Swiftcurrent Creek The shade

Omg me too!! Star Wars may be mildly whack but it’s a comfort franchise for me

Simran releases a faint huff at the continued questions, lids sliding away from their eyes as they allow gravity to take their haunches to the ground, easily seating themselves on the earth.

It is simple. We wear our armor, we speak Mando’a, we defend our tribe and bring them kote, glory, we raise our children as Mandalorians, and we rally to the cause of our leader, the Mand’alor. There has not been a Mand’alor in many years, last I knew. Too much infighting. It’s a quick comment, and Simran is quick to move past it. There would be no Mand’alor in their lifetime, and probably not in the lifetime of their children. They are content without. All they need is an alor, someone to point the way their teeth swing.

The next question brings the shutters down, makes their face go pinched, a light wrinkle appearing between their brows, lips twitching in want to rise over ivory fangs as the old anger erupts into an inferno, before being tempered once again by Simran’s iron control. They forcibly smooth their face, taking a shaky inhale of breath.

A bad deal. Someone didn’t like my tribe, wanted our home. Then fled when they couldn’t take it. The wolfdog’s voice dipped low, rumbling from between their jaws, words laced with a thick, cold anger that chased out the warmth of their good memories.

That is how I am here.