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“Shhh, adiikLittle One - [lit.] child aged 3-13. K’uur,”Hush Daid purrs soothingly at the shivering ad.Child, Kid
Onsad chuffs an agreeing sound at the mouth of the cave. Daid doesn’t know how it comes that kaysh vodSibling, Sibling-like Friend can’t see the adChild, but he’d also been genuine enough to believe Daid when kaysh had insisted.
You don’t joke about adeChildren in need.
Daid is hesitant to take off the buy'cehelmet. Fresh adeChildren are always either overcome with the desire to touch or are a bit too intimidated by the teeth to come close. Daid sighs, and reaches for the latch.
The adChild is riveted.
“I’m just taking off the helmet, little one,” kaysh soothe, as they move. “Just so you can—ah yes, there we go—“
An adventurous adChild, they immediately latch on to the ears. Daid chuffs a greeting into the unwashed skin that the adKid reveals with their innocuous motion. They’re small – even for a human-baseline. Blond and blue-eyed and as kaysh move back, carefully, the adKid coos into their impromptu perch from kaysh forearms.
The blanket around their shoulders is dirty. Not theirs if kaysh had to take a guess, but if it was then that would make the adChild Viszla. Onsad’s inhale is telling.
“Su'cuyHello, Hi,” kaysh rumble at the adin their arms and is promptly inundated with a skull-breaking pressure of pleasantness that pulls a groan from between kaysh teeth. Because of course.
“Me'banaWhat's happening??”
Daid ignores kaysh vodSibling, Sibling-like Friend for a moment. Focuses on the adChild – gently pushing against the pressure. Gentling the rush of emotion – the torrent of memories – the inadvertent latch – until only an insistent awareness exists and Daid has the space to breathe again.
“They hear the Mandathe collective soul, here: (Mandalorian) Force,” kaysh sigh, bunting the flat of kaysh forehead against that of the youngling. “Not a Vizsla.”
If they had a clan at all, Daid wagered they were too young to remember properly. When Mereel’s goransmith had taught kaysh, she’d been insistent that Kar'adelit. Star Children, here: Children of the Force communicated better in emotions and unformed concepts rather than verbal language. Daid hasn’t had the chance to experience what that meant. Hadn’t known if the exercises to shape kaysh thoughts would even result in anything else than a recurring annoyance. Until now.
Kaysh push – gentlygentlygently – at the adkid’s insistence.
Food , kaysh offer. Clean. Rest. Warm. Safe.
Home.
The youngling warbles a defiant agreement. Pink and soft and naked in kaysh paws and willing to live.
“I’ve heard a curious story about your foundling,” the goransmith huffs when Daid returns to the forge – a day after coming back from their patrol. Kaysh head tilts just enough to catch sight of the ad'schild's blanket dangling from the gauntlets of the goransmith.
“Ba'jihere: Teacher, from: bajurir - teach, raise children,” kaysh greet with a fist over their bes'kar'taBeskar heart, part of the armor. “I see you’ve heard more than I’ve yet said.”
The click of annoyance sounds mechanical from the goransmith, even as Daid steps closer. “I wouldn’t have had to rely on gossip if you’d come back directly ,” she teases darkly. “It’s as though you want me to hear about your life in half-truths and exaggerations.”
“Nu draar,lit. No never; very strong denialba'jihere: Teacher,” kaysh deny with a smirk. “But I do know how little you get out of your forge at days. Giving you an incentive seemed more productive than—“
Kaysh catch the corner of the blanket before it can thwap against the buy'cehelmet, a fierce grin hiding behind kaysh visor.
“Mir'shebsmartass,” the goransmith clicks, even as they tug on the blanket. Daid surrenders it and follows the inviting motion of her arm to sit in the dark nook, hidden from arrivals to the forge. She has, kaysh is surprised to see, prepared a whole pot of shigbeverage, citrusy infusion.
This, kaysh realize belatedly, is going to be a lesson.
“Sit,” she insists, voice clearer without the modulator of her buy’ce. “Drink with me and listen.”
Daid removes kaysh buy'cehelmet and listens.
It was a secret that wouldn’t be kept.
A secret that would keep you, if you let it.
If you heard the stars sing,
If you knew the face of your ancesotrs without meeting them,
If you felt the beat of Manda’yaim’s soil in your fingers,
If you needed to run and if you had nowhere to turn,
The songs of your forebearers would lead your step.
Up, up, up,
For most.
Around, and around, and around,
For others.
Deep, but never too deep,
Away, but never too far to be found.
If you listened,
If you ran,
You could find knowledge without seeking it.
You could find warmth without believing in it.
You could find rest without asking for it.
You could find defence if you’d been left without it.
This is the secret.
The shriek-hawk will take you under their wings.
The shriek-hawk will guard your back.
The shriek-hawk will dance in the wind of your steps.
The shriek-hawk will teach you to fly.
Daid listens for the words that echo through kaysh – the ones which hadn’t been spoken. The ones that could only be felt. Like the ring of beskar after the hammer had hit would shake up through the bones and the very tissue that made Daid Daid.
Even when the goransmith has bid kaysh good night, even when Onsad had fed kaysh, kaysh are still busy listening to the ring of the vibrations.
Daid listens as the lines bury themselves deeper than muscle. Deeper than bone. Oozing even into the deepest crevasses of kaysh until kaysh shocks up to the sound of a blade unsheathing.
Kaysh own.
Instinct makes kaysh search the room, hunter’s eyes scanning the edges of the walls, the lines of kaysh window – the haphazard nest of their resting place. But the warning doesn’t come for a danger without.
They know that with the second breath they take.
Listen something urges.
Someone.
Daid takes a deep breath. Ni shushI listen.
The wind whispers over the plains outside kaysh window. Something rumbles in the belly of the yaim – an arrival, or a departure.
Our children were dying--
There’s a statue of Tarre Viszla on Krownest.
Daid hasn’t seen it, and doubts kaysh is going to see it in the foreseeable future.
Not that kaysh need to see it to know it. There are trial casts of the large memorial – tall as the length of a fore-arm, maybe, poured in ore that should have rusted and died and persevered only through the care of goransmith after goransmith after goransmith.
Daid has no need to peruse them either – although kaysh possibly could, given the stories of kaysh ba'jiTeacher.
Then again, when kaysh arrive at the forge, she takes one look at kaysh new cape and say nothing.
Daid has other means of learning.
Other means of listening.
When Daid accepts the foundling into kaysh care, the dusty-white, almost gray cape on kaysh shoulders hangs easily to the bends of kaysh knees. Gray for the mourning of so many others like kaysh foundling, who had not been found in time, who had not found safety soon enough. Red for the honouring of a parent. There is only one Mando'adlit. Child of Mandalore who would have been prepared to assume the mantle of buirparent to any sensitive Kar'adhere: Force-sensitive Child on Manda'yaimlit. Home of the Manda, means: the planet Mandalore.
While kaysh adChild cannot wear the haaranlit. cover, clothes, here: cloak, cape and survive the target it will paint on their back, Daid will wear it for them and trust kaysh vision.
The shriek-hawk will guard your back.