When I Find Myself In Times of Trouble

[Dire Wolf]

Each heavy step of the tall, willowy woman brought the clack of combat boots against tile as she strode through the Temple in garb that was leagues from what a Jedi might wear. A once white plastoid breastplate had since bore it's share of carbon scoring as well as impressions of alien dirt courtesy a well placed Sith Mortar. A few spots of crimson had even managed to find it's way to her, though mercifully none of it had been her own. Soldiers who had fallen were quick to be dragged into cover for her healing talents to be put to use. One doesn't become a competent healer by eschewing blood and gore. An olive green short sleeved shirt lay beneath that breastplate, and militaristic cargo-pants seemed to be singed in parts. To complete the ensemble, one of Rhissai's gloves seemed to be missing. Probably left back on Anaxes alongside that Sith that'd caught a telekinetic lightsaber to the chest.

Weariness kept the usual light from Master Arckan's eyes as she moved; the woman had spent the better part of the week-long transit back to Coruscant tending to the wounded and terrified refugees. A recent crushing victory may have left the Sith running back with their tail between their legs, but Anaxes was in no condition to support a population at the moment. Not with the threat of war only a system away. Under normal circumstances the job could have been relegated to a couple experienced padawans and knights, but a few high value persons had been hidden among the refugees. Naturally, that meant pulling one of the commanders from the front for glorified baby sitting duty.

Irritation and weariness aside, the woman found a small bit of satisfaction in the ability to help the numerous refugees she sailed the stars alongside. So many had been harmed by stray munitions, and so many more merely needed a kind ear to be lent to them. There'd been so many needing her assistance that the woman scarcely found time for her own rest, though sleep could be had on the way back to the front. Which would be directly after her meeting with the council. The war wouldn't wait for one woman, and she wouldn't let anyone die because a few senators needed unnecessary protection. Rhissai's tired eyes focused on the turbo-lift at the far end of the grand vestibule, one of several that would eventually lead to the central tower that jutted out of the grand cube that was the Jedi Temple. 

And yet... 

An ethereal current formed around her consciousness; while it's pull was hardly torrential, it was certainly enough to warrant attention. Whatever weariness remained in the woman's eyes had been mixed with curios and surprise. Once heavy, listless footfalls became lighter, and filled with purpose. Brilliant green eyes flicked to and fro along her new path, searching for anything out of the ordinary. While she was sure to keep a mind's eye on the trio of lightsabers that lay nestled in a pair of holsters on either thigh, she highly doubted that there was any danger in the temple. Every Jedi would be aware of such a threat. No. This was benevolent. Part of her could feel a bit of pain at the other end of the current. Whether it was emotional suffering or physical, the woman couldn't be certain. One thing was for certain, however.

A Jedi Master's work was never done. 

[Rabbit]

The Jedi Archives were usually a place of serenity, a place where Kilia Tharen could ground herself. It was where she could immerse herself in study - her favorite past time - and where she could let the greater galaxy pass her by for a few blissful hours. But, today, it was a place of mourning, of self-imposed isolation.

The Archives were enormous and Jedi hardly occupied the place in groups any larger than two, so Kilia had retreated to her usual sanctuary almost instinctively. There was a corner in the far back left corner, by an enormous floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the gardens outside and Coruscant beyond. She had discovered the secluded study area years ago and had been her chosen place of quiet contemplation ever since.

It was a safe space. A space where she could cross her arms on top of the smooth polished wood of the small desk there, lay her face into the dark hole created by her arms, and cry. The young padawan made sure to cry quietly - no soul-wrenching, wracking sobs for her. Kilia was quiet by nature, so that sort of crying wasn't her style, anyway. But, here in the Jedi Temple, she didn't want anyone to know she was grieving. Had she been back on Corellia, at the Enclave there, she would haven't tried to be so private about the matter. But, Kilia had always had the impression that the Jedi of the Main Order disapproved any excessive, outward expressions of emotion. And her emotions, today and for the last week, had been enough to nearly overwhelm her. It had been all she'd been able to do, to hide her grief.

Reason told her that she'd hardly been able to hide her grief from anyone. She was surrounded by a plethora of beings who were strong in the Force - from younglings, to padawans like herself, all the way up the Grand Master. No one was fooled, surely. Especially since everyone had stood by with her and watched as the flames took consumed the bodies of her master, Lindri Lucdane, and her grandfather, Korbin. Everyone knew what she had lost.

But, everyone didn't know that she cried over it.

Her heart hurt, though. Was this why the Order frowned so strongly over attachments? But, then, how did anyone reasonably expect a padawan not to be attached to her own master? Or, to her own grandfather? As a Corellian Jedi, Kilia had the rare privilege of knowing her family and maintaining her family bonds - especially with Korbin, who had been a Jedi Master in his own right, and leader of the Corellian Enclave. Her grandfather had visited her in the Enclave creche, and had taught her lessons here and there all her life. Lindri had been her master for four years and again, there was a bond between them that was somehow a bit different, a bit stronger, than many other master-and-apprentice relationships Kilia had seen among her friends. There was something to being a Green Jedi...an unspoken willingness to embrace attachments...

But, no one had really prepared her for the pain losing those attachments could cause. As a result, Kilia was lost in a raging sea of emotion - sadness, anger, fear. And worst of all, she was doing her damnedest to suppress those feelings, except for stolen moments like this, out of fear that she wouldn't be selected by a new master and therefore allowed to finish her training.

One of her hands reflexively gripped the light saber hilt that lay next to her on the desktop. It had been Korbin's light saber - a double-bladed saber that had been passed down through seven generations of Tharen Jedi. More than anything now, Kilia wanted to continue on with her training, to pass her Trials, and to do the memory of her grandfather proud, to continue the legacy of the Jedi within her family.

But, none of that would happen, if she couldn't get a handle on these damn feelings and their resulting tears...