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Left eye was as blue as one of the planet's three suns, soft and disturbingly unassuming like the poisonous plants Qimir would harvest as a padawan, they mimicked the grass they leached water and nutrients from. But the right one was pierced with a small copper dagger, deep enough part of the black hilt was inside the skull. A more comforting sight than the cold eye. Blood and viscera was pooling around the young man's head. His gray scarf turned a revolting scarlet color. He looked to be around Mae's age and height. There was a chance he would have lived a long life if he only gave up his speeder bike willingly. Shame he was too stupid to realize the danger he was in.
Suns were setting, the desert sand was still so hot you could barely walk and in the distance something made an ominous hissing sound. Now more than anything he wanted to be back at their chilled homebase by midnight but it was looking unlikely. Mae was ignoring him while rifling through the dead man's bags strapped to the back of the bike. Her left shoulder was wounded and her cloak absolutely fucked. He wanted to hug her so instead he decided to get the job done. Qimir tied his jacket around his waist and methodically checked the body from head to toe for anything useful to borrow. Only thing of interest was a communication device that was shattered in the tussle and a few credits loose in his pockets.
He tsked and in a swift move removed her dainty handcrafted dagger. Wiped one side on his thigh and then stopped. This wasn't just a stranger's blood, it was also Mae's blood mixed with his. He looked over to see her leaning on the bike with her eyes closed. Rhythmically tapping her right hand’s middle finger against her clavicle and quietly repeating a prayer from her childhood.
Weeks ago Mae Aniseya died in her dream. Then she died again. Night after night. Her master knew that. Of course he did, though his advice was not taken seriously. “Qimir” however had no idea what was going on. The smuggler pretended not to notice her anxiety slip through the cracks or her darker eye bags.
Qimir licked the other side of the blade clean and put it away in his boot. He was out of water and Mae was not the type to share. Cool metal and warm blood against his tongue would have to suffice. He sauntered over to her and to both of their surprise he covered Mae's fidgeting hand with his own.
She sighed in frustration.
“What are you doing?”she asked.
“We have to leave” he licked his lips.
“We can't. You didn't even deal with the body”
“The vultures will eat him”
“What do you want?”she finally opened her eyes.
“Yesterday you were meditating for hours. We don't have time Mae”he said sympathetically.
She stopped moving her hand. Qimir intertwined their hands and whispered that he would drive them back. She stopped breathing. He let go and unsteadily climbed the bike and started the engine. His acolyte hesitated but then sat behind him and held him tightly. They left the scene of the crime immediately.
When they picked up speed he felt her finger tapping on his stomach that same slow rhythm she did before. It felt like a dull needle trying to break his skin. He caught her in the same prayer yesterday, day before that and the day before that. Though she never prayed in front of his true form. He was itching to ask her about it but couldn't get himself to do it. Even for him this felt invasive to do.
So he took a hands off approach and watched her pace:watched her weave the thread around her body like some energetic cocoon. Trying to see if there was a weak spot he could sink his teeth into.