(no subject)

Breathe.




Just breathe.


Once, this was a meditation room. There was one Master Billaba had preferred, after her months in a coma. A creek bed was built into its floor, winding a path through the room, dark water trickling over the smooth stones set beneath. The windows were tinted, hiding the city lights of Coruscant beyond, and a constant garden of lycandis, zeka grass, and honeyblossoms was cultivated to blanket the floor. Entering was like walking into a forest glen on a warm night, and it was easy to find peace there. Or to drift to sleep in the sweet-smelling grass. It was hard to think of the blasterfire raining down on other planets, or even the explosions that had rocked the Jedi Temple around them.

Something that makes you feel safe –

It was ashes now. He could only imagine that. The creek was dry, the stones cracked, honeyblossoms dust. Maybe the Empire had transformed it into something else entirely. He could only imagine – Kanan doubted he would ever see that place again. Maybe he even knew he would never see it. Like Master Billaba. That place could no longer protect him. He couldn't feel safe there.

a person, a place, a situation

This room is small, simple, bare. Not entirely unlike his quarters as an apprentice in the Jedi Temple, but he didn't think on that. There was a door along the far wall, just a few meters from him. Low benches lined the walls on either side of him, and two bunks were built into the back. He's sitting on the thin bedding of the lower bunk, his fingers curled gently along the edge. No windows, stale recycled oxygen with the tinny scent of steel. Beneath his boots, the floor vibrated faintly.


focus on that image



There's a flicker of movement to his right. A shadow on the floor, along the wall.





I'll . . . try to get in -