lowered himself to the floor with care and reached into the satchel to draw out a slender bundle of dried reeds, twined with marshflower and spiral-marked bark. With a flick of his nail and a whispered breath, the incense caught, smoke curling upward in slow, deliberate spirals. He placed it gently at the centre of the broken floor. The scent rose, earthy, bitter-sweet, touched faintly with ash. It did not cleanse. It did not mask. It simply marked. A witness offered to the wound above, before he sought the one below.

Then, Issar turned his eyes to the darkened archway that led deeper underground.

Gem-in-Trash​

 

[Gem-in-Trash]

Splash!

The croaks of frogs, chirps of insects, and songs of birds intensified as a predator made itself known. It was a foreign thing, but that didn't matter to the creatures of this swamp; a predator was a predator, and the warnings of one were spread to all once it made its attack. A frog, bigger than most of its kind, was too slow to escape the pounce of this hunter. It would be food, and believed itself about to be eaten, but this predator was not one commonly seen in this swamp. There had not been one of its kind on Tython for a long time.

Its name was Gem-in-Trash, and she found frog-hunting to her liking.

"I got another one!" she called out, stuffing the frog into the wicker trap basket she'd brought. There were four frogs in there; she was aiming for six, and they would be a wonderful dinner for her and her mother tonight.

"Don't catch too many or we won't be able to hunt here again for a while," Digs reminded her.

"I know. I'm only going to catch a couple more, and then I'll help you," Gem said. She found a tree she could climb that gave her an excellent view of the swamp. She would wait here for a while, and let the creatures of the swamp relax after her latest pounce. Gem could easily use the Force or a fishing rod to catch these frogs, but she enjoyed the challenge of catching them with her bare claws, and there was something off about the idea of using the Force to just lift a frog out of its home and eat it. And besides, she was Cath. She was a hunter. It was part of her.

Her ears perked up when she saw something large moving around in the swamp. A creature? Some carnivorous monster? Maybe it was one of those Flesh Raiders she'd read so much about on the way here?

"Mum? There's something here, something big," Gem called out; hunting frogs was no longer a priority. Digs-The-Sands drew her blaster. Gem crawled to the edge of her tree's branch, as far as it could hold her weight, and then pounced from the tree to the top of a stone. She wanted to get closer, hunt this thing and see it before it saw them, and perhaps attacked. If she knew where and what it was, she could be better prepared. Gem had no doubt that this creature knew that it was not alone in these ruins. Had they awoken something from its nest? There were plenty of strange creatures on Tython that were a threat, even to a fully knighted Jedi. If it was just some unaggressive grass-muncher, then they had nothing to worry about.

And Gem really wanted to see what it was.

She jumped from one stone to another, her soft paws quieting her movement as she grew closer to it. She felt the thing's presence in the force, a passive thing, a sensation Gem was familiar with when she encountered a Jedi she wasn't familiar with, or in the presence of something powerful.

Whatever this creature was, it had a deep connection to the Force.

As she pounced to the next stone, she underestimated its age and integrity, though not by much. A few pebbles from the top came loose. Gem ducked under the view line, hoping that she wasn't seen - but the creature had. A pair of little Cathar ears, a flash of yellow eyes, from atop the stone.

It now knew it was being hunted.

Issar Rae’Velis

 

[Issar Rae’Velis]

Issar glided through the outer edge of the ruin, his lower half weaving through reeds slick with algae and age. His robes — mud-streaked but ceremonial — caught softly against root and vine. One hand held his staff, another a bundle of dried reeds bound in grey twine. The others moved freely, open to receive and to listen.

The wound here was quiet, heavy, not bleeding anymore, but still weeping. He paused to kneel before a half-collapsed statue, head bowed, one hand pressed to the moss-dark stone. He whispered something not meant for ears.

And then... a shift.

A pebble.

The stillness trembled.

His head turned slightly. Not with alarm. But acknowledgment. The predator was no threat. Just young.

He didn’t need the Force to sense the watchful thing moving above, small paws, narrowed eyes, the thrill of the stalk thrumming through an untamed spine. He had lived long enough to know the rhythm of such things.

He made no move to reveal himself. But slowly, without looking, he raised a hand and set a reed bundle upright in the damp soil. A gesture. A marker. Not to ward nor to threaten; simply to say: I see you, little hunter. Come, if you must.

Then, as if nothing had stirred at all, Issar turned back to the crumbled statue and resumed his work. One hand cleared moss from the base. Another traced faint lines once carved with meaning. His beads shifted gently against his wrist with each motion. He spoke no words. But his silence waited.

