A Long, Long Time Ago

"Stop your griping this instant," Dooku snapped at his disgruntled apprentice, who was tramping behind him through the snowy fields of Galidraan. "It is most unbecoming."

"Forgive me master," Qui Gon Jinn murmured, quietly continuing to embellish his ongoing mental tirade.

Dooku pursed his lips. As though he couldn't feel the boy's ridiculous discontent. Had Qui Gon been an ordinary fifteen year old human, it would have been an easy task to take the edge off his ill-disciplined temper. A few days without food on a hard march, for instance, might be expected to work the requisite change of attitude. But Qui Gon, despite his gangly height and wide shoulders, seemed impervious to such deprivations. Sometimes Dooku thought the boy was made of sterner stuff than even himself. He could endure hunger, thirst, cold, and even pain with a stoicism that left his master speechless. It was as though his stubborn streak extended deep, pervaded his very bones and blood.

"Since you clearly think this quest a meaningless fool's errand, Qui Gon, perhaps you will be kind enough to point out a better path," Dooku said, stopping in his tracks and peering over one shoulder at the youth accompanying him.

Qui Gon's grey eyes dropped to the snow-laden earth. "I would not be so impudent as to second guess the Council, master," he responded dutifully.

Prompt, if not entirely sincere, Dooku noted. "I should think not," he growled, making sure the boy felt the sting in his words. After all, there were rumors that he was being considered for elevation to the Council himself. And he had volunteered for this assignment. His own misgivings about the decision, his own ulterior motives for revisiting this place, this scarred battlefield , this long abandoned scene of devastation, were none of his Padawan's business. If he wished to investigate the Order's proverbial skeletons in the closet, that was his own affair. Qui Gon wasn't ready to face the full implications of such discoveries.

On the other hand, he reflected as they continued the dreary trek through drifts of snow and over stretches of hard packed ice tundra, there was something restless in his Padawan's spirit, something which called to him. It had been that – and of course, the presence of so much raw talent – that had caused Dooku to choose him for apprenticeship. That untamable quality, disrespectful at times, childishly whimsical at others, also appealed in a strange way to old Yoda, who treated Qui Gon's various transgressions of custom or regulation with an unusual lenience. Certainly a clemency which the old troll had never extended to Dooku in his own youth. Likely enough the ancient master saw something of a kindred spirit in the gangly boy: the trickster's soul. Dooku saw something else. He saw a man who would not be afraid of the Dark.

They tramped on in silence until the sun began to set, casting pale smears of light over the empty landscape, bathing it in weird and distorted hues: blood reds, rust and yellow. The sky deepened to a smoky indigo. A circle of standing stones rose up from the earth before them, snow piled thick upon their southern faces. At first glimpse, some construct erected by primitive beings, a crude tribal sorcery or place of worship….but upon further inspection, nothing but the blasted out skeleton of what was once a graceful circular building, its arches and supports reduced to stark ruin. Blackened sections still bore witness to the violence of its death.

"We shall stop here tonight," Dooku announced, and allowed Qui Gon to labor setting up their small camp within the center of the jutting stones and columns. By the time he was finished, and they had sat down to an insufficient meal by the light of the two half moons, warming themselves by the one miniature generator they carried, it was full night.

"I wonder, "Dooku broke the silence. "Have you ever heard the tichorion of Eos and Scendari?"

Qui Gon looked up in curiosity. He still possessed a childish fondness for tales and stories, even the perplexing and enigmatic teaching fables known as tichorion. There were many hundreds of such narratives, ranging from simple riddles to elaborate sagas, all written and constructed to impart some hidden wisdom, some barbed or difficult meaning. Some children could unravel while others were still debated over by Jedi masters, their intent a mystery to all but those versed most deeply in the ways of the Force.

"I have not, master," the boy said expectantly.

"It is not one which is commonly proposed to students within the Temple," Dooku explained. "It is considered…obscure."

Naturally, Qui Gon did not flinch or object. He thirsted for knowledge, just as Dooku did. The raven-haired Jedi master stretched out his legs before the heat generator and gathered his thoughts. "Listen closely," he began, though the admonition was not necessary. "I will tell it to you now."

