In Stormcrow's Tent (Kaytren/Stormcrow saved copy)

[Kaytren Li]

(Writing circa 2011)

Once upon a time, in a Tusken Raider's encampment, nearly 30 years before "present" era...
—————

Stormcrow:
*The old man's voice turned to the door. It was the voice of a woman not in the thick, screeching toungue of the Tusken Raiders. He knew the voice, for it belonged to someone he would never be able to forget. Stormcrow was disturbed. It was not Kaytren's presence that alarmed him, for she was becoming part of the tribe. He had even heard the Story Teller and the Chief referring to her as "Sister." Surely that would eventually become her official monocre, and as a result cementing her position here on Tatooine. What disturbed the Sith today was that he didn't sense her arrival. He tried to fool himself into believing that his distraction with his increasing ailment allowed him to overlook it, but there was another far more terrifying option. His connection to the Force could be fading now that his mortal shell was shutting down, which could mean.... the old man chastised himself and snapped him from his painful living nightmare. Now that her presence was indeed confirmed, he could once again sense her. Yet even now her presence seemed... distorted somehow. At least Stormcrow could breathe knowing 'he's still got it', but for how long? He took a last sip of water and tried to stand, to no avail. Stormcrow sighed, knowing how worn out he felt, but this was a guest he could never refuse. Instead, he raised his hand and pulled the tent flap back himself, revealing Kaytren. He smiled, doing his best to mask his inner turmoil both physical and mental.*

An unexpected surprise, Kaytren. I am pleased that you've been able to take a break from your many duties as a Jedi to come visit. What brings you to Tatooine?

*Even in his state, Stormcrow could see that Kaytren was clearly either pregnant, or had REALLY been chowing down on the Umgul blob candies. Knowing her matronly attitude for life and the loving care she showed her children, he could only assume that it was the former. That would also explain why Stormcrow was so delayed in recognizing her. Such power as to pull the wool over the eyes of Stormcrow... the old Sith inwardly sighed. In these few seconds he had been on an emotional roller coaster, and was unfortunately returned to the emotion he had first experienced. Disturbed.*


Kaytren:
Like nearly always, Kaytren kept a quietly skilled veil of control around her mind. She felt no disrespect for Stormcrow and trusted him in some things as much as she could trust any friend, but... besides that the aged man was a proclaimed enemy to much of what she held dear, the empathic Healer had always valued the privacy of one's own mind and being. In the same way that her own aura felt understated or that her mind could be quite difficult to read, she kept her own senses in check and was careful to not intrude on the more private thoughts of the man in front of her.

Even at an initial glance, however, the aged desert Sith did not look or feel well to any of her perceptions.

"Stormcrow," Kaytren murmured his name by way of greeting, her voice the same quiet alto it always was.

She summoned a light smile for him despite her concern, and inclined her head in an informal echo of a bow.

"I had an old promise to keep, and besides that, it had just been too long as it was. But forgive me, dear friend. I'd be grateful for a chair or a crate or such if you have something… and I think you would do well for the same. Could we go inside please?"


Stormcrow:
But of course. And stop calling it an old promise. I don't need you making me feel older than I really am!

*With that, Stormcrow's will and reservation broke down as he let out a torrent of unproductive coughing. To a trained healer, the wheeze in his voice and the nature of the cough would suggest either massive infection or degredation of the lungs. Stormcrow sat back down in his chair and pulled a crate out of the corner for Kaytren to sit on. What wounded him more than the infection was that it was preventing him from being a good host right now. He should have called for an extra chair to be brought over, but didn't even feel like doing that. He took a sip of water, once again to no avail. He knew that it wouldn't help at all, but felt like he might as well try. The fire in his eyes from years before had faded into embers. He sat down and once again did his best to smile at Kaytren.

So, my friend, what does bring you my ways? Surely if your order wanted to assassinate me, they wouldn'tve have sent you. So I can only assume that once again you're visiting me 'off the record.'


Kaytren:
"Oy! If I'm the one who made it, then it can't be that old of a promise, now can it?"

