.                        Snow and Cinder
                  Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series
                         by HiperBunny
                        (message 2 of 5)
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I wake up the next morning and immediately know it is a 'morning
after'.  The pain in my head is that of a thousand Gungans
pontificating.  My mouth feels like it has been coated in raw
sewage.  Perhaps the Malkavian has done me a service.  This
hangover is so bad I can't even feel the hurt in my heart.  But
someone is touching me, so I gather up my Jedi courage and crack
one eye open.  The Malkavian is kneeling beside the bed holding a
glass of water.  "Drink this," he says.  "It will help the worst
to pass."

I close my eye and nod my assent, which was a mistake.  He helps
me to lean up enough to drink, then places a cool, damp cloth
over my eyes and forehead.  The water does help, and the headache
begins to recede.  My eyes and throat ache from the weeping, but
that too has begun to fade.  It feels good to simply lie in this
warm bed and be cared for.  I can hear my host puttering around
the room, making ready for his day's work.  Whatever that is.

A knock on the door interrupts him.  I hear him go to admit the
petitioner.  A woman's voice fills the room, too loudly, before
he shushes her.  "I've a patient, Murra.  He's not well this
morning."

A low chuckle follows this information.  "You could start a Jedi
petting zoo with all those you've put back together.  Too bad
your healing doesn't work on normal folk, Methos.   We could use
another pair of hands when the flu season hits."

Methos.  I wonder if this is his name or some kind of title. 
He's laughing, a surprising sound.  "I do what I can, Murra.  But
they don't come here to have their bodies healed.  You know
that."

"This one looks to need some body-healing.  Or less of your brew,
either one.  I'll let the wives know you're keeping company. 
Will you still be gathering at the north woods today?" Murra sets
something down near the hearth and turns her steps towards the
door.

"Aye.  He'll be well enough to walk along, once I've gotten
something solid in his stomach," the Malkavian assures her.

"Then we'll expect you at the boiling-off house this afternoon. 
Mind you get done before it hits.  Good day, Methos."

"Good day, Murra," my host replies.  I decide that must be his
name and file the information away, in case it comes in handy
later.  And before 'what' hits?

I lay still and listen to him fiddling with something near the
fire.  When he returns to the bedside he has another glass of
water with him.  "Come have some breakfast."

I drink the water and stretch, slowly, calling on the Force to
pour energy back into my system, speed the fluids where they need
to be, stir my blood for working.  After a long moment of
concentration my headache has receded completely.  I go and join
my host beside the fire.

He is dishing up some sort of hot cereal, adds dried fruit and
hands me the bowl.  This is accompanied by a mug of cool milk and
all of it feels wonderful once I get it inside me.  He watches me
eat, amusement - and something else - shining in his eyes. 
"Well, you're welcome to spend the day shivering on the cliffs,
but I'm going to the north woods to gather sap.  Care to join
me?"

I nod once.  I've always preferred productive work to brooding. 
We bundle up in our cold-weather gear and he leads me to a small
shed behind his home.  After some rummaging about he presents me
with a wooden yolk with a large bucket hanging from each end.  He
shoulders his own and leads the way along a tiny footpath and
into the woods north of the village.

I keep my peace on the trek, and my companion also seems
disinclined to break the silence.  The world is frozen and still
around me, the snow and cold making a beautiful still-life
artwork of the woods.  Before we have gone very far, the
Malkavian leaves the broken path and approaches one of the large
trees nearby.  A sheltered bucket is hanging from the trunk, the
handle hooked over a little tube that is driven into the side of
the forest giant.  He sets his yolk down and pours from it a thin
fluid, and ice.  "The sap run was good this year in the southern
wood.  I'm not sure what that means, except I'm about the only
one foolish enough to be out here gathering the north.  I'm glad
to have some help," he smiles.

I nod and look around me, notice that many of the trees also have
buckets hanging from them, like odd fruit.  Without need for
instruction, I begin to collect the slushy sap into the larger
buckets I have carried here.  

