A low tune carried over the charred ground. The ash was thick in piles, swept to the side to clear walking paths like mounds of snow on a more temperate planet might be. The wind picked it up occasionally, but the humidity was still heavy, even as the days had cooled following the oppressive heat of the fires and eruption as the ash clouds covered the sun and lingered in the atmosphere. The village was recuperating, propped up by Arconan aid; but still the priority was the living.
Now, a lilac figure sung to the dead.
Rue walked among the rows of uncovered corpses, gently wiping off closed eyes – where there still were any – of newly fallen ash or dust and then replacing the sprigs of flowers he had left on the bodies previously. The handful covered by sheets received the same treatment. It would take time for graves to be dug or cremations arranged, likely en masse if only for health reasons, for everyone to be identified, for mourning. His tail, heavy with the grime of days, dragged behind him and flicked occasionally, the hair matted black and brown where normally it shone. He knelt beside a smaller corpse, spending extra time there, murmuring softly.
.
.
Though the hearts of civilian and soldier alike buzzed with relief that the fighting and dying had come to an end, Bril’s senses told him a different story. The pain of loss and the fear that another wave of monstrous beasts would descend upon them weighed heavily on the minds of everyone he passed. The blood and ash-stained ground sang a woeful tune – an elegy for the newly dead.
Bril didn’t like it here, but he knew he had to be. Part of his responsibility as a leader was doing difficult work, of being there to support people even after all the fighting was over. Any discomfort he felt from the palpable grief in the air was a small price to pay in exchange for ensuring that these people, his people, knew that he was there for them.
As he patrolled the village grounds and ensured that the soldiers under his and Siva’s command treated the bodies with the utmost care and respect, he felt the presence of someone he’d met earlier up ahead. Their presence in the Force was strong, glowing brightly in the Living Force in a way similar to his own, yet altogether distinct and unique. It didn’t take long for him to see the emaciated fellow he’d met and worked alongside earlier. Rue, he remembered.
As he approached, Bril folded his arms behind his back and gave a gentle cough to announce his presence.
“Are you alright?”
The gaunt hybrid startled a flinch, but just slightly; he’d heard the steps of an approach far away, heard the double heartbeat of a Zabrak or similar species. Both strong, steady. No murmurs or fibrilations. Good, good.
“Yes, Master!” he answered automatically, instantly, turning from the child’s body he’d been praying over and bowing fully down, so his forehead and nose smeared ash. He lifted a few inches then, darting a glance about to the man’s hip, grimy lashes low. “Master, Sir, what can this one do for you?”
His eyes drifted to the covered body lying on the ground before them … toward the tiny form that had been taken from the world, from its family, far too soon. As much as he believed in the natural order, of the necessity of life and death, seeing children always felt deeply wrong.
“How are you holding up, Rue?” Bril asked. Although he could feel exactly how the man felt at the moment, he recognized asking him instead as a simple but nonetheless (hopefully) impactful way of reaffirming the hybrid’s personhood. His thoughts, after all, were worth hearing from his own lips. When the Starosta realized that his turn of phrase, although mundane to his ears, may have been taken literally by the comparatively sheltered man, he opted to be more precise with his words, “How are you feeling, I mean.”
“This one feels within normal ranges, Sir,” the hybrid reported immediately, swallowing a question about what he was holding upwards. “Its pulse and respirations have returned to normal ranges and the lacerations and burns have chiefly closed. It can likely return to duties soon. Does Sir require healing? Sir’s heartbeats and respirations are within normal ranges for his species, so it is likely not cardiopulmonary distress from smoke inhalation…”
Bril waved his hand to dismiss Rue’s questioning, making a mental note of the accuracy of his evaluation. The man’s senses were more attuned than he’d realized.
“I appreciate the concern, but no thank you,” he replied while moving a hand to his hip, “but that’s not exactly what I meant. I meant how are you emotionally? This …,” he paused to gesture toward the bodies covered in white sheets gathered together there, “this is a lot, especially for people who are as attuned to the Living Force as us.”
“Ah.” Rue nodded his understanding, sitting up more fully then so they could speak properly– or rather, the new properly, as people on the outside preferred it more often than not, with minimal bowing and vertical posture. Then he gave Bril a very, very sad smile. “Sir is asking after this one’s well-being…? That is a kindness. This one is grateful. This one– I. I grieve the violence. This was a tragedy. No one had to die. It was worse that some, then, did… But that was Master’s order.” His golden gaze briefly met Bril’s, holding for just one heavy second, then turned away again, following Bril’s to the child’s body. “I am very accustomed to death. Particularly the deaths of litluns. I grieve them, but I am, as they say here in Outside…‘okay.’”
He turned back to Bril.
“Are you, Sir? I have…begun to understand that children are generally healthy here. That that is normal. And so it stands to reason that their deaths would be ‘a lot’ to you. I do not know if I can do anything for you, but if I could, I would.”