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She's awake. Her face is flat against some smooth surface, the smell of it quick to help her remember the mat. The sandcrawler, the Jawas. One arm is tucked beneath her, the other out, her fingers also pressing into the mat. She feels the fabric of her hood tucked against her forehead, her lekku, and there's something on top of her, lying horizontal across her, set just above her elbow. Hera can hear slow, steady breathing, can feel it along the back of her neck. It's all she can hear. The crawler has stopped.

Hera opens her eyes. There's bright white light, coming up from the grate beneath them. She shifts, turning over, and realizes what's lying across her is Kanan's arm. She must have moved closer to him in her sleep. Hera lifts herself up, and slowly tries to move his arm off from her and back to his side, quietly and gently enough to not wake him. Maybe that's something she should think about, be bothered by or – not. But for now it doesn't hold her interest. She rolls back to the edge of the mat, looking down into the room below, but though the lights are on, and the combustion chamber reignited, there's no one inside.

Now she hears more – voices. Scurrying footsteps outside. Have they arrived somewhere? Hera doesn't feel like they've slept that long. She pulls out her chrono – nearly four hours. It's the middle of the night. What's gotten the rest of them up?

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"I'm not -"

The door slides open. Someone, maybe it's Tsedec, gestures with their arms and gloved hands, speaking very fast. They barely wait to finish speaking before slamming the door shut again.

"Quiet," Hera says, one of the words she understood. And then the other -

"Tuskens."

Kanan's hand immediately drops to his side, an old, old gesture that has no place here, but --

"You think they need help?"

He leans closer to Hera as he says that, speaking in as much of an undertone as he can manage.

Hera shakes her head, putting a hand on his arm as he moves.

Soft, "They said to be quiet."

She's guessing what that means for them is to stay hidden.

Kanan just nods, shifting his arm back to his side and forcibly relaxing.

It takes some doing, and he can feel that his heartrate is stubbornly refusing to settle down.

What's most frustrating is that they're far enough into the interior of the crawler not to really be able to hear any of what's going on. Not the conversational parts, at least. But probably if people start dying . . .

Edited 2018-12-10 02:23 (UTC)

There's a loud creak below them, and Hera instinctively rolls back from the edge of the mat, closer to Kanan. A moment later, however, as footsteps ring through the room below, Hera creeps closer to the edge, careful to make no sound as she moves, and leans over just enough to peer down below them.

The bright lights, she can tell, are along the edges of the room's ceiling, shining down into the chamber but leaving her and Kanan in the dark. The first who have entered are Jawas, but then three Tusken Raiders emerge from the doorway, carrying tall staffs that Hera has to imagine were difficult to bring through the narrow passages of the crawler - unless the Jawas had provided them some easier means of access. Two of them wear spiked, thick-wrapped masks, but the third wore a hood and a long mask that fell in slender metal plates down from where her face must be beneath to the middle of her chest. It clinked gently as she moved, and the other two stood just behind her, like guards.

Kanan, seeing -- and feeling -- Hera's movements beside him, mimics her posture on the other half of the mat. It makes it a little more difficult to see all three of the Tuskens, but the leader -- or the one that is most likely the spokesperson, at least -- is clearly visible.

The masked Tusken raises one hand in a three-part greeting, the movements fluid but not elaborate, and inclines her head. Behind her, the other two Raiders tap the ends of their staffs against the sandcrawler's floor, sending slight echoes all around the chamber.

The Jawas do not mimic that greeting gesture, but Tsedec steps forward, and two other Jawas fall in behind them. Kanan takes a moment to wonder if it's some of the same troupe from the earlier basement meeting, but he has no good way to tell. The trill something, possibly interrogatory, possibly an extended opening statement, then incline their own head.

Once more, both parties fall silent.

It's a few seconds, but the Tusken responds - a high-pitched call that echoes around the walls. She nods her head a few times, the plates of her mask clicking again, and shortly after her guards seem to repeat it.

Tsedec gestures to another at their side, who quickly scurries from the room, but reappears just a moment later, aided by two others in carrying a large metal chest. They're soon joined by others, who carrying pieces of body armor, pairs of goggles, and other goods. Hera's shoulders relax as she watches, as the Tuskens slightly lower their spears and move closer to see what the Jawas have to offer.

It looks like it's just a sale.

Kanan still struggles to relax, because what if the sale is a cover for . . . no, that would be ridiculous.

