Work Text:
Sabine Wren picks up her charcoal. The artist takes a sip of her ale. She looks at her subject and begins to sketch. She watches as her subject's deft, work-roughened hands reassemble the blaster with ease.
She doesn't concentrate on the hands. She concentrates on the blank face. A face that until a week ago, had held expressions of approval for Ezra. Acceptance of Kanan. Respect for Hera and her. Disdain for Chopper.
Something else for a powerful warrior. One that he had helped mold.
Now the light does not escape the amber eyes.
Eyes that have seen so much.