With the descent of the twin suns, the evening was growing chillier by the moment, the gold hues of the day awash with silver as night took hold, distant spots of starlight flickering against the deep black of the sky.

"Take him in," Owen murmured, gently rubbing a hand against the centre of his wife's back. "It'll be too cold if we stay out here with him just now."

Beru nodded, without even glancing at him, her attention focused on the child gently cradled in her arms, wrapped snugly in rough blankets. She had barely even paid heed to the sunset, which was rare. Even after twenty years, she still loved to watch the twin suns disappearing beyond the horizon.

Stepping down from the overhang of their almost hidden home, she made her way towards the main doors, cooing softly to the baby, looking happier than Owen had seen her for a long time.

Exhaling a sigh, Owen followed her with his eyes until she was out of sight, folding his arms over his chest. His gaze drifted out across the barren sands surrounding the moisture farm, which had been his home since before he could remember, watching the distant shadow moving away, the shadow that had delivered their little blessing.

They had received notice only a day before the baby had arrived, a curt message informing them of the death of his stepbrother and the mother of the child, that the child had nowhere else to go.

He had received the message.

If Beru hadn't overheard it, he wasn't sure what he would have done. If she hadn't heard, maybe he could have refused, but she had heard and her face – thin and pale and tired – had lit up, so radiant and so beautiful for the first time in so long, and he had known, in that moment, that he couldn't have refused her anything.

Shivering slightly, he stepped down onto the gritty sand, making his way back across the short distance to the steps of his home, slipping into the gloomy hall and flicking the door control.

It hissed shut behind him, leaving him standing for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the dimness of the building. The small glo-panels buzzed softly, crackling, as he passed, ducking through a doorway and descending the small flight of stairs into the open courtyard.

Pausing to power down the generators, he heard several of the other doors slide closed, locking them in from the dangers of the desert and the night, of which there were many.

Strange that the man who had delivered the boy to them had refused to stay. He had just smiled at Beru, politely refused, saying he would live nearby, should they require any help with the child.

That in itself had been odd, but then – Owen mused – Anakin Skywalker had been a strange young man, even if he had been a Jedi, so it seemed likely his friends would be strange as well.

There was something unsettling about the man, in his long, mysterious cloak and hood, his face almost hidden. He had come, handed the baby to Beru, not even waiting to speak with Owen, before leaving. He had moved like a shadow and now, thinking on it, Owen could remember nothing about him, save a lingering memory of a name; Obi? Oben-wan? Obi-Wan?

Yes! That was it Obi-Wan Kenobi. That had been the name in the message.

Not that it was important, really. If the man was going to be living close by, it wouldn't be too much of a challenge to seek him out. Everyone in the Anchorhead region knew one another, so a stranger wouldn't go unnoticed.

Shaking his head, Owen started up the steps into the living quarters, not entirely surprised to see Beru still standing by the makeshift cradle. It was little more than a basket woven from wires and cables, padded lovingly by pillows, which Beru had spent the previous day feverishly making.

They had never expected to need a cradle, not now or in the future.

Beru loved children, had cared for her sister's, her neighbours, had been looking forward to the day when she could have her own, but the medi-droids and physicians had been – harshly, in Owen's opinion – honest and told her that she would never be able to bear a child.

They had found out after barely a year of marriage, after she had been taken ill six months earlier. It had broken Beru's heart, which – in turn – had left Owen feeling hollow. He couldn't bear to see her hurting. More than anything, he had known she wanted to be a mother.

It was another reason he couldn't have refused the child whom she now watched over.

Approaching, stripping off his sand-blasted tunic, he wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her cheek softly. Her hands covered his, her head tilting, her temple resting against his.

"He looks so peaceful," she murmured, squeezing his fingers. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Owen surveyed the infant. The boy, Luke, was laid on his back, small fists worked free of his blankets and curled stubbornly on either side of his head. A few dark wisps of hair crowned his head, his rosy lips emitting quiet gurgles and bubbles.

"Are they meant to be that small?" he asked doubtfully.

Seldom around children in his youth, he was hoping that he would be allowed to leave the raising of the boy to Beru. He knew how to deal with adults, but these little miniature people, so dependant and weak, he was sure he would break by accident.

Beru laughed. "He's small," she agreed. "But he's going to grow." She reached down to tug the blanket more fully over the boy's small body, apparently oblivious to the fond expression, which had crept onto her husband's face. "And he's sleeping now…"

Mock-alarm crossed Owen's face. "They don't normally sleep?"

Again, she laughed, turning to see the teasing glint in Owen's eyes. "Now, you're just being silly," she chastised fondly, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek. Her expression turned serious. "It won't be easy for him out here."

"I survived it," Owen said with a small smile, drawing back and taking one of Beru's hands in his. "And his father lived here before he went roaming. I think he'll be all right."

Glancing back at the cradle, Beru nodded. "Poor baby," she murmured, "Having no parents…"

"But now," Owen noted, squeezing her fingers. "He has you."

"Us," Beru corrected, turning that warm smile on him again.

A faint smile caught one side of his mouth and he nodded. "Us," he agreed.