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The harvest moons stained surrounding clouds with gold, as they sat side by side on the stubble. The fourteen year-olds had worked hard all day to help finish the harvest, slaving through the sunshine, so they could finish before tomorrow’s rain.
The noise from the off-world labourers’ celebration rang out from the farmhouse, but it was faint from where they were. With the drinks having long since passed into the kind “kids” weren’t allowed, they’d bought a thermos of the mulled jogan juice out into the fields. Occasionally taking sips, they both watched the clouds slowly hide the constellations.
“There goes The Lothcat,” Ezra murmured, taking a swig, “I think it’s gonna rain soon.”
“Shame,” Moreena replied, “it was nice to have decent company for once.”
“Oh,” he said, a little of his usual swagger returning, “you’re that desperate for my company?”
“You wish!” She giggled, “I’m still surprised you made an honest wage today.”
To his dismay, his retort was more of a yawn. Mo tried to hide her growing laughter with a gulp from the thermos – difficult, given his attempts to look angry only made her think that, while the constellation might be hidden, she could still see a loth-cat.
Suddenly a thought sobered her.
“Ezra, how are you going to get back?”
“What, you don’t want me around?”
“Seriously, what if you catch something?”
With a sigh, he lay back, attacking the stubble with his nails.
“I was planning on hiding in your barn, ok!” he suddenly yelled, “I heard your mum say the rain was going to get torrential!”
“Ez-“
“I’m shattered, Mo,” he said, fight draining out of him, “I think I’d pass out trying to walk back to my tower.”
“You walked here?” She exclaimed, “but it takes several hours on the speeder…”
“Yeah, it’s tough, but –“
“How did you get here for seven in the morning?”
“You don’t sleep much, in my line of work” he chuckled, fragments of his usual bravado rising to the surface.
There was a pause, at that. Moreena lay down beside him, the two just wordlessly gazing at the clouds and stars. Every so often, they’d sit up and sip at the juice, more to keep the chill away than to quench any thirst. The Spire, The Wind Child and even The Hunter were hidden, as the wind began to pick up, just a little.
“I’m glad I know you,” Mo finally spoke, sitting up again, “but I’m glad I’m not you.”
“Same,” he murmured, “I’d hate to be me as well…”
“Ez, are you…?”
He made a grab for the thermos, to give himself time to think of an answer. He felt warmth as his hand gripped it – Mo’s hand, he realised too late.
“I, erm, ha!” he fumbled, trying to let go. At last free, he threw up his hands in disbelief – too late realising Moreena had moved closer. His hand brushed through her hair.
“It’s soft,” was his first thought, his own having been matted by street living. “Oh KRIFF!” was the second, as to touch another’s hair without consent was enough to get you publicly shamed by the more extreme traditionalists of Lothal. With such thoughts racing, his finely honed loth-rat instincts kicked in.
As Mo watched him sprint towards the barn, she chuckled to herself – it was rare to reduce Ezra Bridger to a blushing mess, after all. Heading back towards the farmhouse, she wondered if he’d be more or less offended if she outright offered him food in the morning…
As he tried to make himself comfortable – hay wasn’t soft, no matter what children’s stories said – a third thought occurred. “Had she done that deliberately?”