Among the many Twi'lek groups of Ryloth, a common topic for children's rhymes was something like 'predators and where they live.' Some might be about one particular predator, and how to outrun or outclimb it; others were cautionary tales of little children who wandered into mazer dens or lylek nests. Be careful, be fast, don't make a sound. The last of these was why Hera didn't hum the rhyme she was thinking of as she slipped through the canyons, even as she couldn't stop playing it over and over again her mind.
If you climb the Seeko Rim you'll find the red-eyed doashim Green lyleks burrow under trees and follow scents caught in the breeze And when the moonlight hits the sands, gutkurrs roam the north badlands
She knows very well these stretches surrounding Lessu are among the "north badlands," but it's hours before the moons will be out. And Hera wonders to herself if even the gutkurrs might be afraid of the lights and explosions far above, and keep to themselves until it's over. Or maybe not. Another feature of predator rhymes was how well they could feed after a battle, and Hera imagined a gutkurr disappointedly nosing a torn up droid. She kept that in her mind, afraid of what else she might imagine a gutkurr feeding on. Her father was up somewhere in the lights above, and her mother was treating injured in the camp, and no one else had tried to stop her when she had taken a canteen and a length of rope.
Fighting meant hunger, and fighting with guests first meant more hunger. Hera knew that better than her children's rhymes.
She'd first been taught her to scavenge back home, and after being camped here for so long, Hera had picked up on what separated these dry, arid canyons from the deserts around her home. Which was really, that there was more, more to find and more to avoid. She'd already collected two gruuvnan lizards, tied them into the rope she'd pulled around her waist, along with a few small leaves that would be safe for brewing tea, which she tucked into a pouch at her hip, along the handle of her small blaster.
She's inspecting another tuft of leaves in the sand when she feels, first, the fall from above, as vibrations along her lekku. And she jumps to her first instinct – Hera hides, tucking herself low against the closest canyon wall. She waits while the tumble of rocks continues, hoping a predator at least wouldn't likely make much noise. But it could be something just as bad, if not worse – a predator, or a bomb. Even when the noise dies down, she stays still at first, and holds her breath as she dares to peek around the edge of the canyon wall.
But once she spots the armor, Hera steps out, her soft boots crunching over the rock, a child standing barely four feet with two dead lizards hanging from her waist.
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If you climb the Seeko Rim you'll find the red-eyed doashim
Green lyleks burrow under trees and follow scents caught in the breeze
And when the moonlight hits the sands, gutkurrs roam the north badlands
She knows very well these stretches surrounding Lessu are among the "north badlands," but it's hours before the moons will be out. And Hera wonders to herself if even the gutkurrs might be afraid of the lights and explosions far above, and keep to themselves until it's over. Or maybe not. Another feature of predator rhymes was how well they could feed after a battle, and Hera imagined a gutkurr disappointedly nosing a torn up droid. She kept that in her mind, afraid of what else she might imagine a gutkurr feeding on. Her father was up somewhere in the lights above, and her mother was treating injured in the camp, and no one else had tried to stop her when she had taken a canteen and a length of rope.
Fighting meant hunger, and fighting with guests first meant more hunger. Hera knew that better than her children's rhymes.
She'd first been taught her to scavenge back home, and after being camped here for so long, Hera had picked up on what separated these dry, arid canyons from the deserts around her home. Which was really, that there was more, more to find and more to avoid. She'd already collected two gruuvnan lizards, tied them into the rope she'd pulled around her waist, along with a few small leaves that would be safe for brewing tea, which she tucked into a pouch at her hip, along the handle of her small blaster.
She's inspecting another tuft of leaves in the sand when she feels, first, the fall from above, as vibrations along her lekku. And she jumps to her first instinct – Hera hides, tucking herself low against the closest canyon wall. She waits while the tumble of rocks continues, hoping a predator at least wouldn't likely make much noise. But it could be something just as bad, if not worse – a predator, or a bomb. Even when the noise dies down, she stays still at first, and holds her breath as she dares to peek around the edge of the canyon wall.
But once she spots the armor, Hera steps out, her soft boots crunching over the rock, a child standing barely four feet with two dead lizards hanging from her waist.