“Please …” he said, holding her with his eyes as much as with his hand. “Please … don’t go. Can’t you tell that I care about you?
I worry about you, I think about you … I care about you.” He swallowed, and it hurt. “A lot.”
She caught her breath, and it sounded like a sob. “I don’t want you to care,” she said, her voice ragged. “Because I’m not supposed to care .
.
.”
“You won’t even tell me your name,” Han finished, and he couldn’t hide the touch of bitterness in his voice.
She stood poised for flight, like a bird, her eyes wide and tormented.
“I care about you, too,” she whispered, finally. Her voice trembled.
“But I shouldn’t. I’m only supposed to care about the One, and the All! You want me to break my vows, Vykk! How can I give up everything I believe in?”
Hearing her admit that she had feelings for him made Han’s heart turn over. “Tell me your name,” he pleaded. “Please …”
She stared at him, eyes bright with tears, then she whispered, “It’s Bria.
Bria Tharen.”
Then, without another word, she picked up the skirts of her robe and ran away, through the door, into the dorm.
Han stood in the darkness and felt a slow, wide grin spread across his face. All his exhaustion fell away, and his feet felt as though he were wearing repulsorlift boots. He walked away from the dorm, still smiling, and barely noticed when the skies opened up and it began to pour.
She does care … he thought, slogging through the ubiquitous mud.
Bria .
. . that’s nice. Sounds like music or something. Bria …
The next day, after long hours of thinking and planning during a mostly sleepless night, Han went in search of Teroenza. He found the High Priest and Veratil relaxing in the mudflats that lay about a kilometer inland from the shallow Ylesian ocean. Both priests lounged at their ease, immersed in warm red mud up to their massive flanks.
Occasionally one or the other would roll over and thrash a bit, to cover an area that had dried out.
The two Gamorreans on guard duty looked positively envious of their masters. Han, on the other hand, came close enough to the mud wallow to catch a whiff, and grimaced. Ugh! Smells like something died last week!
The Corellian stood balancing precariously on the bank and waved to get Teroenza’s attention. “Uh, sir? I’d like a word with you, if possible.”
The High Priest was in a good mood, relaxed from the mud. He waved an undersized arm. “Our heroic pilot! Please, join us!”
Climb into that muck? On purpose? Han thought, repressing a grimace.
But he understood that the t’landa Til were offering him a great honor.
He sighed.
When Teroenza beckoned to him again, Han grinned and waved back genially.
He unfastened his gunbelt, letting his newly reclaimed blaster in its holster slip to the ground. After yanking off his boots, he unsealed his pilot’s coverall and stepped out of it, leaving him clad only in his shorts. Carefully, he placed his belt-pouch atop the pile, with the open end facing the mudhole.
Then, with a grimace that he tried to turn into a smile, the Corellian stepped off the bank. Red mud oozed up his legs, and for a second Han nearly panicked, picturing himself sinking completely out of sight.
But there was solid ground beneath the mud. Waving and smiling at the two t’landa Til, Han grimly waded out until he was slithering in mud up to his thighs.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Veratil asked, generously catching up a huge blob of mud and slathering Han’s back. “Nothing in this galaxy beats a good mud bath!”
Han nodded vigorously. “Yeah! Great!”
“I suggest you go for a roll,” Teroenza boomed. “That always refreshes me after the stresses of everyday life. Try it!”
“Sure!” Han agreed, smiling through clenched teeth. “A good roll sounds like just the thing!” Gingerly, he lowered himself into the mud, and with a great slosh and splat! he rolled completely over in the slimy, oozing stuff. It didn’t help his mood to notice that there were long white worms inhabiting the mud. Han assumed they weren’t carnivorous, or the priests wouldn’t be having such a wonderful time.
Bria, honey, I hope you appreciate this … he thought as he completed his roll and sat back up, coated now from the neck down.
“Wonderful!” he said loudly. “So … squishy!”
“So, Pilot Draygo … why did you wish to speak with me?” Teroenza asked as the High Priest languidly settled deeper into the wallow.
“Well, I think I may have solved your problem, sir. The problem of how to take care of your collection, that is.”