a collection of half-truths and hyperbole

Class had been more than tolerable today, and the past week or more had been restful. The island was at peace, and it was noticable, even when it ran full of the life of dozens of children. (Including one child carrying his name and the Skywalker family name-- Obi-Wan would not be quick to forget that much.)

And so much like the evenings before it, tonight, Obi-Wan settled on the grass in front of his hut to meditate before bed.

He stretched his senses out slowly, leisurely. First, the blades of grass at his feet. Then, the eopies. Beyond the eopies and the confines of the woods, the lives of the people of Fandom as they prepared for bed. Past that, the mainland, a brief lingering moment to check on Anakin and his family before his focus ran too wide to dwell on individuals alone.

Then something twisted in his stomach; an echo of a word, a flash of blonde hair. It grabbed him by the ears and dragged him back down to the grass before the shack. He blinked.

And all he could hear was the wind.

Strange.

It was not quite a disturbance, at least not one in the Force at large. A... smaller one, something that had touched only him.

His meditation disturbed, and knowing it would not come back nearly as easily, Obi-Wan stood. But retiring to bed gave him little peace, as the echoes chased him there throughout the night.

The worst thing was that he was not entirely certain they were unwelcome.

[[ establishy. ]]