Gem-in-Trash​

 

[Gem-in-Trash]

Gem poked her head out from behind her cover again as the creature shifted its weight around. It clearly knew that she was there, but it had made no indication of hostility. She hadn't gotten a good look at it, aside from the fact that it was big, reptilians, and kind of blue? It seemed to be covered in weeds. Probably something that slept in the water a whole lot. Such creatures were usually docile unless provoked, and while Gem could be quite provoking when she wanted to, she was more fascinated by the creature than afraid of it. Gem crept up again, sticking her face out from behind the rock to get a better look at it. It was looking the other way.

Her ears perked up when she realized that it wasn't a creature. Instead, it was wearing robes and carrying a basket. It wasn't a monster, it was a person! They seemed to be laying down some kind of ritual? The only people that lived on Tython were Jedi and people who worked with or for them, like her mother. So, Gem decided that this must be some kind of Jedi, in the middle of some kind of important task.

Gem hopped over to the nearest stone, and then again, until she saw her mother, still with her blaster drawn and waiting for Gem to make herself known. Gem waved to Digs, and then flashed her Lightsaber at her mother, showing that it was still stashed away, the meaning clear - the 'creature' was a Jedi, and not a threat. Digs let out a sigh of relief, and put her blaster away. Gem carefully slid down her stone, coming to a full stop before stepping into the shallow water and stepping lightly. She was not hiding her approach, but she was trying to be respectful of this large Jedi, and whatever it was that he was doing. Gem collected her basket of frogs, who had finally calmed down, and crept up closer to this new Jedi.

Gem found a rock to sit on, and set down the basket while she watched him work. He seemed to be attending to the statue, clearing off moss and making some kind of gestures with his several arms. She looked about, to this old abandoned temple, and looked into the darkness that seemed to have the old Jedi's attention. She was familiar with darkness now. She had learned to see it within herself, and to feel it in others. This place had a darkness that stemmed from a deep cut.

She said nothing, just watched the odd Jedi work. Of course she wanted to know, but she also understood that she would have to observe, first. Perhaps the answers would come to her; perhaps the Jedi might say something.

Her mother came up from the other direction, a bit heavier in her steps, but still as silent as she could be. Digs saw Gem, wearing her shorts and shirt and covered in swamp water and mud with her basket of irritated frogs, and couldn't help but chuckle to herself as the odd little Padawan was now enamored with the work of this Jedi, to whom they were now...Guests? Certainly an audience. Digs took out her camera, and, when the moment felt right, finally spoke.

"I'm here to take recordings of this temple - is it all right if I take some pictures? I hope we aren't disturbing you. I'm Digs, this is Gem."

Gem just flicked her tail in greeting, her gaze still fixated on Issar Rae’Velis 's work.

 

[Issar Rae’Velis]

He had known they were watching long before the girl revealed herself. The air had shifted when her curious eyes fell upon him, light and flickering, like an insect hovering near still water. But there had been no malice, no fear. Only a bright, bounding interest that danced along the edge of caution.

He did not turn when she approached. Nor when the older one — Digs — spoke. The name fell softly into the space between them, like a stone offered to a stream. Still kneeling before the statue, Issar reached for a pouch at his side. His hand moved with slow care, scattering a pinch of fine powder — pale grey with a hint of violet — into the shallow dish he'd prepared. When the incense caught, a soft spiral of smoke rose into the warm air, its scent earthy and rich.

Then he looked back. Four eyes settled on the pair. Not piercing. Not appraising. Just... there. Present. His voice came low, like distant thunder; low, deliberate, each syllable unspooled from the spiral rhythm of his tongue.

"The temple does not mind."

An extended pause, and then, after a glance to the young Padawan crouched nearby:

"But it does not pose."

He gestured lightly to the camera with one hand, the others still arranging the ritual; one adjusting a stone, another placing a fern leaf where it once had been, before time had withered it.

"Photographs... are for remembering. But this place remembers itself."

Another breath. The incense curled upward, reaching toward the shadowed threshold of the ruin.

"You may watch, if you wish. The darkness here is old. But it is not loud. Not on the surface. But I caution against going below."

He turned back to the statue, his hands never ceasing in their quiet work. He had not invited them to leave. Which, by Hysalrian standards, was as much an invitation to stay as anyone could ask.

