As the morning dawns, early and new, he wearily peaks his eyes out from under the bedcovers. He squints at the light, blaring from the open window, letting in tangibly humid air. He lies there for a moment, before pushing the sheets off his sweat-ridden body, and struggling to sit up. He finally props himself up and uses his minimal strength to force himself to upright position. He stumbles to the window, and slams it shut with a dull echo from the aching wood.

He had forgotten how the sunshine could awaken even the deepest slumbers with nothing but a gentle caress. He gives a groan and mentally decides to always sleep on his precious Millennium Falcon. At this ungodly hour, he can't recall why he is on a planet at all. He usually never ventures from his ship, especially at night, when most of the darker creatures come out to play.

Yavin IV? Is that the planet he took refuge on? Why? He ponders for a second, but, for the life of him, he can't recollect why he had been sleeping on an actual planet for the first time in years.