Dessar Scendari was a Jedi in the early days of the Order. In those days, the Council had not been established as formally as it is now. Each master chose and trained his own apprentices, according to his own conscience and guiding light. Each taught in his own way, and passed on knowledge of the Force and those aspects of it in which he was best versed to his pupils, one after another, thus forming long teaching lines. Some of these lineages were so different in their outlook and emphasis that they might be considered rivals by an outsider who did not understand the unity which underlies such disparity of persepective.

Scendari's skills were many, and his power great in the last years of his life. His teaching line had always emphasized Force premonition, which is called Second Sight by the ignorant. He spent much of his life serving the cause of peace in the colony worlds, which are now the Mid Rim territories. Thus, he met and dwelt with many primitive or superstitious beings in his travels, and gained an unwanted reputation as a soothsayer and fortune teller, though he did not seek these titles and sought often to prove them false.

His last Padawan was a human, a boy by the name of Eos, whom Scendari had found orphaned on a colony world devastated by plague. Eos was not as strong in the Force as his master, or as many Jedi who came before or after, but Scendari still taught him all that he knew, for he felt the boy was destined to learn from him. He raised the child from a very young age and came to look upon him as a son. Many of those who met him said that the youth would never make a Jedi, and that Scendari would have been kinder to leave him in obscurity, but the master would not hear of it and insisted that Eos would someday prove himself worthy.

"Understand," Dooku interjected, "That at the time, there were no formalized trials. A Padawan could only be granted the title of Knight upon the completion of some great task or accomplishment considered worthy of the Order's purpose and meaning. The occasion could not be artificially constructed, as it so often is now. It happened sometimes that learners remained Padawans in rank for decades, awaiting their time of testing."

"And if it never came?" Qui Gon asked shrewdly.

"Then it was never meant to be," Dooku replied, sternly. "Does that strike you as somehow unjust?"

"No, master," the apprentice answered, far too wise to meddle in such deep waters. He had learned long ago the consequences of questioning Dooku too closely.

Such was the case with Eos, for though he traveled with Scendari well into his manhood, he was not strong in the Force and their missions and work were for the most part peaceful. Finally, Scendari's strength began to fail and he was no longer able to travel. Eos accompanied him to his chosen place of retirement and looked after him with tender care until he was too feeble even to stand. Feeling that his master's death was near, he asked of Scendari one last question.

"I am not a Jedi truly speaking," he said, "For I have never yet faced my Trial. When you are gone, master, whom shall I find to teach me?"

"Fear not, Eos," Scendari told him. "I see that your time of trial draws near. Foresight is the one skill the Force has granted you in abundance. When the time comes, it will be foresight which sets you on the path. And I also see that you will choose well, as a true Jedi."

With these words uttered, and his purpose in life complete, Dessar Scendari died and returned to the Force. It is said that he left behind no corpse.

"Is that possible?" Qui Gon asked, startled. "What does that mean, master?"

"Death is not only possible, it is absolutely certain," Dooku frowned. "That is not the point of this tichorion, Padawan."

"What happened to Eos?" the tall, skinny boy urged him.

"All in good time," Dooku decided, falling into a contemplative silence.

"…Yes, master."

"Cheer up," Qui Gon Jinn advised his apprentice. "It could be snowing."

Obi Wan Kenobi favored him with a singularly wry look and lowered his forehead back onto his knees, pulling his cloak even closer about his shoulders.

Qui Gon chuckled a little. Admittedly, it was cold here on Pyr Enee, especially at this altitude. And yes, they hadn't eaten anything substantial in three standard days. That was hard enough, even for an experienced Jedi, but it verged on torture for a fifteen year old human still in the throes of his adolescent growth spurt. Still, those were hardly good reasons to indulge in melodrama.

"It is difficult to keep a lookout without looking," he gently chided his Padawan's curled-up form.

"It's your turn, master," the boy answered, slightly muffled, without shifting position. He managed to keep most the surliness out of his voice, too. Definite improvement there, Qui Gon noted.

