Redsand Canyon Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la= not gone, merely marching far away, Mandalorian phrase for the departed.

Thread 1/5 for Chronicler General Trade

Night, around 10:30 PM, Beecher’s Hope

They rather liked the canyon. It was...nice.

But, nothing was like home. This wasn’t the Underrock, and despite having purpose again, a duty to fulfill, the beroya found themselves wanting for clan again. They missed it, they missed everything about their life before their world turned upside down.

Most of all, they missed the stories. Nobody was around to hear those of the mythosaur anymore, and it wasn’t theirs to tell anymore. Simran Vos was a name no one knew, that no one needed to know. Because they were not clan.

But a part of them missed it. Being seen. Being known. Their heart was behind layered beskar so thick even they couldn’t find it, and the less said about the read on their soul, the better. Simran puffed a short breath, watching the sky above their head. The oasis around their feet reflected it, even as they stood in the ever shifting expanse of water, their little movements sending ripples across the surface. It almost looked like the stars were dancing, in some ways. The silver furred Mandalorian cracked a little smile at that.

Maybe there was stories after all, they considered.

They just didn’t have someone to tell them to. Nobody to chip away at the beskar center of their heart.

So maybe Simran would have to do it themselves.