But part of him can't help but be curious about what the Raiders would trade for. They don't have much need for droid parts, on the whole, though he supposes other scavenged metals would be useful for armor and the like, but . . .

Some of the foodstuffs coming out of the metal chest are quite a surprise. He wouldn't have thought . . . but a varied diet seems a lot more fun than just eating desert lizards and krayt dragon eggs, he supposes.

Huh.

They lay there, in total silence, watching the movement below them. Hera's sure that if the Tuskens had any idea two offworlders were so close to them, watching them -

But no one below even so much as glances at the grating above. They watch the Tuskens compare spare parts and vibroblades, point to certain offerings with what Hera guesses is actually excitement. The lead pulls out bottles of what looks like Bantha milk from her cloak, while the others unload sacks of parts to trade - some of which look like they were torn rather violently from droids.

The whole thing goes on for maybe thirty minutes. Goods are exchanged. The Tuskens slam down their spears again, repeating the initial call. The Jawas bow and nod, and begin to pack up their wares. Hera watches all of it. She's almost afraid to look away, like something would suddenly go wrong the moment she doesn't have her eye on it.

Tsedec speaks to the Tuskens. Hera can understand the basics of the salutations. 'Well-wishing' maybe, though that's really not the word for it.

Edited 2018-12-10 03:31 (UTC)

Kanan keeps himself still even as the Tuskens take their newly-acquired goods, turn, and depart.

He keeps his breathing quiet, as if certain that if he does anything before Tsedec gives them the 'all-clear', something terrible will happen.

It's gone that way before, if not on this specific planet.

So . . . he waits. Tensely.

Hera does the same. Even as the voices below them fade, even as the lights go out again. The red glow is back, burning brighter than it had before.

When the lights go out, Hera does turn, silently rolling back onto the mat, turning over until she faces him again. She still doesn't speak, just watches him, tension growing once more in her shoulders as they're literally left in the near dark. Waiting to know for sure.

The first good sign comes when there's a loud shudder through the whole of the crawler, and once more, the now familiar thump sounding around them. They're moving forward again.

The second is when their door slides open again. Tsedec says a single word. Safe.

Kanan exhales gustily, turning over onto his back and throwing one arm over his eyes.

"Thank the . . . everything. I was really worried for a minute there."

Hera lets out a breath, and thanks Tsedec before the door slides shut again. After having lifted herself just enough to nod before Tsedec left, she lowers herself back down against the mat, still facing Kanan, trying to get comfortable again.

But even if she manages that, she's doubts she'll be able to get to sleep anytime soon. There's still tension in her shoulders, she can feel her heart beating just too fast. She tries a few more deep breaths.

"They really helped us there," Hera says, her voice still quiet. "The Jawas. If the Tuskens had found us, they might've killed everyone."

Edited 2018-12-10 22:43 (UTC)

"They did," Kanan agrees, exhaling again.

"I really did think we might get into a fight we couldn't win."

Or, you know. Survive.

Her lekku twist, and she shuts her eyes.

"I don't want to think about it."

"Right."

He hesitate for a second, then slowly, carefully, reaches out to rest his hand on her shoulder.

"But we're okay. So -- pretty soon we'll see Chopper again. Do you get dibs on yelling at him?"

Someday Kanan would like a turn.

She lets that hand stay where it is, wondering for a moment whether she should say something about how she woke up.

But she doesn't.

"Right now, I'm hoping he's safe."

He pats her shoulder a little, then shifts to move his hand away.

"Yeah. I -- he should be. He's not a bad pilot, and you know he wants to keep you safe, and that means getting you off this planet, so."

Sure, Chopper's annoying and mean and way too free with his shock prod, but he's also incredibly serious about taking care of Hera. (And Kanan, honestly. He's just more angry about it.)

"I know," she murmurs.

"Hopefully this didn't slow us down too much."

"If anyone knows how to make up time in one of these things . . . "

Okay, it's probably not the Jawas, but maybe?

Well, Hera's not offering to drive.

"I don't think we were stopped very long before we woke up."

She's pretty sure she woke because that once again constant churning sound around them had gone quiet.

Kanan exhales heavily.

"That's something. But now I'm really not inclined to nap to kill time."

He could meditate, but that'd leave Hera basically on her own, conversation-wise, and that's . . . he'd really rather not.

"We should get more sleep while we have the chance."

But she's not exactly feeling very restful, either.

"Uh. Do you want me to . . . "

He trails off.

"I mean, if you do want to get more sleep I can probably . . . help."

"What?"