"As yes," the Jedi master said lightly, eyeing the impending storm clouds with a sinking feeling. Perhaps it was better that Obi Wan wasn't looking after all. The threat of an oncoming storm was worrisome, at least from a certain point of view. Their present vantage point – in the scant shelter of an overhang above a lonely mountain pass – would not afford them much protection from the unruly elements.

A clap of thunder shook the skies, and set the rock beneath them quivering.

"Wonderful," Obi Wan said brightly, still not looking up. "Perhaps an avalanche will bury the entire pass, and save us the trouble of stopping the Pyrians. And the trouble of hiking back down from the summit," he added as a dark afterthought.

Qui Gon smiled again. That kind of black humor was not learned inside the Jedi Temple's sober, peaceful halls. His Padawan's dark-tinted wit was far in advance of his years; it was one of the traits which endeared him to his teacher. The gallows humor, and the reckless loyalty – so un-Jedi at times, so passionate – and the fierce cunning that could argue and negotiate its way out of death itself: these were the things that had convinced Qui Gon, despite his solemn vow never to take another Padawan so long as he lived, to break his own promise and accept Obi Wan as his apprentice.

"Always the optimist," he observed.

"You did say to cheer up, master," Obi Wan pointed out.

"What you need is a distraction," Qui Gon announced. "I have just the thing."

"I am not playing sabaac."

"I haven't got the cards, anyhow," Qui Gon shrugged. "A pity. Our last game was quite enjoyable. I actually had to work hard to beat you."

He chuckled again at the look that remark earned him. Obi Wan would never – except under severe duress – openly express disrespect. When he did, it was in a torrent of volatile eloquence, followed by deep shame and remorse. Most the time, he severely controlled himself, limiting his objections to a wide yet perversely subtle vocabulary of silent, smoldering expressions.

"I was thinking of the tichorion I began on the transport here," Qui Gon said after a moment. "The tale of Eos."

Obi Wan shifted position at last, uncurling both physically and mentally. "Yes? What became of Eos after his master's death?" he prompted.

"Eos had a long time to wait," Qui Gon answered. "But he did not wait in vain. Listen to his story…

Many years stayed in the colony worlds, helping keep the peace as best he could. He befriended and learned from other Jedi who passed his way, but never did a time of great trial come to him until he had reached his middle years. By this time he had begun to doubt Scendari's words, and to think that perhaps he was not destined to be a Jedi Knight in the true sense. He meditated on this day and night and finally came to a place of acceptance, content to live his life in whatever manner was granted to him, without ambition or expectation.

In this way, because of his humility, he grew very wise, and was known far and wide as a good man, though few in that region knew that he had ever studied the ways of the Force, and he took no pains to reveal what little power he did possess.

Qui Gon paused, noting that Eos' humility had struck a deep chord in his own apprentice. Relinquishing ambition had also been a struggle for Obi Wan, in years past. He knew well, even at his young age, the difficulties which Eos must have faced. Qui Gon reached out with his mind into the cold canyon stretching below them, seeking for a sign of the pillaging invaders they sought to apprehend. Nothing yet. He continued the story.

Now, while Eos lived a quiet life, there were nonetheless great stirrings in the galaxy outside his knowledge and domain. The Sith, the ancient enemy of the Jedi, who cultivated the power of the Dark Side, grew steadily in power and numbers, and sought to destroy their rivals. Many of these warriors were false Jedi, students who left the true path and turned away form the Light to pursue power, malice, and glory. Some of the teaching lines broke away and deserted the path of wisdom all at once, masters and students falling prey to the Dark together. One of these lines was that of Kief Tollon, who was the first to take the Sith title Darth Talon, a twisted word-play on his true name. The students of this delusional teacher followed him in his headlong fall into evil, and spread their infection throughout the colony worlds, seeking out others to corrupt and seeking especially vengeance on all those whom they felt had wronged them.

In time, when Eos was a mature man with grey hair, a vision came to him- a premonition which held in it the certainty of truth. He saw a follower of Darth Talon – a Jedi student like himself, who had listened to the ravings of the Sith and gone to them as an adept, presenting himself for their approval, because he had not yet been raised to Knighthood by the Jedi. This student's name was Phell Voxx, a very young and foolish man.