She entered the tent with him, and as Stormcrow coughed the Jedi Healer displayed her knack for letting the smile fade fade slowly from her expression rather than show too much startlement or concern. Stormcrow's cough was... troubling, but unsurprising to her given his wheeze and appearance. She sat down for the moment, letting the weight off of her feet while she gently watched the Sith, and filing relevant signs into her growing mental assessment. The firelight behind her gaze flickered with the same deep and quiet steadiness that had burned in her core for more than a decade now.

"There's nothing official about it," she murmured reply, and took a drink from her own water bottle. "Although there's nothing especially off the record about it either. The council on Naboo left a strange galaxy in its wake; one that still not everyone understands yet. But visiting you has never broken any laws of mine, when I'm able to spare the time. Besides that... I asked a leave from the Council some months ago, and it was given freely."

Kaytren smiled slightly, folding her left arm protectively closer around the curve of her abdomen. "But you are right... I don't want to be 'on the record' at this time, Stormcrow... Soon enough, I'm sure, but not yet... Now slide your chair over here please? You were gruff last time, but that sounded nothing like this."


Stormcrow:
*The old Sith shook his head and muttered.*

Strange doesn't even BEGIN to describe this galaxy of which we are a part.

*Stormcrow didn't expect Kaytren to even dignify the assassination comment with a remark. She was too classy of a lady for that. He only mentioned it as a warning that he would not tolerate Jedi interference in his affairs. What astounded him was the revelation that she was no longer on the council! He nodded sagely.*

You're better off. Someone as kind and talented as you sohuldn't restrict herself to the role of the Republic's lapdog.

*He let loose with another fit of coughing. Unfortunately, this time the cough was very productive. He spat up a massive load of red-colored sputum. The blood was very apparent as he slung it down into the sand, covering it up. He'd have to clean the tent later, and did his best to distract himself from his weakness. He would never want to show weakness in front of Kaytren in case she thought less of him.*

Wh..what do you mean? I've never felt better. I've just been here on Tatooine relaxing and taking a break from it all.

*The lie was flimsy at best. Normally the wily old Sith would be able to improvise, but he couldn't manage to come up with anything. Regardless, he slid his chair slightly closer, but only by a few inches. He didn't want, nor did he feel he deserved, her pity. He had managed to keep his condition a secret this far, but wouldn't be able to for much longer. And if the Jedi found out he was this weak... he didn't even want to think about it. His final solution would be smashed before he even had a chance...*


Kaytren:
"Stormcrow. I'm not going anywhere from the Jedi, in any fashion," Kaytren replied with a smile reminiscent of a mother correcting a child's false impression.

She wasn't patronizing, and the desert Lord should hopefully have known that about her by now. The mannerisms were simply intrinsic to her, and it showed easily when she was relaxed. The bit about 'lapdogs' she left alone, but not for lack of opinion. In her mind, Stormcrow had no business wasting breath on arguments for the time being.

Kaytren wasn't pleased with that cough in the least. The Healer slid her crate a good few inches across the rest of the short distance between them while he coughed, politely averting her eyes, but it couldn't really be any secret that he'd gained her concern and attention.

"Are you ready to stop now?" she asked in a softer, but sterner tone.

She'd shifted so that she was sitting beside him now, although perpendicular. Kaytren was facing Stormcrow's side as she set her right hand over his shoulder, the tips of her fingers lightly touching his neck.

"No talking if its a struggle yet. Breathe in and out. Slowly."

[Kaytren Li]

Kaytren:
Once Stormcrow had given his grudging acquiescence by his thoughts, sigh, and stillness, the expectant mother shifted a little closer yet to the old warrior. A distant expression crept into Kaytren's eyes. Her breathing also slowed for a moment, until she remembered her current state and inhaled. She murmured a word or two of response when he talked of loyalty and the Republic, but very little of Kaytren's attention was on anything Stormcrow told her. Even the stretches and flutterings of small hands and feet went nearly unnoticed for those particular minutes.

Her left hand came up to join her right one at the side of Stormcrow's neck, and Kaytren deftly slid her palms and fingertips until one hand rested just above his sternum, while her other was over his upper back. The Sith would have felt the subtlest tingling, perhaps, and the coolness of her touch developed a slight warmth as she reached deeply out with careful perceptions.

Even after his congratulations and the mention of the empty garden she'd come here to remedy, silence reigned in Kaytren for quite a few moments after that.

