[ Trudging through the muddied forest is a grueling, thankless endeavor that slows her movements as her flimsy brown boots sink into the mud, made for sand but not its damper cousin, tracking clumps of soil around with her that renders her movements awkward and limited. The uncomfortable lack of familiarity she suffers with the sodden landscape only sours her mood, shoulders tense along her march.
She understands now how it must rankle him to have her patient nudging at the edge of his mind, coaxing him into certain paths, and knowing that path is in her best interest only makes it worse. Though her quarterstaff would be functional, there is no substitute for the grace and power of a lightsaber, a lesson learned on Starkiller Base and expanded upon as she developed her skills with proper training.
Still, she wants to allow herself to believe that he was biased. Caught up in his own emotional turmoil about the legacy the saber carried, not merely in its utility to either of them in a fight. It helps stew her quiet grumbling, but that fades away over time, and she has plenty of time to traverse the landscape and calm herself in the quiet isolation of the forest.
Exhaustion sets in then, fuzzy at the edges of her mind, and she tries to pull at the Force to keep herself awake and putting one foot in front of the other. Up until now, she'd found forward momentum sufficient to keep her just barely going, but without anyone to distract her, without a constant task beyond the simple hike, she lulls herself into calm for no reason other than her mind can't quite keep up with anything more.
It prevents her from picking up on the hum at the edge of her awareness cuing her in to their proximity, and she doesn't see him until he's coming through the trees towards her. Lifting her head, Rey squints at his figure like she's not sure it's really there or just a shadow of the trees, her own sight betraying her, but he comes to stand level in front of her and offers the hilt out to her, dirty and battered. ]
That's not yours. [ She mutters the words dryly as she reaches out to take it, rubbing some of the mud aside; he knows that, of course, but it gently accuses him of not fulfilling his task. They don't have time for this, to be certain. The First Order could be forming just beyond the atmosphere above them in this moment, ready for a fresh hail of destruction renewed with vengeful fury. But looking down at the hilt, soft gratitude enters her eyes. There aren't many things she's owned in her life that hold value, that she's been able to keep, so despite her willingness to put all their lives before it, it still means something to have it in her hand again. ]
no subject
She understands now how it must rankle him to have her patient nudging at the edge of his mind, coaxing him into certain paths, and knowing that path is in her best interest only makes it worse. Though her quarterstaff would be functional, there is no substitute for the grace and power of a lightsaber, a lesson learned on Starkiller Base and expanded upon as she developed her skills with proper training.
Still, she wants to allow herself to believe that he was biased. Caught up in his own emotional turmoil about the legacy the saber carried, not merely in its utility to either of them in a fight. It helps stew her quiet grumbling, but that fades away over time, and she has plenty of time to traverse the landscape and calm herself in the quiet isolation of the forest.
Exhaustion sets in then, fuzzy at the edges of her mind, and she tries to pull at the Force to keep herself awake and putting one foot in front of the other. Up until now, she'd found forward momentum sufficient to keep her just barely going, but without anyone to distract her, without a constant task beyond the simple hike, she lulls herself into calm for no reason other than her mind can't quite keep up with anything more.
It prevents her from picking up on the hum at the edge of her awareness cuing her in to their proximity, and she doesn't see him until he's coming through the trees towards her. Lifting her head, Rey squints at his figure like she's not sure it's really there or just a shadow of the trees, her own sight betraying her, but he comes to stand level in front of her and offers the hilt out to her, dirty and battered. ]
That's not yours. [ She mutters the words dryly as she reaches out to take it, rubbing some of the mud aside; he knows that, of course, but it gently accuses him of not fulfilling his task. They don't have time for this, to be certain. The First Order could be forming just beyond the atmosphere above them in this moment, ready for a fresh hail of destruction renewed with vengeful fury. But looking down at the hilt, soft gratitude enters her eyes. There aren't many things she's owned in her life that hold value, that she's been able to keep, so despite her willingness to put all their lives before it, it still means something to have it in her hand again. ]