#v: distant and unattached (master of the jedi order)

[lookforsolace]

@oflightsbeam

To the unfamiliar observer, it looked as though Jedi Master Fy-Tor-Ana was not paying attention to her surroundings. She stood in a slightly relaxed stance, feet apart, hands behind her back, one hand clasped around the other fist, eyes closed. On a rectangular track around the outside of the room, one of her famed "Art of Movement" classes was in progress, Jedi Initiates bounding over obstacles, sliding under them, and all the while trying to dodge light beams that flashed through the course at random.

But though Master Ana did not appear to be paying attention, she missed nothing. Her head tilted slightly to the left as one youngling dodged a light beam only to stumble over an obstacle at his feet.

"Kirath!" she called. "Pick up your feet!"

"Sorry, Master!" the boy called back, recovering his footing and hurrying on.

Master Ana did not reply and her head returned to neutral. But only for a second. She took a single step back, and twisted to face directly behind her, anticipating the next misstep. She opened her eyes to watch it happen: a young twi'lek girl ducked under an obstacle that had shot into her path from the wall, but was too slow to rise and leap over the next: the obstacle slammed into the girl's chest and laid her flat on the floor.

"Syndulla!" Master Ana shouted. "Come to me."

Master Ana did not often call her students out of the course, but when she did it was never a good thing. One of Hera's clanmates moaned sympathetically as he passed her, and murmured, "Good luck!"

[lookforsolace]

In a perfect world, the Art of Movement classes would pass without need for direct intervention of the instructor, Fy-Tor-Ana muses to herself as the young Twi'lek girl steps out of the course and into the center of the room. She wonders briefly if the Order needs to reconsider its candidates; if it had been up to her, she's not sure she'd have chosen Hera Syndulla.

Then again... Everyone has the potential for something, she reminds herself of what her old master had once said. You just have to figure out what it is.

That's not my job, she finds herself arguing back as Hera comes to stand attentively before her. My job is to teach kids to be good at this. Or, I suppose, to tell the Masters that some people just aren't cut out for it... She sighs faintly as Hera announces herself, then points to a spot on the floor near her feet.

"Sit there," she says quietly. "Watch. Not your classmates. Watch the course. There's a pattern. See if you can find it."

Hera has never liked the Art of Movement class, and it’s as if this class does not like her back, either. No matter how much she practices after hours, something always goes wrong. No matter how much she keeps her focus, or how hard she tries to reach out to the Force and rely on it as Master Ana says. She’s often left the course trying to hide tears of frustration from everyone, escaping to quiet, isolated corners of the Temple to have a break. Not understanding why, the Force won’t let her in, or why her body won’t cooperate. It seems like the youngling simply can’t do it — and as her agemates get chosen one by one by a Master, she watches them leave their clan’s dorms, resigning herself to stay until she’s sent to the Corps or something. 

(She’d be just fine in the Corps, really — if someone notices her scores in flight simulations and sends her to the Pilot Corps instead of getting to be a Padawan like all her friends do)

The course started well until she reached half of it (more than usual) and an obstacle slam in her chest. She doesn’t have enough time to realize what happened until she on the ground, panting for air as her chest burns with pain for a hot minute. A minute during which she can feel Master Ana’s gaze on her, making her green cheeks blush in embarrassment. Looking defeated, the youngling walks up and doesn’t really notice Caleb wishing her luck — the luck leaves her as soon as she enters the class anyways. 

Swallowing hard as she tries to keep up a brave face once in front of the teacher. 

“I’m here, Master.”