Finally, she took in a breath and straightened, withdrawing her hands to her lap. (Or, rather to her curving stomach; Kaytren didn't have a great deal of 'lap' for the time being.)

"Dear Stormcrow…" she quietly began, and looked up to meet his wearied gaze with the heated firelight of her own.

"Sith are pride-filled idiots." Reaching up, Kaytren subconsciously smoothed a nonexistent stray lock of her braided chestnut hair. "Among all of you, with your skills and wiles and… resources, you couldn't have managed having a half-competent physician or two and a properly stocked infirmary somewhere to help deal with that? Or you could have mentioned pains and come in for a basic physical when we were living on Naboo with one another in the same building. For Force's sake.

"That kind of degradation — old chemical warfare exposure, for the most part, and some sort of fume inhalations? - has been festering for decades while you shielded it. And I get to realize the scope of it here in a tent in the desert, lightyears away from the facilities I would have wanted to have, and to find that if I'd waited to see you until after the small ones, that I highly doubt I would have? You make my work very, very difficult this way."


Stormcrow
While we are pride-filled idiots, I could easily name a few Jedi who are equally as stupid as I.

*Stormcrow hacked and coughed again, spiting more sputum into the sand. She truly was a marvel, not letting any of his words distract her from her desire to heal and save. Yet Stormcrow understood that there were some that shouldn't be saved. He had seen the darkness of humanity. Honestly, he had lived it. All humans had evil sides, but some were better at hiding it.*

I could easily have sought your aid anywhere. I knew where the best hospitals were. This is no acute case, Kaytren, and I doubt that you truly understand just how chronic it really is. I am almost two centuries old, Kaytren. I've lived through the Galactic civil wars, seen the rise and fall of empires and kings, watched planets realtively backwater and unknown become thriving metropoli of activity. Even when we first met during the invasion of this planet, and during our time together at the Council of Knowledge, this festered unbeknowest to me. I have lived a long time... but my body can only live so long. I don't think I will be making it to 900 heh heh...

*His chuckle developed into a nother coughing, this time unproductive. He covered his mouth and took another sip of water.*

Excuse me. Kaytren, no man is immortal, no matter how many people try to fool themselves into believing it.

*He sighed and turned his eyes to the tent he hand crafted. So many memories here on this planet... would he have many more? No one knew for sure.*

The reason you find me here is two-fold. One, this camp is untainted by technology or the city-life of the more populous planets. There are some advantages to making camp on a backwater planet. Two, this is my home now. Where else would I go? Back to my ancestral home that holds nothing? To the Council where I was asked to resign my position and all my friends have abandoned? No, here is where I wanted to be.

*He shrugged, an action that brought about another fine cough. He didn't move much, for he was far weaker now than he had ever been before.

What can I say, Kaytren? Perhaps it is my time. I'm dying. No more will the Jedi and the Republic have to worry about Stormcrow, the desert Wraith, the scourge of Tatooine... No more will mothers have to tell their children to be good, or Stormcrow will come get them in the night. No more will the Republic Senators have to look over their backs. Perhaps the galaxy would be better off...

*His smile once again grew sad as he thought of the two people he loved more than life itself. The old Sith would be with them soon, but would they remember him? Would they understand and smile to see him?*

My only regret was that my revenge for Angelina will be incomplete... perhaps that is the punishment for my sins. I was not strong enough to save them then, and never managed to be strong enough to change the galaxy. Healing... I don't deserve to be healed. And what Jedi could heal a destructive force like me, knowing it would make me strong enough to resume my revenge? No one would toss up a fuss for a crook like me.

*Stormcrow shook his head, and once again warmth returned to his eyes.*

I am glad you came to see me, though. Whatever sense brought you here simply shows how much power and inner strength you truly have. In your trade, you truly are a master.


Kaytren:
She had heard death speeches before, both those that were timely, and those that were genuine but not required in her presence. For Kaytren, Stormcrow's talk and explanations had a chance of being the latter. She intended to keep it that way.