Before long my hands are numb and the yolk is growing heavy on my
shoulders.  When we clear the area of its harvest, my host leads
me to the other side of the footpath to collect from the trees
there.  The snow is not very deep, barely reaching my boot tops,
but walking in it with the weight of my yolk pulling at me is
difficult.  My thoughts wander as I work, over the conversation
of the night before, of the events between you and I, my Master,
of the reasons I am here this day, doing this common work beside
this strangely uncommon man.  When we have finished collecting
from this grove, we return to the footpath and journey deeper
into the woods.  A question has formed in my mind, one I finally
give voice to.

"If the fire is life, what is the snow?" I ask my companion.

He chuckles.  "Snow is patience, Jedi.  The willing sleep of
rest, the natural cycle of 'wait and see'.  Many would think
these woods dead this time of year.  They're only waiting in this
snow, for the time when sun-fire makes them live again."

I nod at that and ask nothing more, concentrating on the work at
hand once again.  Eventually my load is such that I begin to
cheat, using the Force to make the buckets seem less weighty.  It
is for the best.  It takes some long time to fill our yolks
completely.  The sun, what we can see of it behind the cloud
cover, is working its way towards lunch time before we head
back.  We make our way past his house and back into the village
to a large home that seems to have been constructed from whole
logs.  There are children running in the yard, and here the snow
and dirt have been churned to an icy mud.  I smell the smoke of a
wood fire.  When we round the corner I see the source for
myself.  An enormous pot is being heated on a large fire. 
Villagers run to and fro, bringing wood to fuel the flames,
bringing more sap from a large reservoir and pouring it into the
cookpot, bringing refreshments to one another as they work.  The
atmosphere is rather festive and gay, and I feel totally,
helplessly out of place.

I follow my host to the reservoirs and empty my sap where he
shows me.  A woman is standing there, taking note of what we
bring.  "Who do I credit his to?" she demands of the Malkavian.

"To me.  He'll not be here long enough to see the profits.  I'll
be sure it is made right," he tells her.

"Four then, for Methos.  Are you going back out to gather, or
will you work here?"  She looks around the yard. "We need
woodsplitting, at least until lunch.  I can credit you the
work-hours..."

He nods and gestures for me to follow him.  I make so bold as to
ask "Is your name Methos?"

He nods again but makes no comment.  I sigh and try again.  "What
are they doing?"

"Sugaring off.  They're not a wealthy people.  They have to use
up every resource they can lay their hands on, just to survive
most years.  There'll be sugar and syrup for the next year, but
only through hard work now. Sweetener is too expensive to import
when it can be made from the woods." He leads me into an
enclosure, where boys and men are chopping wood.  Some raise
their hands in greeting when they see him, but look at me
askance.  I'm used to that.  Jedi are rarely looked at in the
same way folk look at other people.  Only in the Temple are we
not considered to be outsiders of one stripe or another.

Methos snorts at the villagers and grabs my arm.  "Ever chop
wood?"

I shake my head no.

"Let me see your hands," he directs.  I turn my palms up and he
feels them.  "Your calluses are in the wrong places.  Do you want
to go back out to the woods by yourself?"

I think about it for a long moment, trying to decide whether or
not I want to be alone.  I know I'll just be stuck with my own
depressing thoughts, even if I am getting something done.  "Show
me what to do," I request.

He nods and sets to work.  I watch as he sets a log-chunk on a
chopping block and splits it with an ax he has procured from a
supply kept nearby.  He splits the chunk again, so that he has
four more-or-less even pieces.  "Like that.  Not exactly saving
the world, but..."

I nod and turn towards the waiting wood.  I clear my mind and
close my eyes, getting a solid grip on a log with the Force.  A
bit of pressure here, a tug just so and it falls into four
pieces.  "Will that do?"

His lips compress into a thin line of displeasure.  "Can you not
be quite so conspicuous with that?  Stand on the other side of
me.  I don't want you frightening anyone."

I nod, abashed, and do as I'm told.  I work beside him, trying to
appear as if I'm just lounging against the fence while he works. 
In fact, I do my best to keep up with him, focusing all my
thoughts on the work before me.  Even though I do no physical
labor, it's strangely tiring.  I don't know how long we work
before a bell begins to ring, but the next thing I know he is to
shaking me by the shoulder and telling me to stop.  "Lunch," he
explains.

