Song sat at Kanan’s bedside, waiting for him to wake. There were shadows under her bleary eyes, and she felt as if she hadn’t slept in days. Which was true, in a way. She hadn’t had a full night’s rest since that night in the cave, curled up in furs and old blankets by the heat of a fire. By Kanan. Why had it come to this? One minute they’d been sailing smoothly over the Krownest forest, and the next, they’d been shot down, left stranded in the cold, and forced to battle armed Mandalorian rebels.
There was the matter of her mother, too.
Ghent had lied to her. He’d led her to believe that Haliya—the only person she’d ever loved as a child besides River—had passed from a lung disease. But here she was, alive and well, and leading the very people her father had demanded Song kill. Was that why he’d sent her on this mission alone with the Ranger? To have her unwittingly murder her own mother, or to be murdered by her? It was sick. Monstrous, even. A terrible revelation that changed everything she ever believed.
She wanted to ask why. Demand that her father explain.
Instead, she stayed by Kanan’s side.
When he’d collapsed in the snow, overcome by his injuries and the biting cold, Haliya and the rebels had taken them to their secret hide-out deep in the mountains. She’d given the two of them a place to rest, a yurt matted with pines and furs, with another fire to keep them warm. For the whole day and through the night, Song rarely left the Ranger, bringing him clean blankets or fresh towels to lay over his feverish head. She just wanted him to be okay. To open his eyes.
Slowly, as if on instinct, Song reached for his hand and took it, cold fingers interlacing with his own. “Kanan,” she whispered, praying it would wake him, but knowing it likely wouldn’t. Please. Be okay.
@llamallove