THIRTY FOUR. the beginning of the end! ｡･:*:･ﾟ✧｡･:*:･ﾟ
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Arvala-7 glitters like a gold gem hung within the onyx folds of the endless galaxy. As they enter its atmosphere, the piles of sandy dunes reflect dying sunlight as the sky, pale at one horizon, turns a dusky azure. The glow reflects upon Zoya's face as she leans down, pressing a hand gently to the green curve of the child's forehead, reminiscing on what had happened the last time they'd been on the planet, the memories pulled through her head by the familiar, glittering, endless expanse of Arvala-7's surface.
Din had left her cuffed to the ship—at the time, she'd known him only as the Mandalorian—to go find the child. Those fucking Jawas had raided the Razor Crest and taken her with them. Din, returning for her after what had seemed like hours of waiting, slathered with thick, oozing, gritty mud, and yet, the only thing Zoya had been able to think of was how much she wanted to wrap her arms around him.
Her eyelids flutter closed as Din maneuvers the ship down to rest upon the planet, settling a short distance from the Ugnaught's dwelling. Releasing the controls, he glances back at Zoya, Cara, and the child.
"Ready?" he says.
Zoya's eyes hook onto his visor for a second that feels more like a minute. His visor is unreadable, but it's almost as if she can see his eyes underneath, holding hers with unspoken care. "Course," she replies, and the group moves to the ramp to descend.
Kuiil is waiting for them outside his home, hands folded before him as they approach. His eyes go from Din, scanning the unreadable planes of his Beskar, to Zoya, where his hard expression slightly softens, to the child hovering alongside them in its basket, and then to Cara, bringing up the back of the group. And without a word, he nods and turns to go inside, expecting them to follow. The three duck slightly to get underneath the rounded entrance.
The hut is filled with a soft, glowing light, emanating from small lanterns placed strategically about the space. A furnace sits close to the wall, its pipe protruding from the top to thread through the ceiling. They settle in a loose circle before it; Cara and Zoya relax against the floor shoulder to shoulder as Din and Kuiil remain standing.
"It hasn't grown much," the Ugnaught remarks.
Din watches as Kuiil scrutinizes the child. "I think it might be a Strand-Cast."
"I don't think it was engineered—I worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly. This one on the other hand," he says, gesturing to Cara, "looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora."