In this instance, the expectant mother Healer listened quietly to her friend, but restrained herself from responding to most anything he actually said. She simply let him talk, while Kaytren herself had stood up (using his shoulder lightly for balance, but taking gentle care to not put much weight on the weakened warrior), while she walked a quiet circle around his tent. Cot, chair, crates, waterskin - for the most part it was a simple affair just as she remembered it to be, and there was nothing here that looked overly useful to her in present circumstances. How she would have liked to have Kurayami or Erril for this one, or failing another Healer, then Keto, or any one of a dozen others whom she'd built a strong rapport with over the years. As Kaytren mentally ran over the contents of her own satchel and medical kit, she sighed and came to the quiet conclusion that it would all be enough. It wouldn't be easy, or anywhere near as simple and controlled as she'd have liked it to be, and the energy cost was very taxing; but she could make do... And then as another realization occurred to her, a quiet smile came to the Healer's lips, and the set of her shoulders relaxed gently. Whatever epiphany had come to the Jedi Healer, it had evidently taken a weight off of her mind.

"Perhaps... and perhaps not, dear friend," she replied to the desert lord with a brightening firelight in her gaze. "Tell me please... where would I go to find one of your Tuskens who speaks Basic?"


Stormcrow:
*Stormcrow coughed up again. This time, far more blood came up then usual. The degredation of the lungs was happening a lot more rapidly now than before. The old Sith figured it was his immune system finally giving up on itself, overwhelmed with the task in front of it.*

Basic?.... a lot of them understand it, Kaytren, but you'll be hardpressed to find but one or two that actually speaks it...

*Stormcrow mentally chastised himself for not training the Tuskens a little better. Like anyone else, he had foolishly believed that he would be here forever. Now who would watch over his people? Without guidance, the acolytes would remain where they were, and even with some force sensitives in his camp, Stormcrow knew that any of his enemies would effortlessly be able to wipe out his people with aerial assaults. Who would protect them? He tried to turn his head to look up at Kaytren.

I can think of but one...

*He suddenly let out with a rough, callous cry. A passerby Tusken came in and answered the call. Through a conversation of a few sentences, Stormcrow let his point be known. He then weakly turned his head back into position. His muscle strength was growing weaker as well.*

What do you plan on doing? It's futile...

*The tent flap opened to reveal the Storyteller, the wizened old Tusken who had given the speech before. He nodded his head politely at Kaytren and stood there, waiting for what he was needed. Clearly it was not for a story.*


Kaytren:
Kaytren had realized, a bit belatedly, that she had needed only to specify her want for a Tusken who understood Basic, rather than who spoke it well. She hadn't quite intended for Stormcrow to expend so much of his fading energy and lung power on crying out for someone either - but this was his home, and she didn't interrupt the old Sith until he was finished.

When he was done speaking, however, Kaytren was there. She kept her hand on his back, sitting beside him through the next coughing fit, easing it slightly. She passed him his waterskin, tactfully helping if need be.

"I know my talents and my own call in the Force, dear friend… And elsewise, you are dying. Sooner than you think, if you shout like that again. So. Do you trust me enough?"

The expectant-mother Healer turned her attention back to the storyteller with a bow of her head.

"Thank you, Storyteller," she murmured. "I'll get to you soon."


Stormcrow:
I trust you, yes, but it is your creed that I mistrust.

*The old Sith closed his eyes and breathed a bit heavier. He hadn't had to shout like that for a while, and even the one was taking its toll. Soon, it would be over, as his friend had so eloquently put. He tried to raise the water skin to his mouth, but couldn't even muster the energy to do so.*

I still find it odd that you seem so eager to help an old Kath Hound like me. The code you stand for... the Order to which you belong would rejoice to see an enemy like me no longer pose a threat. Heh... even amongst my own Order would my rivals be less than upset upon my passing. I wonder what you could possibly see in me that is worth saving: all I am is a bitter old man who has spent his life trying to seek revenge, only to come up short. Why...why do you...care so much about... your enemy?

*He began shivering and wavering a bit back and forth. The waterskin fell from his hand.*

Why...trust....me?

