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The Corvus mists wreath Din, forming incoherent shapes in the distance. The ravaged trees grasp at the sky around them. He keeps catching glimpses of motion at the edges of his peripheral vision. The swirling gases make him fight not to jump, to turn and whirl, at every second.
He can’t quite believe the Jedi stayed her blades at Bo-Katan’s name. A Jedi creeps up on a Mandalorian in a dark forest: he should be in pieces, beskar or not. Instead, they share a fire on a dead planet.
Tomorrow, they will liberate a town together — ancient enemies, side by side. She seems like a good battle partner to have: reserved, acrobatic, powerful. Few he’s faced have responded with such creativity and ferocity.
Grogu could be like her, one day. So powerful that an entire army dares not follow him into the mists. A warrior. Self-sufficient. Safe, from himself and others.
But she doesn’t want to train Grogu. She thinks it’s dangerous. Din must convince her. The empire is a far greater threat to Grogu than any one Jedi could be to the galaxy.
Right?
He clears his throat, too quietly for the vocoder to pick it up. “You can speak with him,” Din says.
“Yes,” Ahsoka replies, raising an eyebrow. They’ve been over this; he knows, she knows he knows.
“Can you teach me?” Din cringes. He meant the words to sound idly curious, disinterested. But there’s a note of hopefulness in his voice, even filtered as it is.
The Jedi places her hands on her knees and purses her lips. “It doesn’t really work like that,” she warns.
“Could we try?” His facade of neutrality is absolutely transparent, at this point. But the child — Grogu — curls up in his lap, so small and helpless, snoozing thoughtlessly. And he can speak. He has things to say, has thoughts and responses that Din can only grasp in echoes.
Ahsoka’s face doesn’t reveal any sort of turmoil, just placid thoughtfulness.
“I’m not sure you’re even capable,” she says. “Many aren’t. And most who are — they forget. Grogu will, if you let him.”
Din’s about to nod his assent, say alright and stop himself from thinking about the what-if’s. But the Jedi continues: “But there’s no harm in trying.”
“Thank you,” Din says.
Ahsoka gestures to her side. “Come,” she says, “sit with us.”
He stands awkwardly, crossing the fire to join Ahsoka where she perches with the child. He looms over her, takes in her montrals, her rough-spun robes. She doesn’t look unlike any other Togruta, really. Yet, she has the same power as Grogu — to lift a mudhorn, to commune with things that Din can’t imagine.
“Mirror me.”
“Uh… like this?” Din’s knees creak as he sits down on the ground beside them and crosses his legs into the meditative pose. It’s hard to fold himself up like this, with all the beskar and gear. His hands settle awkwardly on his knees.
Grogu gurgles. Without prompting, he settles into a pose of his own, crossing his legs under his little robes and curling his fingers into a circle.
Ahsoka chuckles.
“What’s he saying?” Din asks.
“He thinks meditating would be good for you.”
Does… does that mean Grogu thinks he’s stressed?
“Do I… do something with my hands?” Din asks instead, not really sure he wants to know everything that’s going on in Grogu’s head.
“Whatever feels comfortable,” Ahsoka responds.
Din leaves his hands where they are.
“Close enough. Now, clear your mind — or whatever’s under your helmet,” Ahsoka says with a bit of dry humor. “Close your eyes. Count your breaths.”
Din tries, he really does. But the instant his eyes close, everything just feels obtrusive. His breaths in the helmet. The creak of the dying trees. He dampens the helmet’s sound feedback, so he’ll only hear Ahsoka’s instructions. But it doesn’t help.
“It’s not working.”
“You’ve barely tried, yet. Have you ever felt… calm? Watched something for hours, unthinking?” Ahsoka asks.
“Sometimes,” Din says slowly. “When the Armorer works at her forge. The flame, the ringing hammer…” He has lost himself in that feeling for hours. But maybe calm is the wrong word: the flashes always make his heart race, his breath come fast; they bring memories of fire and droids.
“Reach for that feeling,” Ahsoka says. “And maybe —”
Grogu stands from his perch and scuttles over to Din, then resettles directly in front of him. The kid blinks up at him, eyes wide — maybe hopeful, or Din is just imagining it — and ears quirked.
This time, Din reaches for that feeling, the warmth and haze of the Armorer’s forge. For a moment, he remembers the droids, his terror and helplessness. But he turns away from those thoughts. Instead, he seeks the quiet bustle of the covert, all the murmurs of voices and clinks of beskar. Soon, his helmet feels like a warm wrapping, and his voices flow easy and smooth.
“Good,” Ahsoka says quietly. “Now reach for him.”
Din raises his hand, places it on Grogu’s head. It’s warm and soft beneath his palm, a bit wrinkled. His fingers brush the barest hint of fuzzy hair.
“I meant with your mind.”
“Oh,” Din says.
“Return to that feeling. Feel the world around you. Seek him in the fabric of things.”
But the calm has slipped away from him. He opens his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this,” Din admits.
“Mandalorians. So thick-headed.” The words are fond, as if Ahsoka’s remembering someone specific. Din aches for the covert. “I think this is not the right type of meditation for you. If you attempt this again, try moving, instead. Repetitive motions, centered in your body. Clean a gun or fix your ship. Once your mind is clear, you could try to reach for him.”
Din sighs. It doesn’t seem likely he’ll be able to reach the mindset on his own. This wizard life energy stuff just doesn’t click. “Sorry, buddy.” Grogu’s small paw pats his thigh. Consoling, maybe. Or disappointed?
“There’s something else, though,” Ahsoka says, voice thoughtful. “With younglings, in the crèche — many are like Grogu. They can communicate before they can vocalize. The crèchemasters can understand them through the Force. But some needed to learn other ways, so we taught them to sign.”
“Oh,” Din says, placing a careful finger on Grogu’s paw. The Tusken raiders do something similar, now that he thinks about it: the brain, and its communications paths, develop before the muscles of the tongue. So they teach their young to sign before anything else, mostly out of necessity. It’s dangerous to live in the desert with no way to communicate.
After Ahsoka again refuses to train Grogu, as he’s guiding the Razor Crest into the atmosphere, Din thinks back to that exchange. He describes his actions, and his flight plan, as he had on their descent to Corvus. But now he wonders if there’s another way they could speak.
“Grogu,” he starts, and the kid’s ears perk up.
You are like his father, Ahsoka had said.
In the covert, some foundlings who were old enough to speak just — couldn’t. After everything they had seen in the wars, after losing their homes and their families, they lapsed into silence. Din was like that himself, for awhile after the covert first found him. It’s how he learned those first pieces of Tusken language: his buir borrowed the signs and taught him.
Din has assumed that Grogu is just young, too young for his tongue to form the words. But after everything Ahsoka has said, now he wonders if the child learned silence out of fear.
Instead of speaking, Din begins to sign. Din, he spells, with his hands, introducing himself with a gesture.
Grogu, he forms with his fingers, and points to the child. Hello.
“Now you, Grogu,” Din says, mirroring his words with the signs.
Grogu’s eyes widen, and he begins to move his fingers in slow, careful motions. The signs don’t adapt perfectly — with fewer fingers and differently shaped joints, the movements at first seem like they could be random.
But after a few tries, it becomes unmistakable:
Din, Grogu signs back. Hello. Then he immediately grabs for the silver ball again.
A laugh bursts out of Din. Grogu, he returns, again.
Din points to the silver ball, clasped in little green hands, and he begins to show him how to speak.