Gem-in-Trash​

 

[Gem-in-Trash]

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Digs said with a grin, and she began taking pictures of the temple, without getting in the way of whatever ritual Issar Rae’Velis was doing. Digs was well versed in doing this, having participated in the restoration of more than one shrine and temple since she'd come to live among the Jedi. She kept her distance at first, getting the bigger view of the temple first, before getting in closer for more detailed shots.

Gem was also familiar with the process, and in simply watching older Jedi do whatever it was that they were doing. She was always eager to learn, and her heart burned with the urges of a million questions, but she held them back. She didn't get the impression that Issar was the kind of Jedi that taught by answering questions or using inquisitive instruction. Gem accepted that she was here to watch and observe, not intervene. But she was no longer hunting Issar. This was a different kind of patience and observation, one that did not feed into her hunting instincts and calculations for play.

The burning questions would turn into wildfire if Gem did not better control herself, but she knew that she could not interfere with Issar's work. Whatever it was.

But she didn't need to just watch. She could also follow along. She could simulate his work, with dirt and stones and twigs and grass. Following along and engaging her mind, predicting what he was going to do next, this was how she engaged her hunter's instincts. There were no stakes here, at least she didn't see any, for her by following along. With what materials she had on hand, Gem began to make her own little spiral ritual at her feet. She didn't understand it, but perhaps that was not the point; perhaps there was no point. Perhaps she was just making a cute little mess because she wanted to follow along with the Jedi.

She cocked her head, and thought. She'd seen these spirals before, but couldn't quite place them. With two fingers, she simulated a little dance, following along as her hand, representing a person, moved along with complex footwork. Gem cocked her head in the other direction, and looked at Issar's work. She made adjustments to better match his.

"This is a Nature's Spiral," Gem muttered, not wanting to interrupt Issar. She recognized it, now, from the temple on Cathar, though it was represented there with the growl of leaves and branches on the Siwood trees where the Cathar people made their homes. She had learned about it in her mathematics classes, too. The next entry of the sequence would be the sum of the previous two in a sequence: One, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen and so on, "It's also a little dance they taught us when we were Younglings, to prepare us to learn Shi-Cho."

 

[Issar Rae’Velis]

Issar did not speak at first, but his awareness, vast and subtle, brushed gently against the small rhythm unfolding nearby. A second spiral, imperfect but sincere, winding itself into the dust and scattered leaves. Not intrusion, but humble curiosity.

One of his lower arms shifted. A flat stone was rotated a few degrees, its alignment altered ever so slightly. His pattern now mirrored hers, just enough to acknowledge it, to welcome it into the flow. When he spoke, it was as though the words had already been resting in the air, waiting only for breath to give them form.

"Nature’s Spiral," he repeated, without turning. His voice was low, deliberate, shaped by accent and ritual. "Found in roots and rivers. In shells. In breath. In movement."

He traced a shallow curve through the soil with one clawed fingertip.

"It is how balance returns after disturbance. How motion feeds stillness. How life remembers itself."

A pause, thoughtful.

"The dance you remember is no accident. The body is a student of the Spiral long before the mind learns to speak it."

Then, softer, almost as if he were speaking to the wind rather than her:

"To walk it is to begin understanding. To shape it, even without knowing why... is to listen."

The last word hovered like a ripple across still water. The Hysalrian resumed his quiet tending of the ritual space. But the space he had shaped now included her. Not as a distraction. Not even as a student.

But as part of the pattern.

When his hands next moved, they reached not for the spiral, but for a small pouch resting near the base of a stone. Issar opened it with care, revealing dried petals, threads of bark, crushed root, and a pinch of ash. With a gesture, he beckoned Gem closer; not commanding, but offering.

He held out a small clay dish, and placed a tiny bundle of the fragrant mixture into her palm.

"Three parts," he said softly. "One to remember. One to ground. One to open."

His claws folded the remaining herbs into a thin wrap of palm fibre and tied it with a loop of braided reed.

"It must not be forced. Not over-burned. Let the smoke rise slowly, like breath returning to the land."

Then, without reaching for flame or tool, Issar extended one hand over the bundle. A soft exhale. A flicker in the Force, barely perceptible, like a match struck in still air. The incense caught with a whisper, not a spark, and thin trails of smoke began to curl upward, fragrant, spiralling. He turned to her, the dish cradled between both palms, smoke curling skyward as he held it forward, not as a command but a quiet offering.

"By the statue, young one," he said, voice low but certain. "Let it mark that you have seen."

Gem-in-Trash​

 

[Gem-in-Trash]

It did not occur to Gem that her mimicking the spirals that Issar Rae’Velis was making would have an effect on what he was doing - she was just trying to imitate his work in an attempt to understand. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty at having interrupted his work and forcing him to alter, but he didn't seem bothered by it. He just kept working, and started integrating it.

