Only after her next bite of food was cold did she realize that she was being rude. Her hosts had worked hard to cook a lovely family meal, and here she was, hardly even touching it.

"It's delicious, Malla," she managed, and it was. After a lifetime of decades-old, rehydrated Imperial rations, she hadn't realized how good real, homecooked food was, with tender bites of meat in a spiced gravy which the diners scooped up with hunks of soft, warm bread. The four of them sat on the floor of the family's treehouse, which the glow of the fireplace filled with warmth and danced across their faces. Far from the bright lights of Rwookrrorro, the home smelled sweet from the wroshyr wood and the night birds twittered softly outside. Earth-toned tapestries hung from every wooden wall, depicting – she imagined – the lives and legends of great heroes of their people. It was, in fact, probably the coziest place she had ever seen, and certainly the coziest place she'd ever been, radiating as it did the love of a family reunited after a long separation.

Her hostess gave a soft grunt.

"It's nothing," she replied quickly. "I'm all right."

But Rey Skywalker was not all right, and she could tell from the look that Chewbacca was giving her across the table that he knew it. He said nothing but turned the conversation to his son Lump, who was eager to describe what he'd been learning in school since he'd last seen his dad. Rey half-listened and tried to enjoy her dinner. I'm reasonably certain I would not be convinced if I saw me either, she thought as she slowly chewed.

She was not surprised, then, when he interrupted her thoughts again as she sat on the back patio of their home a few hours later.

Chewie purred softly and handed her a wooden vessel full of she-didn't-know-what. She sipped it, trying to hide her hesitation: her Wookiee hosts were accustomed to much higher alcohol content than the drinks enjoyed by humans, and Rey had never been one to drink much anyway. There was too much risk involved in losing control of her faculties, even for a moment, and so she'd never developed the taste. Still, out of appreciation for the gesture, she drank. And, if she were being honest with herself, if there were ever a time when she wanted to lose control of her thoughts, it was now.

I'm sad too, he said, after a long while.

She fought back the tears that stung her eyes. "You have so much more to be sad about than I do. You knew them all for years and years."

He nodded slowly, and not unkindly. Our people live long lives. We know we will mourn many friends.

There was a bit of silver in Chewie's fur, she could see in the firelight. Here among his own people, who would age at the same rate as he, he was in the prime of life. A war hero, a beloved leader, someone the others looked up to. Some humans might discount Wookiees for their furry countenances and quick tempers, thinking them to be more animal than sentient, but one thing Rey knew for sure was that the mighty Chewbacca was more than he seemed, and he was wise. Of that she was sure.

We believe that those we love live on in the stars, he continued, after a sip from his own drinking vessel. She let her eyes follow his gaze, through the trees to the night sky above. The stars were bright here; it reminded her of the view from her old home on Jakku – minus the canopy of trees, of course. How often she'd gazed longingly at the stars, dreaming of the day her family came back to get her and they'd live together again. Had she imagined a home like Chewie's, where kind parents lovingly raised their child in a peaceful oasis far from pain and war and deprivation? One where firelight chased away the evening cool, and they gathered to laugh together over supper, and a father tenderly comforted a brokenhearted child?

Perhaps, but it was not to be.

"Leia said that we could imagine the Jedi who have gone before us, speaking to us from the stars," Rey said.

Do you believe that?

"I'm not sure." She'd heard them, of course, calling to her on Exogol. As clearly as she heard Chewie speak to her now. But in the days following, the pain and grief that overtook her was overwhelming. The hideous flight back to Ajan Kloss, every muscle screaming in exhaustion and her head pounding, her heart shattered. She hadn't cried then. When she was sure that Finn was safe, she'd excused herself to her tent, zipped the door closed, and laid on her cot for two days. Tears would not come. She ate not a bite. Instead, she silently shut herself off from the Force and the pain that welled up inside her with each breath. She felt torn in half, a searing fire of guilt and sorrow. For one moment in her life, she'd been happy, truly happy; the next moment, it was over. And she was quite sure that she'd never know that feeling again.

And since that was true, there was no longer a need to know the Force.

On the third day, Chewbacca had torn open the tent. As gently as his huge frame would allow, he pushed her off her cot to the floor and roared.

She was eating a nutriment bar, she was taking a bath, and she was coming home with him to Kashyyk.

The journey was slow due to the constant changing of hyperspace routes. Chewie was afraid of being followed, and was unwilling to risk the safety of his family; only once he was satisfied that they'd lost any possibility of a tail did he set the Falcon's coordinates for his home planet. Even then, he'd landed in the planetary capital and insisted they walk to the exurban settlement where they lived.

"Are you sure you want to leave the Falcon here?" she asked. Kashyyk was a jungle planet, so green and beautiful that even its Trandoshan overloads, who patrolled menacingly outside the small spaceport Chewie had selected, could not mar her impression of it. No wonder Chewie had been so eager to return home. Grief weighed on him too, she knew, but he at least had a family to distract him from it.

At the end of the day, the Falcon was more Chewie's than hers so she deferred to his judgment. Rey sighed and picked up the small pack she'd brought with her from Ajan Kloss and gazed around herself at the freighter's small interior. Here she and Finn had worked together to fix what Plutt had broken within it; here she and Poe had met for the first time; here she'd sat when she first saw green; here she'd stood when they arrived at Ahch-To and everything changed all over again. Sorrow, the sorrow that pressed into her sharper than she could possibly articulate, stabbed her again as she imagined a little boy who might have played Dejarik at that very table – and she pushed the image away.

All told, it took about a standard day to reach the treehouse where Mallatobuck and Lumparawoo waited. They must have seen Chewie and Rey from some distance, because their cries of joy preceded them as ran through the trees to meet them. So many long, loving arms embraced them, and for an instant Rey felt her friend's happiness as her own. This too she pushed away and smiled politely at the kindly Wookiee family.

Now, hours later, she sat on his back patio. He'd built it himself, Malla had told Rey proudly when they'd given her a tour of the house. It overlooked a distant waterfall, and the light of the three moons glinted softly off the rippling water. Rey could not think of a more beautiful place.

"Chewie," she said, at last, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I need to tell you something."