Don't look down.

Down was death. Up was life. Up wasn't that far above them, but down was infinitely further.

Obi-Wan looked down below him at Anakin's upturned and white face, and the hand clasped securely in his own. Too close…it had been far too close. He had almost lost him to the depths. He tightened his grip.

"Anakin, climb over me! I need you to get above me."

Qui-Gon would be proud of him, if he were there to hear his former padawan. He was focused and calm, while in imminent danger. There was something about long falls and Obi-Wan Kenobi: they seemed drawn to each other. Nearly a year ago, he had been in two mere minutes apart. Qui-Gon had seen the first, and battled on without him, trusting him to save himself. Qui-Gon had been a witness to the second, though he probably had not seen his padawan's fall into the pit, or so Obi-Wan thought. He would never know: Qui-Gon had died just a few minutes later.

He really didn't need to be thinking of death as he dangled above another potentially deadly fall.

Up was life, down was death. And Anakin was below him.

"Anakin! You must get above me."

"No!" his padawan whimpered. "You – you're hurt, I'll hurt you."

He couldn't hurt any more than he did already, Obi-Wan thought grimly, and Anakin didn't know just how bad his master's injuries were. Nor did he, for that matter. How much worse could the pain get? Far above him he could sense the anchor pulling free, and with the pain clouding his mind and the bone numbing chill, he couldn't do much about reinforcing it. Even a Force push was beyond him at the moment. It was taking all his strength just to think of how to get them out of there, or failing that, getting Anakin out of there.

He glanced down again, into the crevasse stretching deep into the mountain. They were hanging on a utility line quite a number of feet below the lip and it seemed infinity stretched below his boots. His anchor had caught and held him, allowing him to reach out and grab Anakin as he hurtled past him. He was left holding onto the cable with his bad arm, Anakin hanging from the other, and the strain was wrenching that shoulder from its socket.

Anakin had managed to wrap the line around his legs, but that did little for Obi-Wan's arm, and the shock of catching a falling body had put even more stress on the anchor. Something was going to give, soon, if Obi-Wan interpreted the Force's warning correctly.

They dropped a few inches. The Force was warning him all right. They didn't have much time before the anchor gave way and both Jedi discovered just how deep the crevasse was.

He really had no wish to make this discovery. His concern was getting up and out.

Pouring all the reassurance he could into his voice, he spoke lightly.

"No, you won't hurt me. Padawan, I'm making that an order: climb above me and keep climbing…whatever you do, just keep climbing. Focus only on that."

"And…and the anchor?" Anakin's voice quavered, but was otherwise strong.

"It'll hold long enough," he said firmly. The Force didn't disagree.

He had never believed in luck. A Jedi made his own choices and his own chances. If he was smart enough, trained enough, and in tune with the Force enough, a Jedi could make his own luck. He had never thought about bad luck when he bothered to think about luck at all, and bad luck had trapped the two of them on this isolated planet, in a blizzard, in the mountains, on foot after their small ship had lost power and all but crashed on this mountain.

Anything the passengers survived didn't count as a crash by his way of thinking, but that ship most definitely would not fly again. Maybe it was a crash, he had conceded, privately. He was known for having a fear of flying, but he knew better – it was not fear of flying, but the fear of crashing that made him uneasy.

He didn't know if the emergency beacon had reached anyone or just how soon it would take rescuers to arrive, but the ship was in a precarious position and not likely to remain on its perch for long. In this case, safety came by leaving its shelter and trying to make it to the forested environs below where they could make a fire and take stock of their injuries.

Anakin had escaped the crash with a mere cut on his arm. Obi-Wan had not been so lucky. He was groggy from hitting his head on the instrument panel, and his arm hung nearly useless at his side, badly wrenched or worse when his safety harness failed and he was thrown into a bulkhead.

He had come to, staring out a shattered transparisteel panel at empty air and realized that just another few feet and the ship and its passengers would have slid right off the ledge they were on. And dropped a long, long ways down. And stopped, abruptly and painfully.

Shock and dismay had kept him immobile, afraid any movement might send them forward. He tried instead to focus into the Force for answers, but the Force seemed to elude him. Concussion could do that to a Jedi.

Only the sound of Anakin coming to him after the ship finally stopped skidding had turned his eyes from the space beyond. The boy reached a shaking hand to his master's head and it came away sticky with blood; fear shone in his eyes.

"I'll be okay, Padawan," he lied, though it would be truth once they reached safety. Anakin had not been his padawan that long – less than a year and Obi-Wan was still trying to teach him how to release his emotions and focus. Anakin would focus much better if he believed his master was okay. Taking that worry away increased both their chances to survive. Survival trumped truth any day.

