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The young Mon Calamari Padawan took it upon herself to spread the blanket, not trusting her companions to do it correctly. Clutching one end between her webbed fingers, she shook it out, letting air amass beneath it like the wind to a sail. It gently sank to the ground.
Bant smiled, pleased with herself.
“This place is so cool!” One of her companions said, looking around appreciatively. He flung his knapsack down without a second thought, crumpling the blanket.
Bant rolled her eyes, finding a flat spot in the corner.
“It’s called a willow tree. Master Qui-Gon found some articles about them. I thought this could be one of our special places,” Obi-Wan said with a sheepish smile.
“Yeah,” Garen agreed, sprawling out. “We needed a place that’s just for us.”
Obi-Wan started unpacking their midday meal. It was a feast of different foods they’d swiped from the Refectory. Or, well, Garen and Bant did. Obi-Wan was still uncomfortable with large spaces, and they couldn’t trust Reeft not to eat everything. Garen said as much.
“I have self-control,” Reeft grumbled. “When have I ever stolen your food? I always ask first.”
“Well-”
Reeft pointed at Garen, daring him to say another word. “That was one time, five years ago.”
“And one Bespin Meringue Cake I’ll never get back,” Garen lamented, mouth-watering as he imagined its delightful tartness bouncing on his tongue.
Obi-Wan placed a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s with the Force.”
“Reeft’s apology cake was just as good,” Bant added before taking a bite of her crab biscuit.
“No, mine was better,” Reeft said, straightening his back. “I made it myself.”
“With Master Tyvokka’s help,” Garen pointed out. Master Tyvokka was a Kybuck Clan favorite, always willing to help, even when that meant guiding younglings in the art of cake-making.
“Fine. Bant, help me build a time machine. I need to go back and eat the apology cake, too.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Garen gasped.
Reeft was resolute in his convictions. “I would.”
“Why can’t I help build the time machine?” Obi-Wan asked, holding an offended hand over his heart. He could break the laws of time just as well as Bant could.
“You’re in league with Garen! You’d sabotage our time machine!” Bant giggled.
“Et Tu, Bant?” Obi-Wan asked, falling over onto the sheet, almost crushing their rice container. “Betrayal.”
The young Jedi settled down soon after, munching on their respective meals. Their conversation turned tame as they discussed coursework and the new holofilm Garen was obsessing over. Bant listened with great patience as he described the plot, too polite to point out that she, too, had seen the holomovie. Reeft played along, asking follow-up questions that only spurred him on.
Minutes in, something felt off. Obi-Wan wasn’t talking or giving Garen a hard time as he usually did. Bant subtly turned her eye to watch him. He wasn’t eating, either, staring off into space as he sometimes did.
“Obi?” She asked softly. “You’re not eating your muffin. Is something wrong with it?”
“It’s a muja muffin,” Obi-Wan stated as if that explained it.
“Sorry, I thought you liked them.” Bant was disappointed, to put it lightly. She and Garen tried to get only his favorite foods. Muja muffins seemed like the obvious choice at the time. He always went for the muja muffins.
“Do you want something else, then?” Reeft asked.
Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “I guess I’m just not hungry.”
“Obi-Wan, you need to eat something,” Bant said bluntly, crossing her arms.
“I told you, I’m not hungry,” he pushed back, dropping the muffin onto a plate and moving it out of sight. Bant wouldn’t drop it.
“You’re not in charge of what I eat.” There was a hint of something in his voice. Annoyance? Fear? Anger? He didn’t want them asking questions, exactly why Bant knew they should.
“I know, but we’re concerned about you.” Obi-Wan turned to Garen, then Reeft. They agreed.
“You don’t need to be.”
“Obi-Wan,” Bant’s started gently. “You’ve lost weight. I didn’t want to say anything, but I overheard Qui-Gon and Tahl talking. He’s worried you’re not eating.”
“Was this your plan all along? To stage an intervention?” Obi-Wan grit his teeth, carefully avoiding eye contact. No one said anything at first, waiting for Obi-Wan to calm himself.
Bant worried she had gone too far, bringing up Qui-Gon. She knew Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship was a sensitive topic, but her worry shouted louder. Obi-Wan turned his back to them.
“We wanted to spend time with you. Like we used to,” Reeft said.
Obi-Wan sighed. He wiped his face and turned back to them, eyes glossy and red-rimmed. Wordlessly, he grabbed a random fruit and ate it. “Happy now?” He seethed.
“Yes,” they all agreed. The group mind was satisfied. They released their hold, and conversation flowed freely once more.
Obi-Wan spent a few minutes stewing silently but rejoined them when he was ready. Their signatures lit up in the Force, radiating love and joy. His face flooded with warmth.
“Awww, he cares about us,” Garen teased.
Obi-Wan cursed his pasty skin.
“You guys wanna hear about my last mission?” Reeft asked. Bant nodded eagerly. The Dressellian regaled them with stories from his last mission. Like the run-in Master Ibes had with a colony of hawk bats.
“Only, the hawk-bats were just the beginning. We ran out of the cave, only to come face-to-face with a giant-”
“A varactyl!” Bant squealed.
“Good guess, but no, it was a giant Tuskcat!”
“No, look,” she pointed, and there it was: A tiny blue-green varactyl munching on Obi-Wan’s discarded muffin. The young Jedi were all enchanted with it immediately.
Garen went to pick it up, spooking the tiny creature. It jumped up over his searching arms and right into Obi-Wan’s lap. He went shock-still, hands frozen in the air as the varactyl nuzzled against him.
Reeft clapped his hands together softly. “It likes you!”
“What do I do?” Obi-Wan whispered quickly.
One part of his brain urged him to push it away. It was new and scary, and he had no idea how he ended up with a varactyl on his lap.
“It’s a baby,” Bant cooed.
Ah, Obi-Wan nodded. His mistake. He had a baby varactyl on his lap.
The other part wanted Obi-Wan to pull it close and run his hands through its silky feathers. How could it trust him so implicitly? Didn’t it know how dangerous people could be?
“What should we name it?” Garen asked.
“Boga,” Obi-Wan answered instinctively. He didn’t need the Force to tell him how right the name felt. He looked down at the now-sleeping varactyl and smiled. “Her name is Boga.”