I follow him inside the log house and take a seat beside him at a
long trestle table.  I copy his motions, taking only what he
takes, eating as he eats, and still the strange looks come my
way.  I hate this, hate feeling so isolated from everyone and
everything, so far from the home I wish I was still welcome in. 
I release my disgust to the Force, but the discomfort is acute. 
I berate myself mentally, *You're here to figure out what to do
with your life, not fuel conversations in this little town for
the next decade!*  Luckily Methos eats quickly and I am able to
follow him from the table before anyone can work up the nerve to
address either one of us.

He says nothing but goes to collect his yolk once more.  I follow
him, happy to be away from stranger's eyes but miserable to be so
vulnerable to their stares.  I should be beyond this by now.  Of
course, before now there has always been the calming presence of
a venerated Jedi Master standing as my shield between those eyes
and myself.  Where is your protection now, my Master?

The snow is pulling at my boots again as we work our way through
the trees.  Snow is falling now as well, collecting on my cloak,
falling into the buckets, clinging to my hair and ears.  I pause
to pull my hood up and glance up towards the thickly clouded
sky.  The woods are still and silent, only the vague form of
Methos in his winter whites letting me know I am not alone.  I've
never known such quiet or such stillness.  For a moment I fancy
even the Force has stilled, here in this quiet, slumbering
place.  It may not be a smile, but I feel my face relax for the
first time in days as I realize I've gone almost a whole day
without meditating.  This may be the first time in my life such a
thing has happened.  I sink to my knees, folding myself into the
familiar posture.

The posture I learned from you, my Master.  

The last time I saw you in this posture, you were showing off for
that Sith creature.  Pushing your Jedi serenity in his face,
jeering him to rush, to make an error in judgment, to show
weakness as the insult of your calm was thrown at him.  I
remember my thoughts, trapped just a few feet away from you.  I
wanted to scream, to cram your own lessons down your throat. 
Never Lose Focus.  Watch Your Opponent.  Do Not Rest Until
Resolution Is Achieved.  Assume NOTHING.

That last one was in the forefront of my mind as you knelt there,
nothing but a gate of energy protecting you from a demonic
warrior.  So insolent, my Master, kneeling in meditation,
deactivating your saber, spurring him into a mistake made in
haste.

Well, Master... who ended up making the mistake?

I saw it all, you know.  The angle wasn't good, but I could still
see it.  You are so fond of telling me how old you are, my
decrepit Master, only the best 'saber fighter in the
galaxy...second best now, eh Master?  You over-extended.  I saw
it quite clearly... he had worn you down, you aged Jedi you, and
then managed to pull you into overextending on an overhead
parry.  It was like slow motion.  The butt of that double 'saber
coming up to your chin, and the surprised, shocked even,
expression on your face as he ran... you... through...

The snow feels good.  It is good to kneel and rest, to pause my
labors with no eyes on me.  Who made the mistake, Master?  You,
in your confidence?  He in his aggression?  I in my compassion
and desire to save you?  Perhaps it is this last that was the
mistake.  Perhaps that day was the time selected for you by the
Force.  My actions may have thrown the way of things into a flux,
for which I am now being punished.  It certainly feels that way. 
To be sobbing over your form as you asked me to promise to train
that boy... I didn't want to hear that!  Why couldn't you have
said anything else, any word of apology, of - of love...

A sharp slap brings my attention back to my surroundings. 
"What?" I demand, shocked.

"Wake up!  If you're tired, we'll take a break.  If you need to
meditate, we'll go back to my place.  DO NOT REST OUT HERE! It's
way below freezing and getting worse as the... oh never mind. 
Come on, we're going back."  My host kicks my yolk towards me. 
"Get up."

I stand and lift the yolk to my shoulders, abashed.  I know
better than to do something like this.  What's wrong with me?

******

--
End: Snow and Cinder ... 2/5
by HiperBunny  ChezBunny@hotmail.com
http://www.shadowynd.com/~chezbunny/index.html
MrsHamill      thamill@mgfairfax.rr.com