The flight from Tatooine lasted 3 long days. Xynnaria wasn’t used to being cooped up for such a long stretch of time.
She jerked her head in restless irritation, causing her wiry ponytail to fly up and land to rest on the opposite side of her face. She peeked through the curtain her hair afforded her at her bald companion. Of course his eyes were closed and his face resting peacefully, having mastered his chi long ago.
The Zabrak closed her pale eyes and began to focus on her breathing; in, out – so simple, but often forgotten to her when not in battle. Her cheek fell to her shoulder as her head nodded in concert with the turbulence, allowing her a false sense of restful slumber. As her breathing became more relaxed, her mind reviewed the events of recent days.
All the research she had done, talking to so many other scouts about what they would do next once Master Flap deemed them worthy to leave his tutelage. She felt she was not done learning and as the time drew near to make her own way, she grew increasingly agitated.
It wasn’t enough to learn pitching the small weak camps and tents as they had been taught. She wanted more. She felt something stir within her when she was hunting. She could not put her finger on it, but it made her want to hunt bigger and more violent creatures.
It wasn’t the money, although the credits in her bank account were many due to the endless days of missions searching for bantha. Their hides were always a hot commodity, and she’d certainly hunted her share.
It could not be, she wouldn’t allow it.
She had fought with herself her whole life to quell her genetic predisposition to it.
Her great great Grandmother was in The Clan as they called it. She didn’t want to be as the sisters were, preying on innocent passersby. She shuddered.
She wanted to help people, not kill them.