Anbira Hicchoru
Apr 18th, 2015, 01:59:33 AM
The wind stopped blowing. The birds, their night songs ceased. The natural rhythms of Ossus night that held Anbira fast in slumber suddenly fell away. In the still of perfect silence, the Jedi hermit cracked an eye open from his tree bough perch.
"I'm dreaming."
They weren't words spoken on his lips, but the world spoke them around him. Distantly aware and yet still without higher agency, Anbira fell from his branch, feet meeting the ground. Even the sense of weightlessness mid-freefall seemed real in his gut. Around him, his farmed plot and the stream beyond sat in cool moonlight. It was a perfect evening, and Anbira had above all things - a sense he had been here before.
On Felucia.
It was the stillness. That sense of perfect serenity and calm that wrapped the noise of the world beyond up in velvet. As if there was something he needed to strain to hear without interference or interruption. There, years ago, he had rested beneath mycolic awnings to shelter against beating sun and smothering rain. One night the rain stopped. Not in the gradient shift of downpour to trickle to petering downspouts. It ended with finality. And in that place, he'd woke into dream in a world without strife or war or Empire. As peaceful as the womb. A place where rebirth could take place in the plane between wake and sleep.
Anbira took a walk from his tree. His bare feet pressed into lovingly-tilled loam, sinking into comforting footfalls in warm earth. It was more vivid than reality - a sum of every step he'd taken to bring life out of his toils. Yet try as he might, Anbira could not smell the soil. This was a place of selective feeling. A place where he was brought to understand. On Felucia it had been a truth he was not prepared to hear. What he swore were the imaginings of a desperate and lonely person slowly succumbing to his eroding sanity. Seeing and hearing spirits. The visages and voices of the dead, manifest only to him.
He'd refused to suspend his disbelief, fleeing from dream state every night in a sweaty panic. He returned to a familiar world full of loneliness and the long shadows of war and death that surrounded Felucia. A place where a Jedi named Aayla Secura, he would come to know later, had been murdered. It wasn't the dead Twi'lek who haunted him on those hot humid nights. They were faces he didn't know, names he did not recognize. It mattered not to the spirits. They had chosen to speak to him.
He'd learned long ago not to abandon this realm between wake and sleep. If he did not hear, he would only return again.
"I'm here."
The world around him spoke his words. Anbira saw through his own eyes a man he knew through only the ethereal sense.
"Luke."
Some time later, Anbira woke, a gasp of air piercing the night over the wind and birds and life around him. Unable to sleep any longer, the hermit dropped from his tree perch, and fell to his knees under the weight of his inexorable destiny.
Destiny held fast to Anbira Hicchoru as surely as roots grew from a tree. What was seen would transpire. Once, he'd tried to escape this fact, only to return to his solemn commitment.
He'd known these days would be coming for a long time. And now they were upon him.
"I'm dreaming."
They weren't words spoken on his lips, but the world spoke them around him. Distantly aware and yet still without higher agency, Anbira fell from his branch, feet meeting the ground. Even the sense of weightlessness mid-freefall seemed real in his gut. Around him, his farmed plot and the stream beyond sat in cool moonlight. It was a perfect evening, and Anbira had above all things - a sense he had been here before.
On Felucia.
It was the stillness. That sense of perfect serenity and calm that wrapped the noise of the world beyond up in velvet. As if there was something he needed to strain to hear without interference or interruption. There, years ago, he had rested beneath mycolic awnings to shelter against beating sun and smothering rain. One night the rain stopped. Not in the gradient shift of downpour to trickle to petering downspouts. It ended with finality. And in that place, he'd woke into dream in a world without strife or war or Empire. As peaceful as the womb. A place where rebirth could take place in the plane between wake and sleep.
Anbira took a walk from his tree. His bare feet pressed into lovingly-tilled loam, sinking into comforting footfalls in warm earth. It was more vivid than reality - a sum of every step he'd taken to bring life out of his toils. Yet try as he might, Anbira could not smell the soil. This was a place of selective feeling. A place where he was brought to understand. On Felucia it had been a truth he was not prepared to hear. What he swore were the imaginings of a desperate and lonely person slowly succumbing to his eroding sanity. Seeing and hearing spirits. The visages and voices of the dead, manifest only to him.
He'd refused to suspend his disbelief, fleeing from dream state every night in a sweaty panic. He returned to a familiar world full of loneliness and the long shadows of war and death that surrounded Felucia. A place where a Jedi named Aayla Secura, he would come to know later, had been murdered. It wasn't the dead Twi'lek who haunted him on those hot humid nights. They were faces he didn't know, names he did not recognize. It mattered not to the spirits. They had chosen to speak to him.
He'd learned long ago not to abandon this realm between wake and sleep. If he did not hear, he would only return again.
"I'm here."
The world around him spoke his words. Anbira saw through his own eyes a man he knew through only the ethereal sense.
"Luke."
Some time later, Anbira woke, a gasp of air piercing the night over the wind and birds and life around him. Unable to sleep any longer, the hermit dropped from his tree perch, and fell to his knees under the weight of his inexorable destiny.
Destiny held fast to Anbira Hicchoru as surely as roots grew from a tree. What was seen would transpire. Once, he'd tried to escape this fact, only to return to his solemn commitment.
He'd known these days would be coming for a long time. And now they were upon him.