Mandalorian Lost

Chapter 5

"Careful there," I murmur, lifting a finger to catch the dripping broth from Grogu's mouth. He giggles at me before letting out a small burp. I roll my eyes, tickling him with my finger. "Slob."

From our spot on the barn's little porch, the kid and I could watch the villagers as they tend to their evening chores. The sun lowers in the sky, hovering just above the treetops around us and bathing the village in a golden light. Our day consisted of unpacking Mando's supplies and listening to whichever villagers were brave enough to talk to us about the raider threat here. I got a little information over dinner from Omera, who was quick to tell me that she believed there were quite a few of them out there, but aside from that most of the details we managed to pull out of people were vague.

I glance down at the kid, smiling at him as he slurps up the last bit of soup in his bowl. I've had him out here for almost an hour. I knew Mando had to be hungry, so I had suggested taking the kid outside for a bit so he could eat in peace. I don't agree with his Creed, nor do I trust him, but there's enough stubborn Mandalorian blood left in me to respect his right to do as he pleases with his own life.

I reach forward quickly to catch another drip from the child's chin and pain flares through my shoulder without warning from my blaster wound. Grogu nearly frowns at me, gurgling unhappily. I shrug my good shoulder and narrow my eyes at him.

"I haven't had time to look at it," I say softly. He tilts his head at me and I lean in conspiratorially. "Can you keep a secret?"

He giggles and I chuckle at him, rolling my eyes. I raise my good hand to hover over the blaster wound and force myself to take deep, even breaths. My own force energy flows from my hand to the wound, and I close my eyes as the power shifts within me. I can feel the muscle tissue and skin weave itself back together until only a light scar remains.

The scar makes me frown. I still haven't managed to figure out force healing without leaving some kind of scar. Still, it's better than nothing. A body littered with little white scars is better than a dead one. Grogu claps happily and I give him a little dramatic bow.

I finish just in time for the little girl from when we first arrived, Winta, to appear from around the edge of another hut nearby. She peeks her face around the corner, staring at us with wide, innocent eyes. A grin starts spreading across my lips and I try to force it down. She thinks I can't see her. Grogu raises his arm toward her and coos, giving away her position, and she scrambles over to us where we sit on the porch steps.

"Good evening," I say quietly, inclining my head toward her. She smiles shyly and inches toward the child. She reaches out and tickles his underarms, earning a squeal from him, before looking back at me. More specifically, she's staring at the long staff sheathed to my back and resting against the edge of the porch. I glance over my shoulder at it before looking back at her.

I smile and pull the staff from its sheathe, holding it out sideways to present it to her. Her eyes dart back and forth between my face and the weapon, as if waiting for this to become some kind of trap.

"It's okay, you can hold it," I reassure her gently. It tugs at my chest to see so much distrust in someone so young. Her tiny hands wrap around the body of the weapon and she jerkily flips it so the butt end is planted in the grass while the sharp tip pierces the sky. "Just be careful," I mutter under my breath. She stares up at it in wonder.

"What is it?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. I hum thoughtfully and lean back against one of the wooden posts behind me.

"A beskar staff."

"What's a beskar?" She crinkles her brow. Her slick palm loses its grip on the weapon for a moment before she quickly grabs it again, keeping it straight up.