In the vision, Eos saw that on the first night of the next week, Phell Voxx would arrive on the small moon where he made his home, with the intention of committing a grisly murder. In order to be honored by the Sith, Voxx had also to pass a trial, you see.

"A Sith trial?" Obi Wan breathed.

"Yes. An affront to life. A murder, or else the enduring of great torture. The effect of such a rite is to permanently twist the apprentice's soul."

Obi Wan stared at his own teacher, stricken.

"This is a dark tale," Qui Gon told him. "It is best in such cases not to allow your imagination to run away with you. "

"Yes, master."

"Listen, but rule your emotions. There is more to the vision, and the story."

Eos saw that Phell Voxx would indeed take a life that night – it was ordained to be so. And he also saw that he must stop the young Sith from slaughtering the innocent family whom he had selected as his victims. Eos knew that the only way too stop Phell Voxx was by force, in a duel, yet he also knew with certainty that he did not possess the skill to defeat the Sith in a lightsaber contest. Eos had never wielded his own weapon in more than formal practice, while Voxx was known as a master swordsman. His only hope of overcoming this deadly opponent was to take him by surprise – by ambush, and to kill him before he had a chance to defend himself.

"But that is against the Code!" Obi Wan exclaimed, horrified.

"Indeed," was Qui Gon's grave reply.

"But I thought Eos was supposed to be a wise man," the young Jedi protested.

"Patience," Qui Gon instructed him. "You haven't heard all the tichorion yet. And you are waiting here, with the intent of ambushing the Pyrians. How is that different?"

"We are here to prevent bloodshed, master."

"Such was Eos' intent, also, Padawan."

"But….we are acting on certain knowledge. The Pyrians have already destroyed several settlements. And they have directly threatened the one we are protecting. They have been warned…we attempted diplomacy. We are certain," he repeated.

"And so was Eos," Qui Gon argued gently. "His premonition had the clarity of truth."

"The future is uncertain, master. You and Master Yoda are always telling me so. No choice can be founded on such a shifting and unsteady basis."

Qui Gon raised an eyebrow. "And are you such an experienced seer, young Obi Wan? How many premonitory visions have you suffered, hm?"

The Padawan hung his head. "I don't understand," he murmured in a subdued tone.

"You aren't meant to," Qui Gon assured him. "Wait –"

There was a fluttering disturbance in the Force, a coldness that cut beneath the cold of the snow. "The Pyrians are on their way," he barked. "Come."

They scrambled up and over the edge of the overhang, ducking behind its narrow ledge for cover, sprawled flat on their bellies. The sound of the approaching horde could be heard faintly on the wind. Now was the moment for swift action; the tale would have to wait for another time.

"It's so cold," Anakin Skywalker complained. "I've had enough of this ootlish, Obi Wan." He shrank back at the silent reprimand this earned him. "Sorry," he apologized. "Sorry, master, I didn't mean to…I mean.."

"Anakin, for stars' sake, hush."

"Sorry," he whispered again for good measure.

"Anakin." This time Obi Wan' breath came out in an exasperated cloud, a little dragon-beats's puff of irritation.

Anakin bit his lip and watched his own breath condense in the early morning air. He wanted to scream, how much longer are they going to make us wait? But that would only aggravate his master even further, so he just stood there, outside the grand ceremonial entrance to the Biswalli capitol, waiting for the grand high poobah of the planet to deign to see them. He shifted from foot to foot in the icy air, trying to ignore the grumbling in his belly, wondering whether he had any toes left – because he certainly couldn't feel them anymore.

"I'm sure they will offer us breakfast," Obi Wan said encouragingly. "At least, eventually."

Anakin rolled his eyes and fingered the lightsaber dangling by his left hip. He toyed with the attractive idea of cutting a big old hole right smack in the middle of the priceless carved doors, a beautiful perfect circle with fused edges glowing red-hot, kind of like his temper felt right now…

"Anakin." Obi Wan's warning was a hiss, and it jolted the Padawan out of his reverie as sharply as a slap.

