Star Wars - Kenobi

quivering trio of humans huddled amid spare parts for the thirst machines. A black-haired woman clutched a swaddled infant, while a brown-haired male held them both. He also held a blaster pistol.
    It was the owner of the busted rifle—and A’Yark could tell he was missing the weapon now. Swallowing his fear, the young man looked right into A’Yark’s good eye. “You— go! We’re not afraid.”
    “Settlers lie,” A’Yark said, the strange words startling the humans almost as much as they startled the other Tuskens. “ Settler lies.”
    Eight gaderffii lifted to the sky, their spear-points glinting in the morning light. A’Yark knew some would land true. And the old skybrother above would see again what real bravery was—
    “Ayooooo-eh-EH-EHH!”
    The sound echoed over the horizon. As one, the war party looked north. The sound came again, louder this time. Its meaning was unmistakable.
    The youngest Tusken in the party said it first: krayt dragon!
    The warrior-child spun—and stumbled over his own booted feet, landing mouthpiece-first in the sand. The others looked to A’Yark, who turned back toward the hut. The war leader had seen enough human faces to read expressions—but even to a seasoned marauder, the visages were startling.
    The farmer and his wife didn’t just appear relieved. They looked defiant .
    In the presence of a krayt? The greatest predator Tatooine knew, after the Tuskens? Yes, A’Yark saw. And that wasn’t all. The young mother was clutching something, beside the baby, in her free hand.
    A’Yark barked a command to the warriors, but it was too late. With the horrific sound in the air, none would stand. The two looters from earlier nearly trampled the fallen youth as they darted away, trying to remember where they’d set their stolen goods. The others clutched their gaderffii to their chests and fled behind the main hut.
    Wrong. Wrong! This wasn’t what A’Yark had taught them. Not at all! But they scattered before they even knew where the dragon was, leaving their leader alone with the threat they knew. The young farmer kept his blaster pointed at A’Yark, but did not fire. Perhaps he’d calculated the risk, deciding the unfired weapon was more of a deterrent than a shot by a shaky hand.
    It didn’t matter. The settlers’ ploy had worked. A’Yark snorted and stepped backward, tan robes swirling.
    The warriors were running this way and that. A’Yark yelled, but no one could be heard over the din. There was something unnatural about the sound. But what? No one would pretend to be a krayt dragon! If any could, it would never sound so—
    —mechanical?
    “AYOOOO-EEEEEEEEEE!”
    No mistaking that, A’Yark thought. The moan of the dragon had resolved itself into a head-splitting shrill, far beyond the capacity of any lungs. It was coming loudest from a new source, immediately apparent: a horn attached to one of the silver spires in the middle of the farm. And there were similar sounds, emanating from over the hills to the north and east.
    A’Yark stood in the middle of the yard, gaderffii raised aloft. “Prodorra! Prodorra! Prodorra!”
    Fake!
    The young looters appeared again, running over a crest back toward the farm. A’Yark exhaled through rotten teeth. At least someone had heard, over the racket. Now, at least, maybe they could—
    Blasterfire! An orange blaze enveloped one of the runners from behind. The other turned in panic, only to be incinerated as well. A’Yark crouched instinctively, seeking cover behind the accursed vaporator.
    “Wa-hooo!” A metallic wave, copper and green, swept over the dune. A’Yark recognized it right away. It was the landspeeder that had haunted them before at the Tall Rock. And now, as then, several settler youths clustered in its open interior, hooting and firing wildly.
    A’Yark darted behind a second vaporator, suddenly more confident. There was no dragon, only settlers. The Tuskens could be rallied against them, if they stood true.
    But they weren’t standing. One fled toward the nothingness of the east, and A’Yark could see two more landspeeders racing after him. The clumsy young warrior—who had barely survived the rites of adulthood days before—hid behind the hut, clutching at the sands in cowardice. Only the suns knew where the others had gone.
    No good.
    The first speeder circled the settlement, its riders showering fire on nothing in particular. And now another hovercraft arrived. Fancier, with sloping curves, the