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❛ my heart knew the weight / ten years worth of dust, and neglect / we made our peace with weariness. ❜
THE MOON WILL SING// THE CRANE WIVES
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"GENERAL, SIR. YOU CALLED?"
"Commander Wolffe," The Kel Dor nodded. "I have a special assignment for you and the Pack."
Brows furrowing, the clone Commander glanced at his Jedi General Plo Koon, noticing the caution behind his words. Interest peaking, his arms crossed, "Well what is it, General?"
"The Council has requested for us to find this girl," Reaching into his robe, Plo activated the hologram. Rising from the disk, a petite, Vashuni girl appeared: bright white, choppy ringlets formed a halo around her heart-shaped face. He wasn't one to notice the beauty in others, but he knew he would've at least done a double take if she passed him on the street. Though her angelic, purely ethereal appearance lacked the importance an angel such as herself should have had. A mistake perhaps, or rather a sorrow — the deep frown etched into her dainty features caused Wolffe to pause, studying the downcast gaze she set.
Violet eyes could just be made out through the glitched blue; their darkness calling to Wolffe, hiding a galaxy in glints of light. Strange stars inside, so cold, so clear; they awed him to silence as he studied the glorious night bedded behind dark lashes.
There was no language for pain, yet Wolffe could almost speak hers fluently. Fluently understanding, and easily speaking the expression she bore. Much like a girl he once knew—
"She was last seen down in Coruscant's underworld, I would suggest you start there. Now, we want her captured, but not harmed. You'll inform the men to set their guns to stun. Understood, Commander?"
"Understood, sir. I'll brief the Wolfpack now, General."
