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He does not remember the beginning. Nobody does.
One day in the heat of the summer, he wakes. All of them wake within days of each other, until the murky waters are teeming with thousands of wriggling, freshly-hatched babies. All of them are little things, with smooth skin the color of pond scum. They have no hands and no feet, only a tail, and a pair of fins on the sides of their heads.
He is alone, even though the others of his brood are everywhere. He does not know them, and they do not know him. They are too young for that. Loving, and thinking, and understanding, that all comes later. The first years of life are for instinct and survival. More often than not, he is scared. There are things in the pond with gaping mouths and rows of teeth. There are things with sharp beaks and snapping jaws. There are things that lurk in the dark, deep corners, waiting.
So he dives into the small cracks between rocks, where nobody can reach him. He hides in floating, leafy masses of plants, or nestled safely in the gnarled roots of trees. When he’s hungry, he chases after the tiniest of fish. Sometimes, he waits for the meaty, slimy bugs and worms to get too close, and he swallows them whole.
One by one, the others of his brood get picked off. A bird swoops down and flies off with a mouthful, or they eat something they shouldn’t, or a water snake swallows them faster than they can swim. But nothing ever eats him. Slowly, slowly, he grows bigger. He grows hands. They take some getting used to. He’s not very good at them, yet. But there are so many new things he can do now that he has hands. They’re great for touching shiny rocks, or splashing at the surface of the water, or holding slippery creatures in his hands while he eats them.
After the hands, he grows legs, and lungs. He learns how to breathe. He’s big enough now that most things don’t want to eat him. The problem is, he’s become clumsy, slow, and almost helpless. One day, someone comes to lift him out of the water, with a pair of green hands just like his. She gives him a name.
Grogu giggles and learns how to love. He is not with her for long, but she feeds him soft foods and hums him to sleep, before she sends him away.
***
They take care of him, at the temple. The other younglings grow too fast. All of them leave him behind. One day, he and his friend are babbling at each other, fighting over a piece of bright blue cloth. It’s pretty, it’s soft, and it’s his. He wants it. Then, before he blinks, his friend is all grown up and forgetting about him. They always do. But Grogu never forgets about them.
Almost everybody is dead. There is so much blood. People scream so loud it hurts his ears. He’s scared, but he doesn’t cry. Something wants to get him, kill him. He knows what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to hide somewhere, until it’s safe to come out again. Grogu is good at hiding, but that doesn’t make him any less scared. He wants someone bigger than him to pick him up, and keep him safe, and let him cry until he falls asleep. That can’t happen, though. There’s nobody around to do it. He’s supposed to be still and quiet until it’s safe to come out.
Things are still and quiet for a long, long time. But not forever.
Years later, somebody new comes and finds him. The stranger is a mystery. Grogu raises his hand, reaching up, up to find the man’s finger. The energy around him sings. He knows who this is, down to his bones. This is a Friend. Someone he can trust.
In an instant, Grogu loves him.
***
The spaceship is his favorite place he’s ever been. All of it is so new and exciting. Sure, Grogu’s been on spaceships before, but usually, they just closed up his pod and wait for him to go to sleep. His new friend usually lets him wander around.
He’s not really supposed to hit the buttons, but it’s so hard not to. The ship is filled with them. Every single one is a mystery. Anyway, his friend is sleeping. Grogu sneaks past him, toddles into the room at the front of the ship, and climbs up onto his chair. With one hand, he slaps the counter, dragging his hand across rows and rows of buttons. The lights behind them flash half a dozen bright colors. Shrieking with laughter, Grogu takes his other hand and flips a switch on and off, and on and off, and on and off.
It’s so fun. No wonder his friend spends so much time sitting here, twisting knobs and pulling levers. Grogu just wishes he’d learn to share! It’s fun for him, too. A pair of hands swoops in, lifting him up and off the counter.
“Stop it! No!”
Grogu protests, waving his arms wildly. His friend rushes to turn off all of the lights, pulling knobs and levers in a panic.
The man sets him on a chair, and crouches down to look him in the face. “I mean it, kid. You can’t touch things like that.”
Grogu scowls at him. It’s not fair. He never gets to touch anything.
“Listen. I’m not mad at you. Just, please don’t do it again.” He sighs. “You’re probably pretty bored on here, aren’t you? I’ll, uh- I’ll try to keep you busy tomorrow. But first, let’s get you back to bed.”
The man picks him up, a hand on his back as he carries him to his hammock. Grogu curls up in his arms. His eyelids start to close. Something about the contact always calms him down. He feels safe, protected, like nothing is ever going to hurt him. A gloved thumb rubs his cheek. Before long, he’s fast asleep.