She studied his movements, and tried- no, not tried - and observed his work, which now included her work, and the whole picture. As he beckoned to her, she held up her hands to accept the bundle. As she did, Digs-the-Sands smiled, and snapped a quick picture of the moment.

Gem held them carefully, not wanting to spill any or spread it on her hands too much and end up with too little to use. Her eyes went wide as he lit the incense with the Force - no matches, no sparkers - and let it flow easily in spirals.

And her nose started to tickle. She gently blew air through her nostrils to dismiss the feeling.

She accepted the plate, shuffling her bundle onto the plate so she would not risk losing balance. The smoke and scent was fine when she'd been a few paces away, but now her nose was starting to curl up. Gem opted instead to hold her breath until the sensation ceased.

She took a quiet step towards the statue, but her eyes were starting to water.

Her sinuses revolted.

"Hah! PHWEW!"

It was not a mighty tempest, but it was enough to send both the lit mixture and her bundle scattered all over the statue and her face.

Digs immediately burst into laughter.

"Hah! PHOO!" Gem sneezed again, "PHOO! Uh! I'm-PHOO! So!"

Digs was on the ground, trying to catch her breath.

"So! Sorry!" Gem managed, "HAH! PHEW!"

She held the plate in one hand, and covered her face with her hand, turning away from the statue to not sneeze on it again.

Only to face Issar, and sneeze on him.

Digs managed enough composure to fumble with her camera. Gem held her hand over her face again, but the residue just triggered another sneeze. Digs couldn't stop a snort of laughter, but did manage to catch a picture of Gem sneezing, her face covered in brown incense, while the four armed lizard man watched the sneezing fit patiently.

"I think I-" Gem coughed, and handed the plate back to Issar as she walked carefully and lightly away from the temple and the statue they were attending to. Once she was closer to the frogs than the statue, she allowed herself to sneeze freely. Digs, still fighting laughter, came over with her canteen to flush the agitants off Gem's face and hands.

Once Gem had the fits under control, she turned to Issar and bowed, "I am so sorry...Do we need some more? What do we do next?"

 

[Issar Rae’Velis]

Issar regarded her with the same solemnity he had offered the ancient stones. Smoke still coiled lazily around his tall frame, brushing the fabric of his robes, though a few stray specks of ash now dusted his scales where Gem’s latest sneeze had left its mark.

He did not flinch. He did not chide. He simply blinked, a slow ripple of motion across his four black eyes.

And then — very faintly — the corner of his mouth shifted. Not quite a smile. Something older. A patience that had seen a thousand small storms pass over rivers without changing their course.

He reached forward with one clawed hand, and very lightly, very gently, dusted a bit of incense ash from his own shoulder — a silent acknowledgment of the chaos without a hint of irritation. His voice, when it came, was steady and low, shaped by that strange cadence of his.

"Even rivers must spill their banks... before they find their course."

Another small breath. He regarded the plate she had returned with both hands before speaking again.

"We shall prepare another. Together this time."
A tilt of his head. "Step by step. There is no hurry. No ruin."

He gestured with open palms toward the satchel of remaining herbs and ingredients, the invitation clear but unforced. And then, spoke one last time, as if to seal the moment.

"The pattern does not break, young one. It bends. It remembers. As is the way it is."

Gem-in-Trash​

 

[Gem-in-Trash]

Gem rubbed her face off with a towlette, and dried her hands. She looked up at her mom, who was still fighting giggles.

"Go on, just...Don't hold it right under your nose or something," Digs instructed. Gem rolled her eyes before hugging her, and returning to Master Issar Rae’Velis to continue the work. Whatever it was that they were doing. Right now, they were making incense. Gem dug into her pocket, pulling out a bit of wax that she used on the frog cage to keep it better water-tight. She rolled it into two little balls before sticking them up her nose.

"Reddy!" she declared, and she carefully assembled the packets with him, careful not to put her eyes or mouth directly over them for fear of repeating the chaos. There was nobody rushing her but her - a lesson she'd learned before, and a lesson she would probably have to learn again. She took her time, and didn't try to match Issar's more experienced and ready pace. There was no reason to match his speed, she was new to this.

She looked at the patterns, including the mark of her sneeze.

"You're saying dat, even wid the disrubshun of my neeze, it will keeb on from the inderruption - it bens to include it, and keeps goin, as it is? Like a...A stream! Even if you dam it, it keeps goin, eventually," she asked