(no subject)

The last of the refugees have been escorted off the Ghost and onto Gatalenta, along with all the belongings and supplies that Hera and Kanan could muster for them, too. There were handclasps and some weeping, and children that seemed reluctant to step out onto a new planet after all the troubles that happened to them on the old, or on the hyperlanes. Slavers have never been anything but ruthless. Fortunately the Cloud Riders can be ruthless, too, and they'll see to it that these refugees are well-protected, at least for a while.

It's something.

There's an ache in Kanan's shoulders from hauling things around, along with a faint line of tension reflected through the Force, as no one on the ship was particularly happy most of the time. He understands, but it's . . . hard to keep all of that out, not in such close quarters.

(Time in the cargo bay with the boy was a blessing on several front, honestly.)

"Do you want me to get some caf brewing while you get us into hyperspace?" Kanan asks Hera, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

They could all use some time to gather themselves, it seems to him. But he wants to check, just in case he's wrong.