Star Wars - Kenobi

mentally from now on. I expect you understand why.

PART THREE
    THE BRIGHT CENTER

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
    SAND PEOPLE LIVED WITH sores every day. At birth, every Tusken infant was swaddled tightly in bandages. The nurses worked so fast A’Yark had never seen her children’s faces. Channeled through little mouthpieces, her sons’ cries had been tinny and agonized. Babies had no way of appreciating the curse that existence represented, nor did they appreciate the shame of exposed flesh. But they quickly became acquainted with the price the coverings exacted on the body.
    Numberless in a lifetime, sores simply had to be endured. K’Sheek had been slow to learn that, years earlier; the human abductee had thought her wrappings were something that could be changed for cleanliness or comfort. She was wrong. Sand People added to their birth wrap as they grew, each new patch a testament to their defiance and survival. If a pebble got into the wrappings, it was simply layered over. The carbuncle it caused became a reminder of the past. A funnel plant simply grew new skin over its wounds. A Tusken could do the same.
    A’Yark understood that defeat was just another sore Sand People lived with. Defeats had to be felt, each and every one—and remembered. And in the days since the massacre at the gorge, A’Yark had felt it every time she opened her eye. The survivors in The Pillars were pathetic, clinging to life like lichen. The first few days had been the worst, with the remaining handful of warriors making pitiful forays to find hubba gourds. Proud raids, indeed!
    The arguments followed. Those posed less danger to A’Yark, now, since most of her rivals were dead. But hapless elders walking in circles decrying their fates irritated her greatly.
    And finally, the sacred well in The Pillars, usually reliable, was dry most days now. The clan’s need hadn’t been reduced much by the massacre; a herd of ownerless banthas remained, and it made no sense to butcher them, whatever tradition said. The worriers had blamed A’Yark and the failed raid for the water problems, too, despite the fact that word was filtering in of similar issues for other clans, elsewhere. If Tatooine had grown angry with its tenants, all Sand People were suffering, not just one tribe.
    A’Yark had no time for recriminations. For while keeping the group from dissolving had taken most of her time, she had still found spare hours for the important thing: keeping watch on Ben.
    The human’s lair was close: farther to the west, along the northern face of the Jundland. A’Yark had found it easily. The winds had been light, and while Ben had shown guile in his attempts to hide his footsteps, no one could track like a Tusken.
    Ben had not returned to the oasis in many days. A’Yark had wondered about that. Didn’t he protect the human woman Annileen? The compound was her home. Had she moved to his? A’Yark didn’t know—but wasn’t about to venture to the oasis to find out. That would be madness now.
    One day, however, A’Yark had spotted Ben riding east. There were cities that way, but he wasn’t taking the fastest route. Rather, he kept to the ridgeline, avoiding contact with settlements. Unable to range far without leaving her defenseless clan behind, A’Yark had lost him.
    So instead, she sat with her bantha and waited. And watched.
    Ben returned the next day to his home. His only cargo was the camping gear he’d taken with him. Whatever his trip east had been, it wasn’t a supply run.
    What drove a human? A’Yark wished she had spent more time listening to Sharad Hett. He had been unwilling to talk about his earlier life with the outsiders; that, after all, was what had driven him to join the Tuskens. She hadn’t even asked K’Sheek many questions. The Sand People had no interest in understanding their enemies. It was enough to know that they bled and died when attacked.
    But now, with the might of her band broken, A’Yark needed to understand. This Ben wanted something; all beings did. It governed his habits and movements. Was the thing he wanted to the east?
    A’Yark would have to consider that another time. The gourd gatherers were late in returning. They can’t even do that right. A’Yark finished sharpening the point of her gaderffii and walked down from The Pillars onto the desert floor.
    In the distant northeast, she saw a peculiar sight. One bantha after another appeared on the horizon. The eldest member of the foraging group