"I hate diplomacy," he grumbled.

Obi Wan merely smiled, one of his infuriating half-smiles, really just a twitch around the mouth, and ran a hand over his beard to hide it. "Hence the dearth of fifteen year old diplomats," he remarked dryly.

"Queen Amidala was fifteen," Anakin retorted.

"Queen Amidala never daydreamed about rampant property destruction during the middle of a highly sensitive negotiating situation," Obi Wan reminded him.

Anakin was about to make a smart reply to this when the doors – stars above! – actually opened a crack on their mighty hydraulic hinges, to reveal a formal welcoming party of no less than a dozen Biswalli officials.

He didn't actually pay attention to the lengthy formal introductions and greetings, leaving that to Obi Wan. Carefully bowing and following his teacher's lead, all he could think was how cold his feet were, how empty his stomach was, and how much he hated diplomacy. After a ridiculously extended greeting ceremony, the two ambassadors were issued into another, smaller chamber within the palace walls, and then left alone again.

"What's this place?" Anakin demanded once the Biswalli had withdrawn.

"A waiting room, I believe," Obi Wan replied, unperturbed. He took up a seat on the edge of an ornate bench.

"More waiting?" the young Jedi groused. "I hate this!"

"Proper ceremony is very important to our hosts," his mentor said. "It would be wise to indulge their taste for protocol."

"Well, it would be wise of them to indulge our taste for warmth, " Anakin shot back. "This place is freezing. Do they like it this cold?"

"It is unfortunate," Obi Wan agreed, "But I'm afraid it can't be helped. You had best focus on something else. Perhaps we need a distraction."

"Not sabaac," Anakin warned him. "You cheat."

"I win," Obi Wan corrected, impassively. "There is a difference, my young Padawan. You had best learn what it is. Besides, it's impossible to cheat at sabaac. There aren't enough rules for any to be broken."

"That must be why I don't like it," Anakin muttered, pacing the room in a vain attempt to keep warm. "Ungh! Nobody told me being a Jedi would mean freezing my backside off on some nowhere world, waiting for a boring diplomatic talkfest, and skipping breakfast."

"It does sometimes make for a thrilling tale," Obi Wan agreed.

"Ha ha…" His Padawan made another circuit of the room, huddled in his long dark cloak, lips turning faintly purple. "Hey," He stopped. "What about that tichorion you began earlier? You never finished. What happened? What did Eos do?"

"Oh yes." Obi Wan leaned back on the embellished bench. "He had a terrible choice to make."

Knowing that he could never defeat the Sith unless he attacked without warning, from behind, in the manner of a dishonorable coward, and knowing just as surely that if he did not stop the would-be assassin, terrible murder would be committed, Eos spent long days in meditation, and longer days in an agony of thought, deciding what course of action to take.

He knew also that his premonition was his path: for Scendari had told him as much with his dying breath. This encounter with Phell Voxx would be his trial – the moment which would decide his destiny, whether he were a true Jedi or not. All his life had been leading to this moment, and in it he must surely act only in accord with the Light.

At last, the day which he had foreseen had arrived. He saw Phell's starship arc through the sky overhead, landing not far from the village where the family lived. Eos went to their dwelling place to await the grim visitor, for he was sworn to protect the innocent at whatever cost.

"But, master!" Anakin interrupted. "How is he going to defeat a Sith warrior when he isn't any good with a lightsaber? Don't tell me he uses a trick."

Obi wan scowled. "I didn't get a chance to tell you anything, before I was interrupted. And no, there was no trickery involved."

"Then he won't defeat the Sith. But he has to – or else he'll be killed himself. We all know how that works: only one of them is going to survive."

Obi Wan scowled more deeply. "May I continue?" he growled.

"Sorry, master."

Eos waited well into the night, having hurried the family to safety beforehand. In the dead of night, Phell Voxx arrived, full of wrath and vengeance. He entered the house in a fury, set on killing all those he found within, bearing the red blade used by the servants of the Dark. To his astonishment he found not the intended victims, but only Eos, calmly waiting for him inside the dwelling.

