Shadows of Time

Disclaimer: I do not have any affliation with the Star Wars saga, George Lucas, Twentieth Century Fox or any other companies or people responsible for the making of the films and extended universe.

Spoilers: Some.


He tumbled over the hot pulse of sand that arose in the humid breath of air. His fingers sprawled opened to protect him from the hard fall that would stain his body with markings that would only cause him pain until it faded into oblivian with only memories to hold its place.

His fingers sprawled open over the burnt carcass of endless sand. The canvas sack weighed his small figure down. Luke rolled over onto his back. The dead blue sky shifted in colour. It's opaque blue stretched into a golden haze. He remained still, his thoughts drifted back to the homestead where he was sure that his aunt and uncle waited for him.

Luke dragged his tongue across his dry, chapped lips. The Lars homestead dissipated in the blind fury of the storm that chased away the barren desert boredom of the planet's landscape. His Uncle Owen was sure to scold him for wandering away from the scheduled area of play.

He could no longer draw out the torment that the sand blindness brought to his pale eyes. His blue pupils burnt with hot tears that dared to smother his face that was charred with abuse from his lonesome play time. Fear pressed itself to his breast. He did not know the way back to the homestead, and found the worriesome myths of sand people to choke him for air.

"Are you alright?" The soft voice broke through the thick barrier of sand that curtained around Luke. His scarlett eyes found the figure who remained still above his crumpled body. He shook his head, the figure reached for his small hands that disappeared into the person's silky hands as they embraced.

"What are you doing out here in a sandstorm, Luke Skywalker." She frowned, her hands disentangled from the two year olds calloused ones. Her brown coils of hair folded beneath a dark cloak to protect her face from the ravages of the wind. The child stared at her for a moment.

"I lost." He pronounced, his tongue wrapped around the words. The woman patiently nodded, as the child stuttered his story in a tongue that had only found the words fresh to his vocabulary. She clutched at the canvas sack that rested on the two year old's shoulder and lifted it into her hands.

"It is too dangerous to take you back to the Lars homestead now, but you can stay with me until the storm goes, alright?" She asked softly. Luke nodded, as he followed her through the intericate dooms that travelled across the barren boundaries of the desert. His hand linked in hers.


To Be Continued...

Sorry about the length of this chapter and the grammar. I saw ROTS again!