*With that, the Old Sith lurched backward into unconsciousness. He was alive still, and an expert healer could tell, but his Force Signature began to fade as his sympathetic systems all began to shut down to utilize as much energy as possible for the autonomic survival systems. The Storyteller stepped forward, concerned beyond belief. Certainly the clock was ticking slower and slower, and it was only a matter of time now...*


Kaytren:
The Healer had shushed the old warrior Sith softly as he talked, his words coming out with increasing rasp and difficulty. Stormcrow was as stubborn as she was, though, and Kaytren hadn't really expected him to be quiet until he consented to or his body forced him to. It was the latter that happened, of course.

She bit her lower lip in quiet concern, drawing on the Force to augment her own strength enough that she could catch the unconscious Stormcrow before he fell from his chair. Looking up to meet the storyteller's gaze, she spoke softly and steadily to the Tusken elder.

"Stormcrow, or Brother, is very ill; very sick. I'm not sure how much he's been hiding it, but it's reached a point where it's become very serious and his body is dying. We need to work gently but quickly, please. Healing is my gift, but especially now, I will need help. I need someone who can understand Basic, who can fetch the things that we need, if we need them. And two strong warriors who aren't afraid of my touch or the Force. They need to gently lay him down on his bed, and then I need them to let me borrow their energies."

She wrapped her free arm more closely around her abdomen, and softly added. "This will be a very hard work. I can't take that much energy away from myself this time. He still might die now, although I think we can heal him. I need help for it."


Stormcrow:
Kaytren may have remembered the Storyteller's old, high-pitched, shrieking call before, but the voice that emitted from the Storyteller's face now was a raspy whisper, barely audible to the ears. It was almost disturbing to hear it from the masked persona, almost truly inhuman.*

"You do not believe Brother has joined the sand, Sister? Then we shall provide what you need...."

He turned and opened the tent flap, and summoned two of the Acolytes. While the Storyteller himself was not force-sensitive, these two Acolytes clearly were, as their auras and signatures would be easy for a master like Kaytren to pick up upon. They were brick-like, even with the raggedy robes on, and nodded politely to Kaytren.

The raspy whisper made way for the harsh, high pitched shrieks as he explained to the Acolytes what Kaytren wanted of them, or at least part of the orders. He did not know what she meant by borrowing energies. The two Acolytes easily lifted Stormcrow and laid him out on his bedmat, and stood there. The Storyteller approached Kaytren again and switched back to the whispering Basic.

"Sister, these two will be more than willing to help. Speak to them through me; I will be your voice. Explain what you mean by taking their energies so they can be adequately prepared to help. This tribe owes its existence to Brother, and we shall do all we can to prevent him from becoming one with the sand on our watch."

[Kaytren Li]

Kaytren:
Kaytren watched the moving of Stormcrow with a careful eye, seeing that he was transferred gently down onto the bedroll. She was a empath enough that the Storyteller's rasp of a voice mattered not to her. As long as she was able to hear him, his meanings were easily rendered clear. It also did not escape her notice or appreciation that she was called 'Sister' by the old Storyteller, although Stormcrow was her greater concern by far in those moments. After murmuring her thanks to the old Tusken, she turned her attention to the two acolytes and spoke as quietly as she ever did. Even if her words were translated by the Storyteller before the younger warriors would understand her, she looked to them rather than to the elder, because the words and meaning were for them.

"I need you to sit by me please, where I can reach you. It old be helpful if more blankets or bedrolls could be brought… one here for me to lean on here please, and others there, and there," She gestured. "For you, if you would be easier that way."

Reaching for the nearer Tusken, the mother with-child took the warrior's arm for a moment and used his steady balance to lower herself to sit beside Stormcrow, Kaytren's mannerisms making her request for help clear, even if she hadn't waited for his answer. As a healer, she had need of being beside Stormcrow in those moments, and as a person she had accepted that she was considered a member of the tribe here. She simply trusted and moved on, her attention still focused on Stormcrow.

After another moment of reaching out to sense the unconscious Sith, she looked back up to the two acolytes and continued for them, with pauses for the Storyteller to translate. "I need you to sit by me please where I can reach you, or where you can touch Brother. You both have some training in the Force. One of my abilities in it is the healing of wounds or sickness… and it is a gift that I'm skilled in, but one that can drain away energy, especially the more wounded the injured one is. If it was only me, that would not matter much. But, I'm not only me…" She kept her arm wrapped close around her swelling abdomen, which made her meaning more plain than any gesture could have.