Seeing the old man standing before him, he raged and demanded to know the family's whereabouts. Eos refused to tell him. And begged him to lay down his weapon and remounce the ways of the Sith. This had no effect on the madman, who ignited his saber.

Eos merely lifted his own weapon in the upright salute and waited.

Phell Voxx, full of hatred, and frustrated because his task could not be accomplished, cut Eos down on the spot. Eos died at that moment, returning to the Force. He left behind only his cloak.

"That's impossible," Anakin snorted.

"How do you know? You weren't there," Obi Wan chided.

"I don't get it. Why didn't he fight?"

"Because he didn't want to kill Voxx. He wanted to defeat him."

Anakin frowned, utterly perplexed. "You're not making any sense, master. He didn't defeat him at all. He just got creamed. That's not very impressive."

"I'm not so sure. Eos is considered one of the great masters."

"What?" the Padawan exclaimed. "He never even became a Knight. And he just got vaped, Obi Wan. That makes no sense!"

"Nonetheless, tradition holds him in the highest esteem. He is considered an accomplished master, and was recognized as such after his death."

"No!" Anakin shook his head. "That story is stupid."

"Anakin, you still haven't allowed me to finish," Obi Wan remonstrated, but at that moment the inner doors opened and they were at last rejoined by another party of Biswalli diplomats. The argument, and the remainder of the tale, had run out of time.

"It wouldn't be half so bad, Snips, if you wore some real clothes," Anakin grumbled at his Padawan.

The little Togruta half smiled, half snarled back at him, her normally deep blue lips tinged with purple, and her headtail stripes standing out in a brilliant white and blue pattern. "Make me," she said through chattering teeth.

Anakin cast a sidelong glance at the clone troops hunched in the trench beside them, to make sure none had heard this saucy comeback. Rex's helmet hid his face, and there was too much disturbance in the Force to tell whether he was amused or had even heard the remark, so Anakin decided to let it go. This time.

"You know," he answered, leaning a little closer, "In the good old days you would have been hauled in front of the Council for that, little one."

"Really?" she said, eyes widening theatrically, and then narrowing to predatorial slits. "In the good old days, Skyguy, they would never have allowed you to teach."

"Who says I'm teaching?" he fired back, as fast as a Form III lightsaber parry. "'Cause you sure aren't learning anything."

"Aaaaaaaarrrgh!" the fifteen year old Togruta growled. "I'm too cold to learn anything."

"Incoming!" Rex shouted, and another Seppie shell hit not more than fifty meters away, shaking the ground beneath them like a carpet and sending a shower of rocks and ice into the trench. "Those kriffing clankers are going to find us any minute," the clone Captain spat out. "Where in the blasted hells are General Kenobi and the reinforcements?"

Good question, Anakin thought. He slammed the transmit button on his embedded comlink. "Obi Wan!" he shouted over the noise of distant bombardment and the shouts of the clones. "Where are you?"

"Busy – just – now," came the truncated response, uttered in all too familiar grunts of breath. Anakin could hear the hum and sweep of a lightsaber in the background, and the sizzle and splat of deflected fire.

"Great. He's busy," the young Knight muttered under his breath. At least the Seppie attack had lulled once more.

"Patience, master," Ahsoka advised in her sweetest, most submissive and docile tone.

He glared at her with everything he had, but it did nothing at all to dim the twinkle in her eyes. Little brat. How in the galaxy…? But there was no point in asking. Ahsoka was his Padawan because…well, he wasn't sure why. He suspected conniving on the part of the Ocuncil and Master Obi Wan, to be honest. But he would never know, not really. He had to accept that this was, somehow, meant to be.

"All right, my little Padawan. Let's use this time to best purpose. Back to the lesson."

"The story? How does it end? I don't understand it."

"Quiet," he said severly. "You might understand more if you talked less."

As soon as Eos had fallen, disappearing into the Force before Phell Voxx's eyes, the young warrior was overcome with shock. Seeing the old man's actions, and his willingness to die rather than fight, he was shaken to the core of his being. He gathered up the fallen cloak and cast it about his own shoulders, disappearing into exile for more than a year, hiding form his Sith masters. He never returned to them, but eventually renounced his errors and turned once again to the Light.

