But the Jawas don't seem particularly interested in them. Hera counts fifteen in the room now - maybe a quarter of the total number that must be in the crawler, but she knows they couldn't all fit in here. The others must be having their evening meal elsewhere. She has no idea if this particular gathering was anything out of the ordinary - maybe it happened every night, and a couple of outsiders weren't going to stop it. Either way, she has no idea what they're saying now. It's too fast, and true Jawaese, not the Trade talk they'd used before.

She looks to Kanan, and shrugs. The Jawas pass around the meat as well, none offered to Kanan and Hera, whom by now seem largely forgotten. Their talk quiets as they eat, the overwhelming smell in the room gives way even more to the scent of fire and burnt flesh, and for a few minutes, it's as quiet as it had been before, just the churn of the crawler around them.

And then one of the Jawas, wearing a particularly large belt and standing from their mat, begins to speak. The others, including Tsedec, stay quiet this time, listening attentively. Hera also listens, but she knows even if she could follow the sounds of Jawaese, she still wouldn't understand it.