"It is very easy for me to get tired now, and if I use up too much of my energies, it could hurt those small lives I'm guarding. You are both strong warriors, and all I need to borrow that strength please. You might feel drained or dizzy. Healing can feel very taxing if you're not used to it, but after sleep we will all be well… and I hope and think that Brother will be also."


Stormcrow:
*The Storyteller almost simultaneously translated what Kaytren said into Tusken, showing he clearly had a mastery of the Basic language if not a respect for it. The Storyteller knew it was a necessary evil. Since the adopted siblings Brother and the Warchief took over, they had been opening their almost semi-secluded society to the outside world. Brother had been pushing for the Tuskens to gain more power, and to understand the societies they would be soon mingling with, it was natural for a few of the Tuskens to master Basic. Currently, there were only two that were fluent in it: the Chief and himself. The Chief had left months ago on a journey of self-discovery in one of Brother's metal birds. With Brother in his current condition, and neither of them having an heir of their own, it meant the Storyteller was the head of the village, which was a huge responsibility. The Storyteller stepped outside and had some comfortable blankets positioned to Kaytren's specifications.

The two acolytes did not fully understand what Kaytren was intending to do, for Stormcrow was no healer. Medicine via the Force was still a strange thing to them, but these two had advanced very far in their training, or at least as far as Stormcrow was permitting to teach them for now. Whatever Sister wanted of them, they were sure that it was for Brother's best interests. After all, they would gladly give their life for Brother, knowing that he had almost done so for them on multiple occasions. They sat down on either side of Kaytren, within arms reach of Brother.

As for Stormcrow, he was mostly motionless, except for the faint movement of his rib cage indicating that he was still breathing of his own accord. However, the breaths were growing weaker as the Sith slipped further and further away from the realm of the living and towards becomming one with the Force.

The Storyteller sat down behind Kaytren, not wishing to interfere. He would remain there in case Kaytren needed to translate further instructions, and it was his duty as interim Chief. The Storyteller was old: almost as old as the Chief and Brother. He remembered Brother's first training sessions when he was just a boy. Some day, the Storyteller would become one with the sands as well, but he hoped that he could last long enough for Brother to get back on his legs. This tribe needed the guidance of a strong and charismatic individual, and if not Brother, then whom? As his masked gaze looked upon the healer, he repeated the quesiton mentally again before allowing the thought to drift to the recesses of his mind. His voice switched back to the raspy whisper.*

Everything is prepared as you wished, Sister.


Kaytren:
Kaytren murmured her thanks to the Tuskens, the Healer's voice as quiet as it ever was, and after that she slipped into silence for a time.

Infection and longterm exposure to harmful chemicals had been degrading the old Sith's lungs for decades. She could sense the massive amount of toxins that had built up within him, and knew even without having proper scanning equipment on hand that his lung tissues would be a dark brackish color, swollen, and pitted with heavy deposits of trace chemicals he'd been exposed to over the last century, where in a healthy human there should have been wholesome pink.

"What you needed at this point were new lungs," Kaytren murmured to the unconscious Stormcrow with a Healer's tone of aversion to such deterioration. The precious lives under her heart stirred within her, reacting to their mother's shift in mood. Kaytren let out a soft sigh as she wrapped her arm gently around her abdomen, reaching out softly to ease them, and brushing her upset gently away from her mind.

How exactly she was to mend such damage here in a tent, withchild as she was, and with barely half the resources she would have brought it she'd been expecting any of this, was a thought that was still shaping itself within her mind… But it could be done, with careful Small Art, a trained Healer's skills, and the energy aid of the two warriors.

Murmuring a soft thanks and prayer to the Ashla, Kaytren reached over to each of the two warriors in turn, and set one each of their hands gently over Stormcrow so that the figures of one tisane clasped his biceps, while the other had his hand over the old Sith's leg below the knee. She'd softly explained to the two that it would be best if they were willing to take off their gloves please, although she knew that was a grave matter among the desert people. If they did not, Kaytren could still work with it and she told them so; it just required more care.