In this way, Eos' sacrifice fulfilled the vision which he had seen: that the Sith would take an innocent life that night. And it also undid the future which he had seen, for instead of confirming Voxx in the ways of the Sith, the death of Eos saved Voxx form himself and turned him from the dark path.

Eos' deeds were related to many Jedi by Phell Voxx himself, who became a great foe of the Sith. And Eos was recognized as a great master and has been esteemed ever since, down through the long centuries.

Snow began to drift down into the trench, mixing the churned-up dirt into slushy mud.

"Oh…great!" Ahsoka nearly screamed, white stripes on her face cold and stark as ice, eyes flashing with pent up battle fury. "Now I'm filthy, too! How much longer do we have to wait?"

"They're on their way. You know Master Kenobi: always fashionably late."

"That doesn't sound –" she began, but another explosion nearby drowned out the rest of her words. Anonther maelstrom of ice and grit rained down on them.

"Stinkin' barves!" one of the troops shouted out. "They're toyin' with us, General."

"I know," Anakin answered, punching a fist against the side of the trench. It left a large dent in the hard-packed earth; he still didn't always know the strength of his robotic hand.

And then another explosion and another – but no debris. The earth shook and rumbled, and the Force flared with brilliant lightning, like a sun breaking over the horizon.

"What the-?" shouted Rex, but Anakin was already over the edge of the trench, Ahsoka on his heels.

"Reinforcements are here!" he called out cheerfully, destroying one or two stray SBDs that wandered too close to his saber's reach. Ahsoka ran behind him, racing over the crater-pocked moonscape toward the new battle zone, where their reinforcements were taking out the Sep cannon one after another. They put their all into the sprint, far outstripping Rex's men who dashed behind them, filling the air with chilling battle cries…but they were too late.

"Hey," Anakin complained, reaching the scene of destruction to find Obi Wan just in the act of demolishing the tactical droid in charge. "You didn't leave any for me."

Obi Wan wiped grit and snow out of his face and winked at Ahsoka. "Perhaps you should arrive on time in the future," he suggested politely. "As they say, war waits for no one."

"And neither do you, apparently."

That earned the younger man a signature Kenobi look. "Oh, I've spent a great deal of time waiting for you over the years, Anakin."

"Now what?" Ahsoka asked, tugging on Skyguy's sleeve as Rex and his men came near, slowing to a disappointed jog as they saw that the fighting was finished.

"We wait for the gunships to pick us up," Obi Wan said. "They should be but a little while behind us."

"I'm freezing," Ahsoka complained, wrapping her arms around herself.

They found places to sit, on pieces of charred tanks and bits of slag, on boulders and chunks of rock spit up from the scarred ground. It was almost cheerful. One of the field medics tossed Ahsoka a thermal blanket with a short laugh. "I ain't treatin' frostbitten Togruta," he quipped, in passing.

She hunkered down inside the blanket to wait. "I still don't get the tichorion, " she muttered. "The story about Eos. How does giving up make him a master?"

Anakin frowned. "Giving up makes you a loser," he said. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, Snips."

"Thinking that Eos gave up makes you a fool," Obi Wan added, with a sharp look at Anakin. "He did better than fight. He was able to speak to one almost past hearing."

"He should have fought," Anakin insisted. "Laying down your weapon isn't saying anything. How can you speak by saying nothing? How can you act by doing nothing?"

Obi Wan just smiled. "It is called a tichorion for a reason – a silent voice. Eos' actions were also a silent voice. A lesson taught without words."

Anakin grinned wickedly. "If only my teacher had mastered that art."

Ahsoka had to bite her tongue to keep herself from laughing.

"Someday, Anakin, someday…"

But before he could answer, the roar of the gunships' engines drove away every other sound. In a moment, the troops and the Jedi were milling into the white armored transports and lifting away into the atmosphere. Other engagements waited; and the argument over the tichorion was forgotten, its meaning tucked away into memory until it was needed, in the right place and time.