Chapter Text
“Sir.” It was nothing more than a hesitant whisper, barely heard through his bucket as he watched the flames dance in the night air. The fire was large, with logs piled atop one another to form a towering blaze. Big enough to see from a little bit of a distance, and the smoke even farther.
He forced his eyes away from the flames, drew them towards where Rys had been bunked down at the right of the fire. Rys was sitting up, his sleeping sack pooled about his waist, and with his armor piled to his right. He followed his gaze out towards the edge of the trees. Thorn stilled, swallowing harshly around the stone in his throat. Yoda had been right. They’d been right, despite the time, despite the grumbling of the Chancellor as he’d ordered the five of them along.
Two little hands were curled around the rock, pale fingers splayed against grey stone. Two eyes peered at them, seemingly large against a too-thin face. Their red hair was a riot, twigs and leaves poking throughout, and their eyes were transfixed on their huddle. Thorn hardly dared breathe as they all stared at one another; the three awake clones and lost adiik that Yoda had brought them here for. Thorn’s bucket was set on the log with a gentle thud, and he knelt in the dirt as he fished around in the small box of provisions lying near him. He unwrapped the bar, holding it out in the night air.
“We’re not here to hurt you, Commander,” he rasped, “I’ve…I’ve got some food, if you want it.” A thin face emerged farther from the rock, and Thorn carefully wrapped the bar back up before placing it on the log. He sat at the far end, as far as he could get from the bar, and waited. And waited. Light footsteps sounded out behind him, and Thorn forced himself to remain still.
—
Thorn isn’t sure how long it takes General Yoda to return. Time has largely been lost, as has a ration bar and a thick blanket that swamps the tiny form. Stim is staring, as they’ve been doing since the Commander had slowly climbed up onto the log. There’s a warm presence by Thorn’s side, leaning into his right side as they presumably sleep. Thorn is still, as still as he can remember being, as a thin form slumbers against his right side.
—
It’s two days later that they troop aboard the ship, a burned-out pyre behind them and an unfamiliar lightsaber clipped to General Yoda’s belt. The Commander is asleep in his arms, a burden that should have been much heavier as Thorn made his way up the boarding ramp.
—
It’s ten days later that Commander Thorn ascends the Temple steps solemnly behind a small being, their stick clacking against marble steps. There is a small form in Thorn’s arms, still and silent. It’s ten days later that Obi-Wan Kenobi returns home.