#might properly draw some rat omens

[sugarjellybear]

This is 100% canon

[frauzet]

Caught #34

The shyrack’s neck snaps with a loud crack. Hollow bones, good for flying. Not so much for withstanding blunt force. I wish I had a club. It’d be easier to hit them than with a blaster. Ciner swings his training blade. Not quite the shower I wished for, but the spray of blood proves my point. These buggers have been waiting for us. Wings, teeth, and claws everywhere. Smell of iron, and scorched flesh. The scratches on my arms smart. Trying to keep them off my face with my left arm while shooting with my right. I duck and stumble from the attack of another incoming leather-winged missile. I curse as something pierces into my foot. Probably stepped on one of those damned yaws. No time to check. Besides that club, sturdy boots wouldn’t be bad either. Blood from my forehead is leaking into my left eye. Kind of impossible to see where I’m setting my feet. How many of these demons are already down? It’s also impossible to take proper aim. Two more shots on a wing and a prayer. I won’t complain if the first one finds its mark.

“Peace is a lie!” I mutter. The first line of the Sith code I learned two corridors earlier. It sounds like an omen. Or maybe a recap of my life.

“There is only passion!” Ciner yells with a spin and a kick for one of the shyracks. The Sith laughs. He seems to be in his element.

Among all the blood there is the slight smell of oil in a pan left on an oven on its highest setting. Time to change hands. Fend off attackers with my right, shoot with my left. Hope the second blaster won’t be overheated before the first one cooled off. The heat vents are at their limit. We’re lucky the beasts don’t know. There is a shriek that leaves a ringing in my ears. I fire some more shots but am too disoriented to hit anything before the surviving shyracks vanish behind a pillar. Probably another air vent.

“They are gone.” Ciner says. His voice is muffled by the whistle in my ears. He puts away his weapon and grabs my chin.

I shove his hand away.

“Let me have a look at the cut on your forehead!” he insists.

I dab at it with the remains of my sleeve and draw a sharp breath. Kark! I shake my head. Colorful spots bloom all over what’s left of my field of vision. Drops of gasoline glistening in leftover puddles from last night’s rain. Up and down are squabbling over what belongs where. I concentrate to hold on to the blasters.

Ciner’s grip on my shoulder prevents me from falling. “Sit down. This is not the time to act the fool.”

I shuffle a few steps till I can get my back against a wall and slide down to a sitting position. The blasters can’t seem to fit the holsters, so I put them on the floor instead. That frees up my hands to put a finger in each ear and give them a soft shake till the ringing stops. Better! With the Sith’ help I manage to get the backpack from my back. Eyes closed I lean my head against the wall. I take several deep breaths through my nose while Ciner rummages through the supplies. My stomach growls in response to the smell drifting from the backpack. I recall the wraps.

With a chuckle Ciner places the parcel in my hands. “Without decent food, I’d feel dizzy, too, after a fight. Just let me put a kolto plaster on that scratch first. This stuff will taste better without you bleeding all over it.” Not long and he has retrieved everything he needs from the medkit. With a compress he wipes away the blood. Almost gently he presses it to the wound. “Keep it in place. I’ll ready the plaster.” Squinting and gnawing his lower lip he aims to apply the patch properly. After he’s done he tilts his head to inspect his work. “Professional!” he claims. I am not sure whether he means me or his first aid skills.

I unpack the food and hand one of the wraps to him. He takes it and sits down beside me. I take a peek at the inside of mine. Most of the ingredients look strange, yet the taste is wonderful. I concentrate on chewing thoroughly, trying to figure out the single vegetables’ flavor.  “So, who taught you this?” I ask him between bites.

His boot tip nudges one of the carcasses littering the floor in front of us. “Killing shyracks?”

I point at my head. “Patching up people.”

He grins between chewing and swallowing. “As a child I practiced on my stuffed nexu, and the akk puppies, mimicking what I had observed Marun doing. Anything more sophisticated than a plaster or as unappreciative a patient as the puppies, and I am at a loss.”

Puppies, not one, several. To younger me that would have sounded like heaven. Enough food to spare to own pets bigger than a rat. None that’d land in the next pot of soup.

“No, I am the descendant of a long line of Sith. I trained all my life for my trials here,” he continues more earnest. “Minor injuries are the order of the day, first aid measures part of the training. Especially for those of us who lack even the slightest affinity for Force healing. You have to be able to treat your own wounds. Anyone else might take the opportunity to finish you off.”

Yeah, it's always good to have friends you can rely on. Sound like pleasant guys, his fellow acolytes. I divide the last wrap in half and watch him as he eats his part.

For a moment his gaze focuses on a place lost in time and space. “I wonder what happened to the stuffed nexu.” Without his mask of arrogance and self-assured manners he doesn’t look any older than me. He peers at me out of the corner of his eye. “What is your verdict?”

“Huh?”

“Tell me what you see.”

I lick my lips. “Not sure you’ll want to know.”

“This is your free ticket, no repercussions.”

I finish eating. Ciner retrieves the water bottle from the backpack, drinks, waits expectantly, while I consider licking off the sauce off my fingers, then decide against it. “You really want to know?” I wipe my hands on the legs of my trousers. No participant leaves that encounter any cleaner than before. Free ticket, he says. I don’t want to risk pissing him off as he is my only ticket out of here.

Again he proves his empathy. “I will not force you to tell me. Either way, I will keep my word.” Implying he could force me. He hands me the bottle.

The water is cool, almost chill. I no longer know what we’re searching for in this tomb. Closing one eye, I regard him over the top of the bottle. “I see someone who, despite having more options than I could possibly wish for, follows a path set for him by others. I see someone, who is as trapped as me.”

A bitter laugh escapes him, after the initial shock. “The Force shall free me.”

I see someone who is suddenly as lost as I am.