(beware when digging deeper)
A dead city feels like a graveyard and a huge derelict beast at the same time.
They arrive to Taris at the morning, and get to the outpost by the midday. The air is hot and full of chemicals, and sun is always hidden under the film of fog: planet is definitely not the most pleasant place to be, yet still somehow enthralling.
In the bustle of settling down Arenim doesn't really have time to talk to anyone, but she has a lot of data to go through anyway.
She is still suspicious about all this affair. This Jedi Master Son'ia who claims she isn't one, and Jedi Master Wirich, who has a good reputation within the Order, yet knows Son'ia all too well.
And all sorts of other odd people here.
She did fit into the bunch, though, with her white hair and shameless exposure of Echani origin. Her late Master was not able to make her fully drop all that; not that he was trying too hard.
And not that it mattered after she successfully passed the trials.
...Staying on guard does not give her too much time to think, though.
After Arenim dispatches two nasty critters with the rifle, Son’ia comes over, guided by the noise, and leans on the other column of the gates. Watches Arenim straightening out her chest wraps. Then starts the talk without any introduction, as if they talked about the matters before and she was picking up at the point where they stopped.
And the talk is not a single bit illuminating. Rackgouls and their survival here is mystery enough, but Force-sensitive rackgouls?
"This is strange. Even for this planet.", Arenim murmurs.
"This planet is full of wonders and rubble", says Son'ia, and her voice sounds strangely melodic underneath her mask, but maybe it was just Arenim's imagination.
A dead city feels like a graveyard and a huge derelict beast at the same time, Arenim thinks, and then nods, agreeing.