Gathering the limited survival equipment and clothing aboard, he had jammed a hypo into his arm and added the rest to his belt. He was grateful that this was not Anakin's first trip on snow and ice – the boy had at least some training in snow travel and survival. He had made that a fairly high priority, that as well as swimming lessons, for Anakin had experience with neither.

"Ideally, we should remain with the ship and inside," he reminded Anakin as he tethered them together. "However one wrong move or a strong gust of wind will blow it over the edge, taking us with it. We need to aim for the tree line down there; if we can't make it before dark at least we should be on that snowfield where we can dig a snow cave as we did before, remember?"

"Good;" he grinned at Anakin's nod. "It's not far; you see the route we'll take? Remember to listen to the snow – both it and the Force will tell you if we are hitting a hollow spot or dangerous ice that we need to detour around."

"The Force will tell you, too," Anakin said confidently. "You hear it differently than me; it doesn't speak as well to me as to you."

Anakin's innate abilities and lack of training when young had made Anakin's use of the Force less one of listening to it as opposed to using it. However it was more than a tool, it was a guide: a lesson he was still trying to teach his padawan.

"My connection is – weak – at the moment," Obi-Wan finally said, gazing intently at his padawan. Obi-Wan sighed. He really didn't want to burden Anakin with the knowledge, but it was necessary for the safety of them both. "I took quite a knock on the head and, well, it's disrupted my ability to feel the Force. I have to rely on you."

He gazed steadily at Anakin and was pleased with the reaction: determination. He could rely on him now that he was not able to rely on himself. The boy was a Jedi.

"I'll save us, Master."

"I don't doubt it. As I will save you, Padawan. We will always be there to save each other during the many years ahead of us – now, let's get moving."

Focus on the here and now.

Yes, Master. He had heard that very admonishment many times; it automatically sprang to mind in such situations. Qui-Gon would be proud. I'll try.

There is no try – there is –

I know. Do or do not, he finished the thought, and found a second to chuckle. Jedi masters instilled their lessons well.

Focus.

Focus only on the next few minutes that would give them a future or deny it.

Obi-Wan felt Anakin reach for his belt, felt the pull as it cut into his stomach. "Keep… going," he gritted. One hand reached his shoulder and he nearly passed out with the pain. "Now the other one." He nearly shrieked when Anakin's weight was fully upon his shattered shoulder. "Clip in, Anakin…good…now climb."

He wrapped his good arm around the cable and leaned his forehead against it, trying to release the pain, white faced and sweaty. He really needed another hypo. He would rest a minute before trying to get one from his belt. The effort seemed beyond him at the moment.

He looked up, trying to gauge how much time they had. Anakin was making good progress, he wasn't far now. A good Force push would jam the anchor in, giving them more than enough time. He closed his eyes and reached – but the Force danced at his fingertips rather than flowing through him.

The anchor was too far out – it wouldn't hold more than another minute or so with their combined weights dangling from it. There was really only one thing he could do, if the anchor slipped much further. He had to prepare to take that action and hope he didn't have to do so. He barely managed to get what he wanted out of his belt to float upwards – careful – don't drop it – careful – it was in his good hand now. Just that little use of the Force had exhausted him.

"You'll be fine, Padawan, just fine, just remember you must move on. Don't look back, just keep moving forward." It was, perhaps, the last lesson he would give.

"Don't let go, Master – don't let go."

"I won't let go," he promised, closing his eyes against the knowledge of what he must do. Time was running out. He would lie to Anakin, to save him, but this was not a lie. He would not let go.

The anchor slid a bit more.

"Hold on, Master."

"I will hold on, Padawan." It was a long way down; too far to survive a fall, even for a Jedi. If he fell, he would be dead when he landed – no lingering death from exposure. He preferred a quick death to a long one, preferably occurring sometime in the far future.

One can only rarely choose the timing or manner of one's own death. He remembered saying that to Anakin, once not too long ago. One rarely sees it coming; one rarely chooses to go to it.

"Don't fall, Master – don't die."

A Jedi does not fear death.

"I…do only what I must," he whispered, too low for Anakin to hear as he slithered up the cable. "Consider this – your lesson in letting go – and moving forward."

The pressure on the anchor increased; the rope dropped. Obi-Wan looked down and flinched, and up at Anakin, scrabbling to get over the lip of the crevasse. He felt the Force urging Anakin on: hurry, but there was not enough time…

… only time enough to save Anakin. Do or do not.

One second to decide. One second to hesitate. One second to take Anakin with him if he didn't act. One second to live – and one second to die.

A Jedi knows not fear.

He brought the knife to the rope and with one savage stroke, cut it.