Her work was slow, but steadily certain of itself once she chose a place and began. What followed were many hours of achingly careful work, first primarily with Art of the Small, where she drew toxins from Stormcrows lungs the way she might have drawn venom from a wound - only far more slowly. Stormcrow's head was turned to one side, and his head and torso were supported by one of the Tuskens on more then one occasion when Kaytren's work purposefully sent him into an unconscious coughing fit (drawing on the strength of the other Tusken to help give Stormcrow's weakened body the strength for it) to relieve his lung cavities of the foulness that was slowly being purged from his tissues.

His heart rate and vital signs were carefully watched over, gently supported when one of them wavered too dangerously. When Stormcrow was approaching strong enough, Kaytren injected him with a mild anesthetic from her med kit to help him sleep through the
discomfort going on in his chest, which would have been deeply unpleasant had he been conscious for it. There was new irritation in his throat as well from all of the coughing, which she'd help to soothe later, but that was the least of her worries yet.

As far as the two Tuskens went, they would have perceived much of the healer's work only by the semi-constant drain on each of their energies. It was as if they'd been training hard for the day, and their stamina was being slowly drawn away from them. But it was just weariness, and rest with good food later would cure it.

There was still work to be done, but Stormcrow would gradually have become less sickly pale over those hours. Kaytren would pause her work from time to time, resting herself for the careful sake of the little ones, and sipping from her water bottle while she softly talked to the Storyteller or the two warriors. Whenever they were each ready, she'd find the ends of her work and start again.



Stormcrow:
It had taken many days, and although a surgery would have been able to correct the problem almost immediately, the lungs had finally started to heal. Over the last few weeks, Stormcrow still remained in an almost coma-like state, but his breathing became less labored and his vitals had started to stabilize. The warriors, who had been switching in and out to allow them to visit their families and perform their tribal tasks, had noticed this too. The Storyteller was in awe of Kaytren's powers, and rarely left the tent at all except to make sure that food and water had been provided for all of them.

After a long while, Stormcrow's eyes began to quiver, and slowly opened. He couldn't even lift his head yet, but he turned it to look up at his Jedi friend.

"K....Kaytren?"

That was the only word he managed before passing out again. Although the disease and trauma had been reduced, he hadn't the energy to get back to one hundred percent yet.

The Tuskens in the room froze at the word, for it truly meant that Brother was not returning to the sands after all. Sister truly was a miracle worker, and a master in her own rights.


Kaytren:
Kaytren had remained with the Tuskens in Stormcrow's tent for most of those long days and nights, to keep a keep a close watch over the aged warrior-friend who had become her charge. Those weeks also provided a time of strengthening the relationship between 'Sister' and the Tuskens, and many good conversations were had. Communication was not effortless, but time was something which they weren't pressed for, and telepathy and perceptiveness were both within Kaytren's realm of talent.

When she wasn't actively working or conversing with the Tuskens, the expectant mother had taken the time to rest a great deal. There had been other lives besides her own and Stormcrow's who had been dependent on Kaytren's strength and well-being. Nothing about her pregnancy this time had been simple, but Kaytren took a quiet, very sincere, care about doing everything within her ability to give her tiny youngest children the beginning they needed.

Still, she hadn't been the invalid here. There were a few times when the empathic Jedi Consular had gone outside in the company of one or two of the Tuskens, walking about the camp, and conversing in her quiet manner while they sought to overcome the language barriers.

There were two areas near the camp in particular which she became interested in, until eventually Kaytren had spoken to the Storyteller at quiet length about her concept of a 'Garden', and an old promise which she hoped to keep for Brother. After a place was chosen, there was an evening when Kaytren worked from the quiet dusk until dawn. When the burning suns rose the next morning to light across a new palette of living colors in the sand, the warm firelight behind Kaytren's eyes had shone like twin stars for a while.

That had been close to the end of her stay.

Soon enough after that, the galaxy began to turn more swiftly again, and Kaytren felt herself called back into it. Brother was well now, she assured the Storyteller and the warrior who was now best-versed in tending Stormcrow during the long sleep his body had required. He may not have been a Sensitive, but the Raider had a spark of true physician's ability, and Kaytren had shared many good conversations with the man.

When the time came, she wished peace to the whole group, made the farewells which most mattered, and again took her leave of the desert planet.